Thank you to gif makers specifically, but also everyone creating fanart and fanfiction, for making me an expert in shows I've never seen an episode of.
(this came out of a conversation in the comments on a previous post about an author threatening to stop updating a fic because of lack of engagement)
So there’s this idea that fic writers should write for themselves and not care too much about stats or engagement,
and i totally get the sentiment behind that. if writing becomes entirely about stats and external validation, something important does get lost - creative freedom and joy, conviction in your own writing
but i also think:
“i write for myself, but i post for others.”
because posting fic is not only self-expression. it’s social. ao3 is called an archive, but emotionally it often functions as a community space.
people post for connection, for participation, for others to bear witness to their pain and trauma and grief,
and i don’t think most people are asking to be admired so much as acknowledged. there’s something deeply human about wanting another person to encounter something that mattered to you and go:
“ok, yeah, I see what you were trying to say. I see you.”
especially because fanfic is often people processing very real feelings through fictional characters at a safe distance, one step removed,
and then uploading that deeply personal thing into a shared archive and hoping somebody else might connect with it.
And i think that’s why it hurts so much when you summon up the courage and post a fic into the void and you get nothing back,
THIS. Exactly this. I think it is so important that we begin to encourage a culture and community of this, when it is KIND, because like, at the end of the day, yes, my view counter goes up, but is it the same people? Do they have thoughts and feelings about this thing I poured my soul into?
Imagine you've gone on a trip and you want to share the photos and people just look at them. They say NOTHING. They might give you one smile and a nod. You're trying to share and connect with them, but there is no connection because from your point of view, it is one sided.
Or, if you've written a composition for a class, and you get a 'complete' in the gradebook, and the teacher just shrugs and says "I read it, isn't that enough?" when you ask for feedback or you ask what they thought about it.
People don't need essays about the way your work affected them (but tbf, we LOVE those), just to have more than an icon, a number, a little faceless blip on the screen. I want to know WHAT connects so I know where I am succeeding, what is connecting, HOW the story is coming across, if you love my stupid little blorbos, because I love them and I want you to love them, too.
If someone's work connects with you, connect back. It's free. It's FUN, because I LOVE responding to comments. You build a community rather than a creator- passive consumer relationship and in this capitalist hellscape nightmare, I think it is something we all need, artists especially.
You never thought you'd see Jason again after he helped fix your flat tire two months ago, but you do. In the midst of getting to know him more, you realize you may be too different, and you fear Jason realizes it too.
🔧 P: mechanic!Jason Todd x wealthy!Reader | G: Fluff, angst, strangers to lovers | WC: 7.2k
🔧 TWs: Reader has she/her pronouns, AU where Jason is not the Red Hood, strict parents, petnames (princess, kitty cat), nothing else I can think of but LMK!
🔧 A/N: This turned out to be way longer than I anticipated, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! 😅 And thank you for all the love given to the first part! I wasn't expecting that! <333
Read Part One
masterlist | read on ao3
this blog is 18+. minors do not follow. plz & ty!
"Come on! Don't you think this will be perfect for your party?" Elli exclaims while holding a yellow sundress against her body.
You peer from around a clothes rack to see.
Rebekah tilts her head, then shakes it after a few seconds. "It washes you out."
"Ugh! Yn! What do you think?" Elli asks when she notices you tuning into their conversation.
Your eyes flicker between your friends. The dress Elli has is simple and cute, but unfortunately does not work with her complexion.
"Sorry, Elli. I agree with Bekah, but the style is nice," you reply.
Elli dramatically dips her mouth down and slips the hanger back on the rack.
You flip through the clothes in front of you again, mindlessly browsing. Since Rebekah's birthday is this weekend, she implored you both to go shopping for a new outfit.
Elli gasps loudly. Seems like she found something else.
"No, he's not wearing a uniform," Elli tries to whisper, but her shock makes it impossible.
"How has he not gotten kicked out yet?" Rebekah asks.
You glance at them huddled in the corner. You follow their line of sight and nearly gasp loudly, too. However, yours stems from a different reason.
The mechanic who had helped with your flat tire nearly two months ago stands on the other side of the store. He's with a younger boy who you can't really see, but from their body language, neither seems too thrilled to be here.
Jason nods in a direction, and the other turns to leave.
You throw a dekko at your friends. They've angled their bodies away, but you can tell they're still side-eyeing and complaining under their breath. You roll your eyes as anger licks up your arms. The emotion comes unexpectedly since you're not close to him. But you remember him being nice to you despite your standoffish demeanor.
If you didn't know Jason, would you be doing the same?
Disgust fills your veins. You would hope not.
Jason starts to walk out of sight. He could go about his day without ever knowing you were here. Heck, you probably wouldn't have known he was here either if it weren't for your friends. You wonder how many times you've passed him in your life without being aware.
Before your friends call you over, you slip between racks to get to Jason.
He's a few feet away, and suddenly, self-doubt clouds your decision. Perhaps this was a mistake. It's not like you were the most cordial when you first met, and he probably loathes the wealthy, considering where he works. Though it didn't feel like he hated you back then.
Perhaps that's what's drawing you to him, because this is out of character for you. This should've stayed a one-time interaction, considering the crowd he's involved with.
Will he even remember you? Most likely, but not for the reason you hope.
But it's too late to turn back.
Jason grunts in dissatisfaction as he spins around and slams into you.
"Shit," he mutters as he stumbles forward. His hands reach past your body to stop his momentum.
Meanwhile, your hands clutch his leather jacket at his sides while you try to get your footing.
Once his hands find something to latch onto, he stares down with concern.
"Sorry, are you—" His blue eyes grow; recognition sinks in.
"H-Hi," you say, utterly embarrassed. You're acutely aware of how close he is. He may not be pressed against you, but he might as well be with how you can feel his body heat radiate off him.
"Yn?" he asks, which makes your heart race faster.
"Yeah," you lamely reply.
He blinks as if he's imagining it's you he's caged in. Then, he chuckles.
"How's your tire?" That handsome grin from your nightmares appears.
"Fine," you say, because you can't think of what else to say that won't make you ramble off irrelevant information.
As he pulls away, you quickly retract your hands like they've been burned.
"Sorry," you sheepishly say.
"Don't worry 'bout it. You alright?"
You nod.
"What are you doing here?" He glances around. "In the men's section, for that matter."
"O-Oh, I'm here with friends, but then I saw you and wanted to say hi. I didn't mean to interrupt your shopping, though. I'm sorry for the trouble I caused."
Jason listens to your hurried words with soft eyes.
"You didn't need to know all that, did you? Sorry!"
"Stop apologizing," he says gently. "I'm just waiting for something."
"Are you here alone?" You know he isn't, but it felt like a reasonable volley.
"No, I'm with f—"
"Yn, is this man bothering you?" Elli's shrilling voice rings loudly in the store. No doubt did she speak clamorously on purpose.
You spin to turn your back on Jason and give your friends a subtle warning. You would've been grateful if the person were an actual threat.
"No, I know him," you answer just as loudly. The last thing you need is to attract attention to Jason. Which, now that you think of it, how can he afford to shop here?
Rebekah does a judgmental once-over. If it weren't for the clothes hung over an arm, she would've crossed them.
"Are you sure you're not mistaking him for someone else? Sorry, but he doesn't seem like someone you'd know."
There's an underlying accusation in her tone. Jason is someone you shouldn't know, nor is he someone who should be here.
Your friends' behaviors have sometimes gotten on your nerves, but never as much as they do right now.
"Actually,"—you shift so you can see Jason too—"I was just asking him if he'd like to be my plus one at your party this weekend, Bekah."
Jason quirks an eyebrow in question. He crosses his arms over his chest, and darn, does he look even scarier like that. Hopefully, that's not because he's annoyed with your unexpected invitation.
Your friends suck in a breath. It's either because of his daunting stance or your unforeseen invite. Elli stutters as she tries to form words.
"I-I thought you were bringing Nick," Rebekah says. You never said you were bringing your brother, but it seems that's who she would like to come.
"He said he was busy." You lie and gesture to Jason. "Anyway, this is who helped me with my flat months ago."
You say it as if it'll make them relax and say, "Oh! Thank you for helping our friend. Please join us this weekend!"
They don't.
Instead, they still seem apprehensive.
"I see," Elli murmurs and glances at Rebekah.
Jason clears his throat and opens his mouth, but someone else speaks first.
"Ladies, is everything okay?"
Walking up behind Jason is an all too familiar face.
Jason's amused expression turns slightly sour.
"N-No! All good, Mr. Wayne, sir," Elli says in a hurry.
"Glad to hear," Bruce replies, like he expected that answer. He lays a heavy hand on Jason's shoulder. "Your suit is ready, son."
Son?
Your gaze flickers down to see the younger guy you spotted earlier. Slowly, you realize who it is.
Damian Wayne looks eager to leave. He does a quick sweep of your small group before averting his gaze to the exit.
It makes sense now how Jason can be here. He's one of Bruce freaking Wayne's sons.
Elli and Rebekah stare at Jason with newfound adoration.
Jason says, "I'll be over in a second."
Bruce nods to show he got the cue to leave, but he lingers a few seconds longer than necessary before he turns.
"I'm grateful to have been invited," Jason says while uncrossing his arms. "But I've got work."
"Oh, right," you mumble, disappointed and ashamed that you forgot he probably still works on the weekends.
"If you change your mind, it'll be at the garden at noon. I'd love to see you there!" Rebekah says with a charming smile.
It's astonishing how she doesn't even try to hide her change in attitude towards his attendance. Jason must experience that a lot.
"Thanks," Jason says, then glances at you. "Can we have a moment?"
Your friends nod enthusiastically and scurry away, but they remain in sight as they watch with curious, beady eyes.
Jason steps in front of you, blocking their view. You're not sure if it was intentional, but you want to thank him anyway.
"Sorry I can't make it," he says lowly.
"No, I'm sorry I didn't properly invite you. To be fair, I wasn't thinking about it when I came over, but my friends can be so closed off sometimes. I wanted them to get to know other people. I should've been considerate about your work schedule."
Jason hums in agreement to your nicely-worded description.
"So, y'planned to use me as a guinea pig?"
Your mouth falls open. "What? No! Of course not, Jason. I just thought it'd be nice to have someone who wasn't so… um…"
"Stuck up?"
You sigh and rub one of your arms. Is that how he perceived you when you were scared of him and his neighborhood? You always thought you were more welcoming to "outsiders," but perhaps it was a false reality.
"I was kidding, but I get it," he replies. "Maybe another time."
You doubt there will be, but you had also believed you'd never see him again, yet here he is. And now that your friends know you know one of Bruce Wayne's sons, they probably will try to convince you to bring him over more.
"I'd better go before Bruce blows his top," he says.
You swallow the lump in your throat. "Right."
Jason stuffs his hands in his pockets and nods.
"It was nice seeing you again, Kitty Cat."
Your sadness dissipates momentarily, and a grin overtakes your features. It's a cringy nickname, but because it was specifically given to you by him, it feels nice.
"You too, Tire Boy."
It's Jason's turn to scrunch his nose.
He steps away and says, "Next time I see you, I hope y'have a better nickname for me."
Next time.
"I'll try," you reply.
With one final wink, he heads off without a look back.
"You didn't tell us that mechanic boy was Bruce Wayne's son!" Elli whisper-shouts. It's not shocking that they've bombarded you the second Jason walked away.
"I didn't know either." You defend.
"You think he's doing spy stuff over there?" Rebekah asks.
You hadn't considered that being the reason he works in the poverty-stricken area of Gotham, but he seemed too content in the shop just to be doing it as a covert mission. After all, why would Bruce's son be chosen for something like that?
Your curiosity for Jason grows.
"No," you belatedly answer. Wanting to airt the conversation, you say, "What did you pick out, Bekah? Are you ready to try anything on?"
That gets them back on track again. Rebekah shows you what she's slung over her arm. After your approval, she goes to the dressing rooms. Elli follows shortly after.
While you're flicking through the clothes as you wait, you feel a pair of eyes on you.
Jason stares at you from across the store. He and Damian stand near the exit while Bruce is at the checkout counter.
The moment he catches your gaze, he smiles. He glances at the hanger you stopped on and tilts his head. Your brows kiss at his reaction.
You lift the item and see it's a form-fitting navy blue dress.
You peer at Jason, who shakes his head. You laugh softly when you realize what he's doing.
You hook the hanger back and sift through the choices again. You pull off a short, black dress.
Jason's mouth dips as his brows raise in a "not bad." You nod and hang it over your arm. After showing him six more dresses, you've added three more to your arm. They're a mix of red and black, which are not your typical colors for outfits.
Bruce walks over when you're in the middle of showing Jason another dress. The older man glances at you, then back at Jason. He must say something because Jason's mouth moves a few seconds later. He continues to look at you, though, which makes your heart flame.
"How's this, Yn?"
You tear your focus from Jason to Rebekah. She dons a pretty tan and white lace dress.
"That looks great on you," you answer. And it does by hugging her curves perfectly.
"You think?" She sighs. "Elli thinks it's boring."
"Classy isn't boring," you say and turn to see Jason. However, he isn't there anymore. You only see the tail end of a black car as it leaves.
A heavy sigh falls from your mouth as you set down the hanger you're holding.
"Hey, wait! That's gorgeous," Rebekah says.
"Huh?"
"That dress you have! It's totally different from what you normally wear."
You pull the dress out again. It's red with a tight bodice and flowy bottom. Although Jason isn't here to give his input, the color matches his preferences. It's silly to even consider his opinion when he's one, a man, and two, someone you barely know. Though the thought of him smiling widely at you wearing it makes you hang the garment over your arm.
Rebekah nods in approval and takes your hand. "Seems like you're ready to join us finally."
You laugh and let her lead you to the dressing room.
Even though Jason said he won't be able to make it, wearing something that reminds you of him is enough to have you swiping your card later.
When you first encountered Jason, all you could think about was the rumors you heard about the people in the slums. How they were slimy and manipulative, who would take advantage of your kindness to get you to empty your wallet.
But if that's the case, Jason is an exception.
However, being Bruce's son automatically puts him in another category. Is he not sleezy only because he doesn't need to be? He's surely well off already.
Perhaps the rumors are still true.
But even before you knew about Jason's family ties, you thought of him more than you would've liked. Especially after you found the tip money in your center console a few days later.
You were stunned to discover it since it was difficult to understand why someone with little money would turn down such an amount. It makes sense now.
Though it only proves Jason isn't a money-hungry man.
You can't remember the last time you were this hung up over a man. Your parents always try to shove a possible suitor in your face, but none of them have ever captivated your attention.
You had tried to get Jason out of your head because you knew your parents would never approve. It was an inane thing to fret over, considering you were not planning to go back and make friends with him. If you tried something now, would Jason just see you as a gold digger?
You groan as you set down your eyeliner. "Maybe it's good he's not coming."
"Who's not coming?"
You jump and glance at your doorway. Your brother wears a dress shirt and slacks with slicked-back hair.
"You look ridiculous." You huff instead. You didn't mean to voice your thoughts, so you hope Nicholas lets it go.
"So do you! I don't think I've ever seen you wear red."
"Maybe it's time for a change." You shrug.
"Has Mom seen you yet?"
You turn around, but you can still see him in your vanity's mirror.
"No, but I don't see why she would care."
Nicholas laughs with an eye roll. "Yeah, right."
"Did you have something you needed, Nick?" you ask and swipe on a matching wing on your other eye. You don't need a reminder of how your mom will claim you're dressing too "raunchy," and how no man will be attracted to someone who looks like they climb into any bed they see.
"I just wanted to see if you were ready," he answers and steps inside your room to sit on the bench by the foot of your bed.
"Almost."
You resume your makeup while he fiddles with his phone.
After twenty minutes, you're sliding on your heels and jewelry while Nicholas tucks Rebekah's gift under his arm.
You're almost to the door when your mom's voice stops you.
"Yn?" Her tone is harsh.
"Yes, Mother?" you ask, reluctantly turning around.
"Heavens, what is that dress?" She scrutinizes your look from head to toe.
"It's something new I bought," you reply. It's not one Jason chose specifically, but he chose the color indirectly.
"What about that baby blue one I got you last week? I think that'll be more suitable for Rebekah's birthday, don't you?" She eyes you like she's trying to entice you to agree.
While the dress she's referring to is nice, it's similar to several dresses in your wardrobe. They're almost like carbon copies.
"I wanted something different. I'll wear the blue dress another time."
Your mother clicks her tongue. "Darling, I think it'd be best if you change into that now. I'll have Francis return the one you're wearing."
Normally, you would relent to end the conversation, but the moment you had tried on the dress four days ago, you fell in love. It hugs your chest beautifully and flares slightly at the waist to give an ethereal look. You can't imagine giving it to one of your butlers to return.
"I would." You lie. "But we're going to be late if I do."
You grab your brother's hand and start dragging him out the door. "Sorry, Mom! I'll see to returning it tomorrow."
The moment you slide into the passenger seat, your brother huffs an "I told you so."
You stay silent, ignoring him as you smooth out your dress. Even though you defied your mother and lied about your intention to return it, you know you'll never be able to wear it again. You'll have to hide it, which may be nearly impossible when the staff comes to clean. They can be so thorough.
Annoyingly, a smidge of doubt wiggles its way under your skin. Your mother has always had a say in your fashion, so hearing her vehemently disapprove of your dress makes you both disappointed and irate. Although you were feeling pretty and confident in your room, your mom's words dimmed your lights.
"Don't drink too much," your brother warns while he parks.
"You're one to talk," you reply with an eye roll. Last weekend, one of his friends called you to pick him up because he was drunk.
"Whatever." He gruffs and slides out of the car, not bothering to wait for you.
"Prick," you mutter, watching as he greets his friends. You grab Rebekah's gift, then climb out of the car. Figuring Nicholas took the keys, you lock the car from the inside.
"Yn!" Elli hollers. She wears a similar sundress she found days ago, but in another color.
"Hi, Elli," you greet and exchange a hug.
"You look beautiful! I'm glad you chose to wear this one today." She beams. "It's so bold."
"Thanks. You look beautiful too," you say. Your friend's parents are strict about their fashion choices, too, but not so much with the colors.
Elli grins big and bumps shoulders with you playfully. She loops an arm through yours and guides you to where the main party is.
There are about thirty people here already. Some linger in the open grass field while others sit at the long table nearby.
Rebekah had wanted an outside party since the weather had been nice lately. The heat and humidity are reasonable, and a gentle breeze occasionally floats through the air.
Unlit string lights hang overhead while a vast array of flowers is scattered along the walkway.
"Wow," you mutter, eyes dancing around the venue.
"Gorgeous, right?" Rebekah says as she stops next to you. She wears the tan dress Elli deemed boring. Although you thought otherwise, her styling definitely elevates the look.
You hum in agreement and open your arms for a hug.
"Happy birthday, Bekah!" you cheer.
She smiles and leans in to reciprocate the embrace. "Thanks, babe."
When she sees your gift, she calls over a staff member to take it and put it with the others.
"I thought you said your brother was busy," Elli says as loud laughter echoes.
You glance around and spot him and his friends at the table. They already have cans of beer in their hands, which you internally roll your eyes at.
"His plans got canceled." You shrug and redirect your attention.
"I better go say hi," Rebekah says. She takes one step forward, then pauses. "Do you know if your mechanic is coming?"
"He's not—Ah, never mind. No, I don't," you reply.
"That's a shame," she says.
"It is!" Elli concurs. "I was hoping to get to know him more."
"It was Mason, right?" Rebekah questions.
"Jason." You correct, a spark of irritation igniting within you. It's understandable to forget someone's name, but you wonder how much is due to genuine forgetfulness and how much is due to carelessness.
Your lips purse as you refrain from adding a snide remark.
"Me too," Rebekah says with a small frown. "We'll start lunch soon. You both can sit next to me."
You and Elli nod before she leaves to welcome more guests. Although you get a few stares, you don't feel as out of place as your mother was making you feel. It restores a bit of your confidence, but not all of it.
Rebekah calls everyone to the table ten minutes later. She sits at the head while you and Elli flank her on the sides. The staff comes shortly after everyone's settled to serve the drinks and the first round of appetizers.
"It looks so good!" Elli says excitedly.
"Just wait until the dessert!" Rebekah exclaims. "I've only been here once, but I remember their—"
A low rumble of a motorcycle interrupts the conversations around the table. A few minutes later, a tall, handsome figure emerges from around the corner.
Jason's tousled hair and all-black attire make him stick out like a sore thumb. However, it's almost criminal how good he looks despite breaking the norm.
Your lips split into a smile at his attendance.
Jason finds you easily, and when he does, your heart bursts at his growing grin.
"You came!" Rebekah exclaims as she stands.
Jason nods and walks toward the table. Like before, a staff member quickly retrieves the small gift box in his hand. He mutters a thanks and readjusts the helmet that's tucked under his arm.
"I'm so glad you could join us," she says and holds a hand out toward the few available seats. "Please take a seat anywhere."
Unfortunately, there are no empty seats next to you, so he's forced to sit across and slightly to the right. The woman next to him looks conflicted, like she doesn't know if she should run for the hills or run into his arms.
You know which one you'd choose, and it better not be the same as her answer.
The thought has you tightening your hold on your fork. It's a ridiculous reaction. You still barely know him.
Jason catches your stare, and one corner of his mouth quirks up like he knows what you're thinking. Heat creeps up your cheeks as you avert your eyes.
This time, your brother snags your gaze. His lips are downturned, and he takes a sip of his beer as if he needs to forget he saw you interacting with someone who appears out of your class. If only he knew.
Conversation gradually picks up again. Jason doesn't get spoken to, but he doesn't seem offended. His eyes wander as the hour passes, and whenever he finds you staring, a small smile always forms.
"I can't believe he came," Elli says quietly from across the table.
Rebekah nods, but her eyes are on Jason. There's a spark in them that makes your skin crawl.
"What's he like?" Rebekah asks and turns to you.
You stare at her for a moment that teeters on being awkward. "Uh, he's nice."
"That's all you have to say?" Elli leans in as she does when there's gossip.
You raise your shoulders and move around the food on your plate.
"I don't really know him," you answer. Maybe that can change today.
Rebekah flicks her gaze in Jason's direction briefly. "But he didn't seem to hate us, right? Have you talked to him since the other day?"
"No," you say.
"To which one?"
"Both."
Your friends look pleased by your answer and resume eating.
When it's time for dessert, a big cake comes out and everyone begins singing in unison. Rebekah looks surprised, but you bet she had this planned.
"Thank you all so much for coming! It's so great to see everyone's faces," Rebekah says, eyes scanning the table. "The party doesn't end after dessert, so please feel free to stay and mingle."
"Don't forget to make a wish," Elli adds quietly.
Rebekah smiles and closes her eyes. She takes a big breath, then extinguishes the candles. Applause erupts around the table along with a chorus of extra "happy birthdays".
After the staff assists in cutting and serving pieces of cake, the table grows rowdy again. The conversations around you range from the latest technology advancements to Gotham's hottest scandals. Not entertained to listen further, you peer at Jason across the table.
Your heart nearly explodes when you see he's already looking at you.
He takes a bite of his cake, and you suppress a giggle when a bit of frosting lingers on a corner of his mouth. You lift a finger and brush along the edge of your mouth to send a silent message. He mimics your motion and chuckles when he sees the frosting. With his eyes still locked on yours, he brings his thumb to his lips and sucks it clean.
Your sight flickers down at your plate as an unusual tingle tickles up to your chest. Are you really reacting to something so simple? How juvenile of you.
Rebekah begins the mingling session by leaving her seat and heading to Jason. He peers up when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He had seen her stand, but refocused on his empty plate quickly after.
She shines a bright smile and starts up a conversation. You force your attention away so you're not caught staring, even though the devil on your shoulders prods you with her pitchfork to do otherwise.
Before temptation lures your focus back to them, someone calls your name behind you.
One of your brother's friends, Frederick, stands closely. He's a candidate your parents have chosen for your future spouse, but neither of you has made a move to get to know each other. He seems perfectly content drinking and enjoying his single life, so his presence is surprising.
"Hi, Frederick," you say.
"It's good seeing you again."
"You too."
"You, uh, look nice," he mutters.
"Thanks," you say slowly. Then, out of courtesy, you compliment him back.
"Hm," he hums and shifts his weight. "My parents are hosting a gala the weekend of the first. Are you free to come?"
"W-With you?" you wonder, hoping his answer is no.
He shrugs. "Yeah. I can have someone pick you up."
You try to keep your expression neutral. His flat tone evaporates any sincerity the question should contain.
"I'll check my schedule and get back to you, okay?" you ask, even though you know you don't have anything in three weeks.
"Yeah, I guess that works," he says, like he wasn't expecting that answer. He takes a step back. "I'll see you around."
You nod, turning to face your front again. However, the people around you are no longer present. Everyone's scattered around the lot to converse. Jason isn't in his seat either.
You push your chair back in preparation to stand, but a soft grunt and resistance stop you.
"Sorry!" you exclaim as you crane your neck to see who you hit.
Jason's hands grip the back of your chair, a smirk on his handsome face. "I figured you'd be more grateful toward me, but you just seem to keep putting me in dangerous situations."
"I'm sorry." You giggle. "Are you hurt?"
He shakes his head and carefully pulls the chair back, which earns him a small squeak of surprise from you.
"Fancy a getaway?" he asks, offering his arm.
Your hands ease from gripping the edge of the chair as a smile grows.
"Please," you say, curling your hand around his arm and standing. It's ludicrous how your brain picks up on the muscles in his forearm like some sick, giddy teenager.
He leads you behind a large tree that's at the edge of the field. It's quiet this far away from the party.
Jason shrugs off his leather jacket and lays it neatly on the grass. Your eyes widen in shock.
"Prefer not to sit on the ground, princess?" he asks teasingly.
"The ground is fine!" You huff quickly and lift your dress to sit. You sit on the edge so there's room for him, but it's a fruitless effort since there's not much space left.
"And I'm not a princess," you say defiantly. You're not that snobbish.
Jason bows anyway, a hand over his chest. "Apologies, Kitty Cat."
You scoff a laugh and reach out to playfully swipe at his leg.
"Sit down, Jason," you say in a gentle demand. A lightness fills your chest at the easy-going banter.
Jason laughs, plopping down directly onto the grass, not even attempting to fit on his jacket.
Your mouth falls in a gasp. "You're going to ruin more of your clothes."
"I'm not scared of a little dirt, Yn," he replies.
"Bruce won't get mad?"
You'd refer to him as Jason's dad, but since Jason didn't do that at the store, you don't either.
"He has other stuff to worry 'bout than clothes." Jason eyes you like he's analyzing your response. "Would you get into trouble if y'ruined your dress?"
You laugh dryly and straighten out the fabric. If you came home in filth, your mother would surely lecture you into the next century. This time might be an exception, however.
"Actually, my mother would probably be happy if I ruined it."
Jason scrunches his brows. "How come?"
You glance at him. You consider making a joke to keep the conversation light, but Jason's not like anyone you've met before. There's a feeling akin to comfort being near him. If you could have a deep conversation with anyone, it would be him.
"It would give her another excuse to get rid of it," you reply.
"Why didn't she like it?"
Jason could've ended the conversation there and redirected to another topic, but it's sweet that he's interested. Or at least, it's nice he's acting like he is.
You wave a hand like it's not a big deal. "She has a thing for hating red. She finds it too sultry and thinks it'll dwindle my chance of finding a husband."
Not wanting to seem like you're dumping your problems onto him, you question, "Does Bruce monitor your fashion choices too? Does he worry about you finding a partner?"
Jason's eyes are narrowed slightly, but he doesn't look at you with animosity.
"Is this your first time wearin' red?"
Out of all the responses he could've given, he gave that one. It makes you self-conscious, and you instinctively tuck your legs closer and cross an arm over your body.
"Was my mother right? Is it too unflattering?" you ask.
Jason shakes his head earnestly. "Your mother's very wrong. You look stunning today, Yn. I'm surprised one of those fools hasn't already asked for your hand today."
"I-I'm flattered, Jason." You laugh shyly. "But I've met them all before, and they weren't interested then. I highly doubt they suddenly find me wife material."
"Well, I did say they were fools, no?" He smiles.
You giggle and nudge his shoulder with yours.
"Is it one I chose?" he asks.
"N-No, sorry." You hope your voice isn't as shaky as you feel. You've never had anyone besides your mother and friends help choose clothes.
"That's a shame. I'll do better in the future," he says kindly, giving you the impression he's being genuine.
The flutter in your chest has you shifting.
"I—Uh, um, what about Bruce?" you stammer. "Does he care what you wear?"
From your understanding, a majority of your friends' parents are particular about their kids' lives. From their attire to their mannerisms. There's always something to pick on. While not all their reasoning seems sound, it's difficult to break away from the beliefs and standards you were raised with.
"Bruce only cares that we play the part," he says and leans against the tree trunk. "How'd you fare I'm doing?"
There's a mischievous glimmer in his ocean eyes that invites you to tease him.
You scan his clothes.
"Unfortunately, you fare badly," you say. "Black jeans and a black tee? You're dressed too casually and in too dark clothes."
Jason smirks. "That so?"
"You will scare off potential suitors," you parrot your mother's words.
"Are you scared?" he inquires in a lower register.
"W-What?" Your heart pumps rapidly at the idea of him thinking of you having a chance of being his wife.
He leans a hand on the jacket and brings his face closer. Your spine straightens, eyes unblinking.
"You were scared of me two months ago. Are you still scared?"
You swallow harshly and shake your head.
"You sure? 'Cause it looks like you're 'bout to take off running."
"N-No," you stammer.
"No, you're not sure?" he wonders.
You gasp. "No! I mean, yes! I mean… Dang it! No, I'm not running away. You don't scare me anymore."
Jason's quiet for a few beats, and then he's laughing.
"That's good to know," he responds, sitting back against the tree and leaving your personal space.
You exhale a long breath to rid your nerves and readjust yourself on the jacket.
"Are you not working today?" you question, recalling how he wasn't supposed to show up—not that you aren't glad for the change of plans.
Jason laughs. "When Elijah caught wind of me turning down a party to work, he sent me home."
"Really? He was serious?" You would think his boss would've needed two weeks in advance.
"Very! If I had tried to come back, he would've driven me here himself."
Elijah's older face pops into your head. You recall their friendly interaction and wonder if that's the norm for them. Is that common for all bosses and their subordinates?
"He seems… nice," you state.
Jason nods. "You should stop by again."
"O-Oh. I… I don't think that will be best," you deny as politely as you can.
"You said you weren't scared of me," he says.
"And I'm not." You pause. "But they're not like us."
"Like us?" The small smile that was growing quickly reverses.
You freeze at his change. It's clear you don't need to clarify what you meant.
Jason averts his gaze ahead to the sea of trees. "So, are you only not afraid of me 'cause I've got money?"
"No! But… But it did help."
He's silent.
Shame looms over you like a forbidding shadow. If you were discussing this with Elli and Rebekah, there would be no contemplation about your sentiment.
Jason shifts, and for a second, you fear he's going to leave. However, he only angles himself to face you more, making your heart both ease with relief, then speed up again from his intense gaze.
"I may upset you when I tell you this, but the people here are more likely to take advantage of your money than those at the shop."
"But not the slums in total," you refute.
Jason hardens his eyes. "Corruption, manipulation, and greed are everywhere. Gotham strives on it."
You remain idle as you try to listen to him objectively, but everything you've been told about the people there slams into you from the opposite side.
"There may be more crime there, according to the news, but what about the crimes here that don't get reported?"
"What do you mean?" you ask.
"What about the corruption in the police force? Or the manipulation and blackmail of some of the top corporations?"
"Is Bruce corrupt?" Considering Wayne Enterprises is amongst the top corporations…
"No."
Jason's haste takes your breath away. For some reason, you expected him to dance around the answer or make an excuse for why he is.
But he does neither.
It could be from his loyalty to Bruce being his father, or his obliviousness to the crimes.
Jason sighs and leans in until you're staring at him again. You hadn't realized you had even broken eye contact in the first place, but the war inside makes it difficult to think clearly.
"I hope one day you'll realize the people you are so scared of are more than their stereotypes."
His voice is slow, calm, and crestfallen. The weight of it all drags your heart to the pit of your stomach.
"I—" you start to form an excuse, a plea, anything to get him to stop looking at you like this.
"There you are." Nicholas interrupts as he rounds the tree trunk. Jason instantly starts to stand while you jerk back with a small yelp.
There's an odd clench in your chest seeing Jason pull away so quickly. You hope it's not from being ashamed of being caught with you; you two weren't doing anything.
Your brother doesn't cast his gaze at Jason despite knowing he's present.
"Mother's on the phone," is all he says. Your eyes land on his phone that's now outstretched toward you. Nicholas's expression is rigid and causes dread to weigh you down. However, you know if you don't take the phone soon, you'll have another issue to worry about.
You reluctantly place the device against your ear.
"Hi, Mom," you say.
"I just got off the phone with Mr. Sullivan," Mother begins her complaint. As soon as you begin standing, Jason's hand appears in front of you. You send a tight-lipped smile his way and take it. Its size and strength beneath your palm distract you from whatever your mom is saying.
"…to go with him. That's absurd, Yn! That was a wonderful invitation, and you just embarrassed him. You will find Frederick and accept his offer. Then, you will come home."
So, that's what this is about.
Your eyes are cast low as you subtly lower the volume. One, because her voice grates on your nerves. Two, in case Jason can hear.
You don't dare make eye contact with him as you're being scolded. You're well into adulthood, yet it never gets easier having your mother berate you like a disorderly child in front of your friends—if he even is that. You could have just ruined any possible chance of that with your prejudiced mindset.
And it's then that you start to realize you're similar to Elli and Rebekah in more ways than you had wanted to admit.
"Now, you're not listening?" Your mother scoffs with uncontained anger. "You have half an hour to accept Frederick's invite and get home before I start revoking your cards."
It should be an insignificant threat, but your life has always been about money. The thought of not having any scares you.
"Do you understand, Yn?"
You exhale slowly. "Yes, Mother."
"Good."
The line goes dead.
There's a second where the world feels frozen. The view of the green grass shatters into pieces, only to be rebuilt with new low-saturated panels. It invigorates you, yet there's a dullness that wades at the fringe.
You're reminded of the life you're meant to live and realize the escape you were subconsciously chasing was inevitably going to crumble.
You pull your lips into a smile and hand your brother his phone back, eyes moving to Jason. He stares at you with clouded concern, but you don't entertain it.
"I'm sorry we have to cut this short," you say formally. "Thank you for the chat. It was lovely speaking with you."
You don't see his response because you're already turning away. It shouldn't shock you that he doesn't call out, nor does he race to stop you, but there's still a pang in your chest regardless.
It was foolish to think you could have a life beyond your norm. Thank goodness it was brief, because you don't know if you could handle rejecting it if you were more involved.
Besides, you may never have been accepted, you think as you find Frederick by the bar.
Jason may not have hated you, but he's not like the others. They would've ostracized you.
It's better this way, you convince yourself as you agree to be his date.
Less inner turmoil. Minimal drama. Fewer risks.
Frederick has no reaction and informs you when his driver will drop by your house. You nod because that's what's expected of you.
You bid Rebekah and Elli goodbye because your mother is waiting for you.
Nicholas peers at you as he drives. He chuckles.
"Your rebellious phase didn't last long, did it?"
It's not the first time to be a victim of his teasing, but this comment makes you want to lean over and wring his neck. Your hands clench, and your jaw ticks. Leave it to your brother to awaken your violent thoughts.
"But your drinking phase did," you mutter.
Nicholas huffs. "I don't drink that often."
"If I drank as much as you, Mom would spiral more than she is now."
"That's because she cares about you more."
You laugh loudly, yet the humor is absent. "That's absurd."
He shrugs. A split second passes where you don't believe him, but it's a fact she doesn't dot on him as much as she does you. Your father does, but not to the extent that your mother does. You always reasoned it to be because you are older.
While the prospect of your parents not liking you is disheartening, you wonder what it'd be like to not live by their high standards.
Maybe you would still be under the tree with Jason. There's still so much you want to know about him. Why does he work when he doesn't need to? Does he live in the slums, or does he live in Wayne Manor?
Maybe you wouldn't need their approval for everything. You can't believe you once worried about your parents' opinion of him, as if that time would have come. However, now that you remember what's important to your parents, you realize they would have bypassed his poor fashion and mediocre job so you could inherit his wealth.
But it doesn't matter that Jason comes from one of the richest families in Gotham. He will never accept you as anything more than a civilian he helped with a flat tire, because you proved he was right about you.
You're stuck-up and judgmental. You'll always look down on those from the slums.
So, when you arrive home, you do as your mother requested that afternoon. You hand the red dress to Francis to return the next morning.
Red never suited you anyway.
A/N: Part 3 coming soon! I'm also welcome to any ideas for Jason's nickname! 😁 Whose POV did you like more? Jason's or the reader's? 🤔
For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics more anonymously and privately. ^-^
When Jason stumbles upon a shiny, unscathed car in the slums, he knows something's wrong. Inside is a fearful driver—paranoid and anxious from being stranded. Jason could ignore you, but how can he when he's a mechanic and knows how to fix your problem?
🔧 P: mechanic!Jason Todd x Reader | G: Fluff, strangers to lovers | WC: 3k |
🔧 TWs: Reader has she/her pronouns, AU where Jason is not the Red Hood, nothing else I can think of but LMK!
🔧 A/N: Been writing this on and off for a while, so I'm glad I finally finished it! This is also the first time I've written Jason where I actively don't think of him as Red Hood 🥹 Look at me trying new things omg
masterlist | read on ao3
this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty! (ageless/minors/blanks blogs will be blocked)
It's a rare sunny day in Gotham, and Jason takes advantage of it by having his lunch at a nearby park. Although he has an hour break from his job as a mechanic, he typically goes back early. It's not because he's a workaholic, though some will claim otherwise, but he simply enjoys his job. He enjoys helping people, and there's a sense of accomplishment in resolving problems.
Jason rests his back against the tree trunk; his motorcycle is parked beside him. He's silent as his eyes snag and follow random people milling about. People watching, some call it. He never considered himself a fan of it, but the more he watches, the more he's lured into the so-called hobby. Each of these individuals is experiencing life differently. Each of these individuals is going through their own challenges, even if they don't show it on their faces. He knows it's an obvious observation, but it's one he doesn't always think about.
Everyone has their own story.
By the time Jason has finished his food, thirty minutes have passed. He crumbles his sandwich wrap paper, dumps it in the nearest bin, then ascends his bike. After a last sip of water before he tosses it in his backpack, he slides his helmet on and sets off back to the shop.
Jason's used to seeing vehicles broken down or barely running in the neighborhood. Countless of them need a multitude of fixes and paint repairs; however, he knows a lot of them don't have the finances for it all. He tries to offer discounts when he can, but he can only do so much. Thus, there's still a good overflowing handful of beaten-up vehicles around. So when he drives by a shiny silver sedan parked on the side of the street with its hazard lights on, he knows it doesn't belong here.
Driven by curiosity, he makes a U-turn and slowly approaches the car. He parks behind it, trying to assess the situation as he turns off his ignition. He almost smiles when he spots a tire sagging. Easy fix.
Jason flips his visor and approaches the driver's side.
Inside is a frantic person, speaking in a hushed tone of panic and—is that fear?—into a phone by your ear.
When you spot Jason, you jump so high it's comical. Your eyes are wide, and your mouth is open in a silent scream. Jason grins in what he hopes is a friendly manner, forgetting his helmet is covering his mouth.
"Sorry," he says, speaking a little louder than normal so you can hear him through your window. "I saw you have a flat tire and wanted to ask if y'needed help?"
It takes you a second to compose yourself, then you're fiercely shaking your head and hands.
"It's okay!" you call out, voice wavering and eyes darting around. "I have someone coming!"
Perhaps it's all the people watching Jason has done, or maybe it's just so obvious, but he knows what's making you so anxious. This neighborhood isn't sparkly like yours. It's not sunshine and rainbows, but cloudy and stormy.
Jason tries not to take it to heart. He knows his home has a reputation, but there's also good here. Some people work every day to bring that sunshine here, too. He would like to think he's one of them.
"You sure? I'm a mechanic. I can probably get you out of here faster than your help on the way," Jason says. He wants to ask you to roll down your window so he doesn't have to talk loudly anymore, but he doesn't want to frighten you more than he already has.
You wince at being caught feeling uncomfortable, but try to plaster a smile to show differently. Even though it's fake, it's still pretty.
"Yes, thank you. They aren't far," you rush, then turn your head to speak into the phone again. Jason can't decipher your exact words; however, your rigid shoulders and fast talking let him know you're lying. Your help is either not close or not on the way at all.
Jason rubs his lips together in thought. Should he keep insisting or hope you're telling the truth?
Not waiting for you to turn around, he says, "Sorry to bother. Hope you get home safe."
Jason doesn't wait for a reply and heads back to his bike. As he swings a leg over his ride, his eyes linger on the poor tire. It would take ten minutes to fix it, but there's no point in trying to convince you.
When Jason peels away, he catches your stare for a second. It's not long, so he can't be sure, but it looks like there's a hint of relief in your eyes.
Curse his heart for drooping at the sight.
Not only is he aware of the reputation of his home city, but he's also aware of his appearance. He's a big guy. The combination of sharp facial features, muscles, and height is a recipe for intimidation. Although it comes in handy when he wants to ward off potential robbers or scammers, it's hard for people to trust him easily.
"Wow." Frank, one of his close coworkers, whistles when he sees Jason drive up. "Y'nearly took ya full lunch for once!"
Jason chuckles as he parks and removes his helmet. "I stopped to try to help someone."
Frank flips the wrench in his hand, then points it at Jason with a knowing smirk.
"Of course, that's why. Why would ya ever take the full break jus' for yourself?" he teases.
Jason shrugs and walks to the computer to check the work queue. He clicks on the next job in line, reading the details and notes.
It feels weird to continue his day as if he hadn't left you stranded. However, he tries to ignore the nagging guilt. He offered to help. That was better than ignoring you completely.
Yet, he can't let go of the thought of you staying in your car, scared and alone.
Jason works the thoughts away. He distracts himself with each part he repairs, getting lost in the familiarity. He doesn't see many customer faces since he's dug his nose into his work without a break.
It's not until he's covered in grease with a sheen of sweat coating his skin that his boss calls him over.
Jason steps into Elijah's stuffy office while wiping his hands on a towel.
"Hey, boss," Jason greets.
Elijah sits up from picking something from the floor, but he hits his head on his desk, causing a few pens to roll off the surface. Jason hides his smile at his boss's clumsy nature, bending down to pick up the runaway office supplies.
"Thanks." Elijah sighs and lifts a piece of paper he's scribbled on. "Do y'mind doing a quick errand run for me? I'd ask someone else, but Frank's dealing with an upset customer, and Seb's had'a leave early for a family emergency."
Jason takes the paper, glancing at Elijah's messy handwriting. Among the list of service parts is a pack of soda.
Seeing Jason's amused smirk, Elijah says, "It's for all of us, 'kay? Don't give me that look."
Jason shakes his head and tucks the paper in his pocket.
"I didn't say anything." Jason laughs.
"Ya face did," Eljah replies, smiling despite his words.
With a bid farewell, Jason sets off for the quick errand. Thankfully, what Elijah needs doesn't require him to go to the bigger auto shop. Their supplies are more vast, but it's a drive that Jason doesn't feel like taking.
Jason greets the employees as he typically does. He visits often enough that they know him by name, just as he knows the aisles like the back of his hand. Thus, it doesn't take long to gather the supplies needed. He's in and out within fifteen minutes.
When Jason begins his journey back, the unrelenting guilt creeps over his head again. The route to the shop is different than coming from the park, so he won't encounter you. He tries to tell himself to let it go. It's been over an hour since he last saw you. Surely, your help would've shown by now.
Regardless, he can't stop himself from taking a detour.
Jason repeats that you're not there in his mind. You made it to wherever you were heading safely. He says this so much in his head that he nearly convinces himself he's seeing things in the distance. However, the shiny silver is unmistakable.
He doesn't understand why he's parking his motorcycle for the second time. You rejected him. Perhaps he should've sent one of his siblings instead. Maybe one of the friendlier ones could've gotten you out of here sooner. Though there's no escaping when your eyes meet his in your rear-view mirror.
This time in your gaze, there's a hint of desperation alongside the alarm.
Jason tries a different approach and removes his helmet. He rakes a hand through his hair as he walks to your side again, hoping to add some volume to his flat locks.
"Hi," he says through your fully shut window.
Your eyes dance around his face, taking in his new appearance. It seems you remember him—be it from his clothes or his bike, he doesn't know.
"W-What are you doing back?" you ask, leaning slightly from the window. You probably think he's come back to rob you.
"I saw you still had a flat tire," he trails off. "You positive I can't help?"
You bite your lip as you glance at your phone again. Your finger taps the side of the device like you're waging a war inside your head. Finally, you nod.
"Fine. T-That would be nice," you reply.
Jason smiles and points to your trunk. "Ya got a spare?"
"I should," you answer, turning off the ignition and popping the trunk.
Jason moves to the back of your car and lifts the floorboard. Luckily, you have a spare and the tools needed.
Jason is taking them out when you round the car timidly. One arm is across your stomach, holding onto your other arm. Your eyes are constantly moving around you.
Jason wants to reassure you that you'll be fine, but he doesn't want to bring attention to your nerves. Instead, he begins his work. After all, Elijah is waiting for him.
Your eyes settle on him, and your body relaxes slightly. You still scan your environment, but at least you look less like you're about to bolt home and abandon your car.
"You'll need to get to a shop soon," Jason says while unscrewing the last bolt. "And don't drive too fast."
"H-How soon is soon?" you ask.
Jason peers up at you, analyzing your concerned expression. He pops off the tire and slips on the spare.
"I work at a shop nearby. I can replace it for you, if you want," he offers. He's not sure if you'll accept since it took a second try to get you to agree to just this, but from your expression, your destination must not be close.
Jason's screwing on the bolts as you ripple your fingers along your arm.
"It's not far?" you ask, debating internally again.
Jason lowers the car, then pulls the car jack from under it. He tidies the tools as he replies, "No, and I'll put you next in line, so you won't have to wait long."
"You won't get in trouble?"
Jason stands and shoots you a brief smile before returning the flat and tools to your trunk.
"You worried I will?" he asks with a teasing tone.
The corner of your mouth twitches as you fight back your grin.
"I just don't want to be the cause of it."
Jason shuts the trunk and shrugs. "You wouldn't. I'll be doing my job."
You nod, then glance at the spare. Jason stands next to you idly, letting you mentally weigh your options. After a few more seconds, you sigh.
"Okay," you relent.
"You can follow me," he instructs while moving to his bike. However, he stops when he sees you reach out. Your hand hovers in the air awkwardly.
"I—Uh, thank you," you mumble and drop your hand.
Jason chuckles and nods. "It's no problem."
By the time Jason returns, Frank is working on another car, and Elijah is checking a spreadsheet.
"Took ya long 'nough, Todd!" Elijah exclaims when he hears Jason's boots shuffle on the concrete.
"Found a stray." He laughs softly and places the bag of supplies and drinks on the desk. Elijah glances at the doorway and sees you standing meekly.
"I-I'm not a dog," you timidly defend.
Elijah quirks an eyebrow and slightly lifts one corner of his mouth at Jason. He seems amused to see someone like you on this side of the city.
Jason raises a shoulder and offers you a friendly smile. "Stray cats are cute too."
Your mouth drops lightly, and your eyes blink rapidly for a second.
"She's got a flat I'ma take care of real quick," Jason explains.
Elijah nods and tears off a soda from the pack. He glances at you. "If he doesn't do a good job, you jus' come to me, alright?"
You nod anxiously. You're not aware of Elijah's teasing ways, and Jason almost wants to smack his boss on the shoulder for making you more uncomfortable.
"Come on, you can wait in the lobby." Jason gestures to the door, waiting for you to exit before leading the way.
He spends a couple of minutes getting your information into the system. As expected, you live in the nicer part of Gotham that he doesn't often visit unless he's with Bruce. You seem apprehensive as he reads over your personal details, so he makes quick work not to linger.
Jason keeps his word and finishes your repair in under fifteen minutes. Throughout that time, your name lingers in his mind like a buzzing mosquito he can't swat. Something about you has intrigued him. He can't pinpoint the reason since he's used to the weary eyes he gets when he's around Bruce's so-called entourage. Perhaps he's just distracted by a beautiful face.
You're sitting ramrod straight in your chair when he returns to check you out. The second he nods you over, you briskly walk to the counter.
"You're all good to go." He slides your keys across the wood.
"Thanks. How much do I owe you?" you ask while taking out your wallet.
"Nothing."
"N-Nothing?" you squeak. "I don't know much about cars, but surely, I need to pay for your time at least."
Jason shakes his head. "No need. Just happy to help."
Your mouth dips. There's a second where you're both still, but then you pull out two fifty-dollar bills.
"A tip then," you declare.
Jason stops your hand from leaving the money on the counter. Your hand turns rigid beneath his, but there's an odd warmth creeping up his arm from the connection that distracts him from your reaction.
"How 'bout this," Jason says. "If you ever see me in need, then you owe me one."
Jason knows the likelihood of running into you again is slim to none, so he doesn't expect you to actually follow through. You seem to reach a similar conclusion, because you begin shaking your head.
"Please, uh, Todd." The waver in your voice suggests you had tried to recall what Elijah had called him earlier.
"Jason," he corrects kindly.
"Jason," you repeat. "Please take something."
Skepticism breezes through his mind. Your insistent plea and the amount you're offering make him wonder if you pity him. You probably think he needs the money to survive. While that intention is nice, if it's true, he doesn't like the idea of being someone's charity.
Jason forgets his hand is on yours until you pull away, leaving the bills under his calloused palm.
The soft, pleading look in your eyes makes him concede, but the stubbornness in his chest makes him come up with a plan.
He folds the money and slips it into his pocket.
"I'll bring your car to the front."
Your brows knit in puzzlement because you can see your car parked close by. Though, before you can interject, Jason is already halfway toward the door with your keys.
Jason can feel your focus on him as he reverses and drives the few feet to the entrance. He leaves the car running and leans on the open door—a silent summon for you to come out.
You gingerly step out of the building to stand behind the door.
"I appreciate the quick turnaround, Jason. I'm… I'm sorry about my rejection earlier."
Jason waves it off. "Don't worry 'bout it, Stray."
Your nose turns up at the nickname.
Jason laughs. "Kitty? Cat?"
"Kitty cat!" you exclaim with a small disbelieving laugh. It's the first time he's seen your smile not mixed with fear.
"You prefer Stray?"
"I prefer my name."
"If you insist, Yn." He makes a show of enunciating your name.
The small grin grows, but you tuck your chin and slip inside the car before he can admire it.
After ensuring all your limbs are tucked in, he shuts your door. When you roll down your window, he leans down to peer at you, one hand resting on the car's hood.
"Thank you for your help, Jason," you say.
"Anytime," he replies. "Get to where you're heading safely."
"Thanks… Maybe if I see you again, I'll let you call me Kitty Cat."
Jason smirks. "I'll hold you to that."
"Okay." There's a gleam in your eyes that tells him you wouldn't mind the nickname now despite your earlier protests, but he keeps it to himself.
Jason gives one final pat on your hood before he inches away. He offers you more than enough distance before you drive off. His gaze lingers on your shiny sedan as it moves along the uneven roads. There's a bittersweet smile forming on his face as you become a speck in the distance.
Jason meets a lot of people at his job, but none have left such an impression on him as you have.
As he turns to head back into the shop, one question lingers in his mind: How long will it take you to find the one hundred dollars he stuffed in your center console?
A/N: Part 2??? 🫣
For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics more anonymously and privately. ^-^
OMG its almost midnight and i should be sleeping by now but ive been scrolling through your blog for over an hour. Your writing is soooooooooo good, and you are always so nice to your readers i just wanted to take an extra minute and drop this here. You are incredible ✨💖
This is so sweet of you! Thank you for reading my other works! 🥺 I’m so touched that you like my writing style. I always get a little sappy when someone compliments me on that since there are so many talented writers on here!
As for my reader interactions, I’m glad you think so! I’m just trying to be active in the community and find like-minded people 🥰 I don’t know anyone who is a big fan of Jason irl so it’s nice to talk to you all! 😋
"I loved the fic, it was well paced and wonderfully written! The plot was cute and I loved the identity reveal at the end. The reader insert was well written, and I enjoyed that they were pretty gender neutral (it can be hard to find fics that aren't super gendered as a nonbinary person). I also love the idea of having a feedback form for people who may be nervous about, or struggle with, leaving reviews!"
OMFG I cannot believe I never responded to this! I'm sure you forgot you sent this in, but I still want to share my gratitude because I LOVED reading your thoughts on this fic. I'm so glad you liked the pacing, plot, and the characters. I try hard to keep the reader as non-descriptive as I can!
The feedback form is new for me, so I'm glad it's being well-received. Thank you for using it, even though it took me decades to respond! I really liked knowing what made the fic good in your eyes 🥰🩵
When Jason stumbles upon a shiny, unscathed car in the slums, he knows something's wrong. Inside is a fearful driver—paranoid and anxious from being stranded. Jason could ignore you, but how can he when he's a mechanic and knows how to fix your problem?
🔧 P: mechanic!Jason Todd x wealthy!Reader | G: Fluff, strangers to lovers | WC: 3k
🔧 TWs: Reader has she/her pronouns, AU where Jason is not the Red Hood, nothing else I can think of but LMK!
🔧 A/N: Been writing this on and off for a while, so I'm glad I finally finished it! This is also the first time I've written Jason where I actively don't think of him as Red Hood 🥹 Look at me trying new things omg
masterlist | read on ao3
this blog is 18+. minors do not follow. plz & ty!
It's a rare sunny day in Gotham, and Jason takes advantage of it by having his lunch at a nearby park. Although he has an hour break from his job as a mechanic, he typically goes back early. It's not because he's a workaholic, though some will claim otherwise, but he simply enjoys his job. He enjoys helping people, and there's a sense of accomplishment in resolving problems.
Jason rests his back against the tree trunk; his motorcycle is parked beside him. He's silent as his eyes snag and follow random people milling about. People watching, some call it. He never considered himself a fan of it, but the more he watches, the more he's lured into the so-called hobby. Each of these individuals is experiencing life differently. Each of these individuals is going through their own challenges, even if they don't show it on their faces. He knows it's an obvious observation, but it's one he doesn't always think about.
Everyone has their own story.
By the time Jason has finished his food, thirty minutes have passed. He crumbles his sandwich wrap paper, dumps it in the nearest bin, then ascends his bike. After a last sip of water before he tosses it in his backpack, he slides his helmet on and sets off back to the shop.
Jason's used to seeing vehicles broken down or barely running in the neighborhood. Countless of them need a multitude of fixes and paint repairs; however, he knows a lot of them don't have the finances for it all. He tries to offer discounts when he can, but he can only do so much. Thus, there's still a good overflowing handful of beaten-up vehicles around. So when he drives by a shiny silver sedan parked on the side of the street with its hazard lights on, he knows it doesn't belong here.
Driven by curiosity, he makes a U-turn and slowly approaches the car. He parks behind it, trying to assess the situation as he turns off his ignition. He almost smiles when he spots a tire sagging. Easy fix.
Jason flips his visor and approaches the driver's side.
Inside is a frantic person, speaking in a hushed tone of panic and—is that fear?—into a phone by your ear.
When you spot Jason, you jump so high it's comical. Your eyes are wide, and your mouth is open in a silent scream. Jason grins in what he hopes is a friendly manner, forgetting his helmet is covering his mouth.
"Sorry," he says, speaking a little louder than normal so you can hear him through your window. "I saw you have a flat tire and wanted to ask if y'needed help?"
It takes you a second to compose yourself, then you're fiercely shaking your head and hands.
"It's okay!" you call out, voice wavering and eyes darting around. "I have someone coming!"
Perhaps it's all the people watching Jason has done, or maybe it's just so obvious, but he knows what's making you so anxious. This neighborhood isn't sparkly like yours. It's not sunshine and rainbows, but cloudy and stormy.
Jason tries not to take it to heart. He knows his home has a reputation, but there's also good here. Some people work every day to bring that sunshine here, too. He would like to think he's one of them.
"You sure? I'm a mechanic. I can probably get you out of here faster than your help on the way," Jason says. He wants to ask you to roll down your window so he doesn't have to talk loudly anymore, but he doesn't want to frighten you more than he already has.
You wince at being caught feeling uncomfortable, but try to plaster a smile to show differently. Even though it's fake, it's still pretty.
"Yes, thank you. They aren't far," you rush, then turn your head to speak into the phone again. Jason can't decipher your exact words; however, your rigid shoulders and fast talking let him know you're lying. Your help is either not close or not on the way at all.
Jason rubs his lips together in thought. Should he keep insisting or hope you're telling the truth?
Not waiting for you to turn around, he says, "Sorry to bother. Hope you get home safe."
Jason doesn't wait for a reply and heads back to his bike. As he swings a leg over his ride, his eyes linger on the poor tire. It would take ten minutes to fix it, but there's no point in trying to convince you.
When Jason peels away, he catches your stare for a second. It's not long, so he can't be sure, but it looks like there's a hint of relief in your eyes.
Curse his heart for drooping at the sight.
Not only is he aware of the reputation of his home city, but he's also aware of his appearance. He's a big guy. The combination of sharp facial features, muscles, and height is a recipe for intimidation. Although it comes in handy when he wants to ward off potential robbers or scammers, it's hard for people to trust him easily.
"Wow." Frank, one of his close coworkers, whistles when he sees Jason drive up. "Y'nearly took ya full lunch for once!"
Jason chuckles as he parks and removes his helmet. "I stopped to try to help someone."
Frank flips the wrench in his hand, then points it at Jason with a knowing smirk.
"Of course, that's why. Why would ya ever take the full break jus' for yourself?" he teases.
Jason shrugs and walks to the computer to check the work queue. He clicks on the next job in line, reading the details and notes.
It feels weird to continue his day as if he hadn't left you stranded. However, he tries to ignore the nagging guilt. He offered to help. That was better than ignoring you completely.
Yet, he can't let go of the thought of you staying in your car, scared and alone.
Jason works the thoughts away. He distracts himself with each part he repairs, getting lost in the familiarity. He doesn't see many customer faces since he's dug his nose into his work without a break.
It's not until he's covered in grease with a sheen of sweat coating his skin that his boss calls him over.
Jason steps into Elijah's stuffy office while wiping his hands on a towel.
"Hey, boss," Jason greets.
Elijah sits up from picking something from the floor, but he hits his head on his desk, causing a few pens to roll off the surface. Jason hides his smile at his boss's clumsy nature, bending down to pick up the runaway office supplies.
"Thanks." Elijah sighs and lifts a piece of paper he's scribbled on. "Do y'mind doing a quick errand run for me? I'd ask someone else, but Frank's dealing with an upset customer, and Seb's had'a leave early for a family emergency."
Jason takes the paper, glancing at Elijah's messy handwriting. Among the list of service parts is a pack of soda.
Seeing Jason's amused smirk, Elijah says, "It's for all of us, 'kay? Don't give me that look."
Jason shakes his head and tucks the paper in his pocket.
"I didn't say anything." Jason laughs.
"Ya face did," Eljah replies, smiling despite his words.
With a bid farewell, Jason sets off for the quick errand. Thankfully, what Elijah needs doesn't require him to go to the bigger auto shop. Their supplies are more vast, but it's a drive that Jason doesn't feel like taking.
Jason greets the employees as he typically does. He visits often enough that they know him by name, just as he knows the aisles like the back of his hand. Thus, it doesn't take long to gather the supplies needed. He's in and out within fifteen minutes.
When Jason begins his journey back, the unrelenting guilt creeps over his head again. The route to the shop is different than coming from the park, so he won't encounter you. He tries to tell himself to let it go. It's been over an hour since he last saw you. Surely, your help would've shown by now.
Regardless, he can't stop himself from taking a detour.
Jason repeats that you're not there in his mind. You made it to wherever you were heading safely. He says this so much in his head that he nearly convinces himself he's seeing things in the distance. However, the shiny silver is unmistakable.
He doesn't understand why he's parking his motorcycle for the second time. You rejected him. Perhaps he should've sent one of his siblings instead. Maybe one of the friendlier ones could've gotten you out of here sooner. Though there's no escaping when your eyes meet his in your rear-view mirror.
This time in your gaze, there's a hint of desperation alongside the alarm.
Jason tries a different approach and removes his helmet. He rakes a hand through his hair as he walks to your side again, hoping to add some volume to his flat locks.
"Hi," he says through your fully shut window.
Your eyes dance around his face, taking in his new appearance. It seems you remember him—be it from his clothes or his bike, he doesn't know.
"W-What are you doing back?" you ask, leaning slightly from the window. You probably think he's come back to rob you.
"I saw you still had a flat tire," he trails off. "You positive I can't help?"
You bite your lip as you glance at your phone again. Your finger taps the side of the device like you're waging a war inside your head. Finally, you nod.
"Fine. T-That would be nice," you reply.
Jason smiles and points to your trunk. "Ya got a spare?"
"I should," you answer, turning off the ignition and popping the trunk.
Jason moves to the back of your car and lifts the floorboard. Luckily, you have a spare and the tools needed.
Jason is taking them out when you round the car timidly. One arm is across your stomach, holding onto your other arm. Your eyes are constantly moving around you.
Jason wants to reassure you that you'll be fine, but he doesn't want to bring attention to your nerves. Instead, he begins his work. After all, Elijah is waiting for him.
Your eyes settle on him, and your body relaxes slightly. You still scan your environment, but at least you look less like you're about to bolt home and abandon your car.
"You'll need to get to a shop soon," Jason says while unscrewing the last bolt. "And don't drive too fast."
"H-How soon is soon?" you ask.
Jason peers up at you, analyzing your concerned expression. He pops off the tire and slips on the spare.
"I work at a shop nearby. I can replace it for you, if you want," he offers. He's not sure if you'll accept since it took a second try to get you to agree to just this, but from your expression, your destination must not be close.
Jason's screwing on the bolts as you ripple your fingers along your arm.
"It's not far?" you ask, debating internally again.
Jason lowers the car, then pulls the car jack from under it. He tidies the tools as he replies, "No, and I'll put you next in line, so you won't have to wait long."
"You won't get in trouble?"
Jason stands and shoots you a brief smile before returning the flat and tools to your trunk.
"You worried I will?" he asks with a teasing tone.
The corner of your mouth twitches as you fight back your grin.
"I just don't want to be the cause of it."
Jason shuts the trunk and shrugs. "You wouldn't. I'll be doing my job."
You nod, then glance at the spare. Jason stands next to you idly, letting you mentally weigh your options. After a few more seconds, you sigh.
"Okay," you relent.
"You can follow me," he instructs while moving to his bike. However, he stops when he sees you reach out. Your hand hovers in the air awkwardly.
"I—Uh, thank you," you mumble and drop your hand.
Jason chuckles and nods. "It's no problem."
By the time Jason returns, Frank is working on another car, and Elijah is checking a spreadsheet.
"Took ya long 'nough, Todd!" Elijah exclaims when he hears Jason's boots shuffle on the concrete.
"Found a stray." He laughs softly and places the bag of supplies and drinks on the desk. Elijah glances at the doorway and sees you standing meekly.
"I-I'm not a dog," you timidly defend.
Elijah quirks an eyebrow and slightly lifts one corner of his mouth at Jason. He seems amused to see someone like you on this side of the city.
Jason raises a shoulder and offers you a friendly smile. "Stray cats are cute too."
Your mouth drops lightly, and your eyes blink rapidly for a second.
"She's got a flat I'ma take care of real quick," Jason explains.
Elijah nods and tears off a soda from the pack. He glances at you. "If he doesn't do a good job, you jus' come to me, alright?"
You nod anxiously. You're not aware of Elijah's teasing ways, and Jason almost wants to smack his boss on the shoulder for making you more uncomfortable.
"Come on, you can wait in the lobby." Jason gestures to the door, waiting for you to exit before leading the way.
He spends a couple of minutes getting your information into the system. As expected, you live in the nicer part of Gotham that he doesn't often visit unless he's with Bruce. You seem apprehensive as he reads over your personal details, so he makes quick work not to linger.
Jason keeps his word and finishes your repair in under fifteen minutes. Throughout that time, your name lingers in his mind like a buzzing mosquito he can't swat. Something about you has intrigued him. He can't pinpoint the reason since he's used to the weary eyes he gets when he's around Bruce's so-called entourage. Perhaps he's just distracted by a beautiful face.
You're sitting ramrod straight in your chair when he returns to check you out. The second he nods you over, you briskly walk to the counter.
"You're all good to go." He slides your keys across the wood.
"Thanks. How much do I owe you?" you ask while taking out your wallet.
"Nothing."
"N-Nothing?" you squeak. "I don't know much about cars, but surely, I need to pay for your time at least."
Jason shakes his head. "No need. Just happy to help."
Your mouth dips. There's a second where you're both still, but then you pull out two fifty-dollar bills.
"A tip then," you declare.
Jason stops your hand from leaving the money on the counter. Your hand turns rigid beneath his, but there's an odd warmth creeping up his arm from the connection that distracts him from your reaction.
"How 'bout this," Jason says. "If you ever see me in need, then you owe me one."
Jason knows the likelihood of running into you again is slim to none, so he doesn't expect you to actually follow through. You seem to reach a similar conclusion, because you begin shaking your head.
"Please, uh, Todd." The waver in your voice suggests you had tried to recall what Elijah had called him earlier.
"Jason," he corrects kindly.
"Jason," you repeat. "Please take something."
Skepticism breezes through his mind. Your insistent plea and the amount you're offering make him wonder if you pity him. You probably think he needs the money to survive. While that intention is nice, if it's true, he doesn't like the idea of being someone's charity.
Jason forgets his hand is on yours until you pull away, leaving the bills under his calloused palm.
The soft, pleading look in your eyes makes him concede, but the stubbornness in his chest makes him come up with a plan.
He folds the money and slips it into his pocket.
"I'll bring your car to the front."
Your brows knit in puzzlement because you can see your car parked close by. Though, before you can interject, Jason is already halfway toward the door with your keys.
Jason can feel your focus on him as he reverses and drives the few feet to the entrance. He leaves the car running and leans on the open door—a silent summon for you to come out.
You gingerly step out of the building to stand behind the door.
"I appreciate the quick turnaround, Jason. I'm… I'm sorry about my rejection earlier."
Jason waves it off. "Don't worry 'bout it, Stray."
Your nose turns up at the nickname.
Jason laughs. "Kitty? Cat?"
"Kitty cat!" you exclaim with a small disbelieving laugh. It's the first time he's seen your smile not mixed with fear.
"You prefer Stray?"
"I prefer my name."
"If you insist, Yn." He makes a show of enunciating your name.
The small grin grows, but you tuck your chin and slip inside the car before he can admire it.
After ensuring all your limbs are tucked in, he shuts your door. When you roll down your window, he leans down to peer at you, one hand resting on the car's hood.
"Thank you for your help, Jason," you say.
"Anytime," he replies. "Get to where you're heading safely."
"Thanks… Maybe if I see you again, I'll let you call me Kitty Cat."
Jason smirks. "I'll hold you to that."
"Okay." There's a gleam in your eyes that tells him you wouldn't mind the nickname now despite your earlier protests, but he keeps it to himself.
Jason gives one final pat on your hood before he inches away. He offers you more than enough distance before you drive off. His gaze lingers on your shiny sedan as it moves along the uneven roads. There's a bittersweet smile forming on his face as you become a speck in the distance.
Jason meets a lot of people at his job, but none have left such an impression on him as you have.
As he turns to head back into the shop, one question lingers in his mind: How long will it take you to find the one hundred dollars he stuffed in your center console?
A/N: Part 2??? 🫣
Updated A/N: Here's part two!!! 😆
For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics more anonymously and privately. ^-^
As some of you know, I'm writing a Jason Todd series, and it'll prob be over 60k 😅. I know life can be hectic, so some people don't have time to read the longer fics. On the other hand, some people do enjoy them longer soooo… Just curious what would be best for you!
How long would you prefer the chapters to be?
less than 5k
5-7k
Any minimum but max 6-7k
Any minimum but max 8-9k
Any minimum but max 10-12k
No preference/Any length is fine
Bambi is eager and wants to see the results lol
Voting ended onJun 10
So far, the chapter lengths vary between 5-10k 🤭 And I plan to post once a week!
Also, I know these options are not like your typical, but this poll is specifically for this series and not any other 😆
sometimes i wonder if we have forgotten that sharing creative work is, fundamentally, a bid for human connection. like I'm not posting art or fic for 'engagement' i'm posting it looking for other sickos to play with! i'd be making it anyway for my own gratification because there's something wrong with me, i'm sharing it hoping we can have something wrong with us together <3
