cinder–rose

11:11 twenty one | year-long user!!

[cinder-rxse]

·✶· ─ · · cindy <3 | ᜊ masterlist. | ☡ guidlines. | Ꮺ reqs. |

i #lovejasontodd sm but i'm fairly new to the fandom/tumblr so bare w me pls <3

i love reading dark stories and therefor i'll probs write a few myself so keep that in mind when moving fwd.

i started this tumblr bc not many people portray jason in the right light (especially AK jason who is my fav) so enjoy whatever rubbish that comes out of my brain onto the page :)

[cinder-rxse]

getting a lot of rlly cute msgs in my inbox – ur support / appreciation of my writing/fics is genuinely what keeps me writing.

luh u all ☺️

[cinder-rxse]

Hiii

I was wondering if you could write a jason todd x reader fluff/smut wheres he's been gone on an Outlaws missions for almost a month with little to no contact and when he comes back earlier than planned he finds the reader playing with herself

Also can it end in fluff?

˚꩜｡ JASON TODD ONE SHOT (nsfw) . by cindy

⤷ your boyfriend, jason, has been gone on a mission with the outlaws for just over a month. you decide its finally time to relieve yourself of a stressful few weeks, a stressful day. and thats when he decides to get back? great timing 😏

꒰ cw: masturbating | getting caught | fingering | piv sex | smut | fluff | mdni ꒱

NOTE: hi anon. love this – ppl should req. more. its good for me to write smth else whilst writing a fic bc u can get bored/writers block soooo freaking easily.

IT'S BEEN A MONTH. One very fucking long month.

Jason had been on an off-world mission with the Outlaws.

You'd been pretty stressed about it because Jason had told you that if all went well, it'd be about 2 weeks.

It was approaching 5 weeks. But, logically, you knew he'd be fine. His team was strong. Jason was strong.

So after a long day at work, you decide to give yourself the ultimate self-care night.

You get into the shower as fast as you can and spend half an hour in there scrubbing the day off, shaving everywhere on your body because nothing feels better than getting into fresh sheets with completely bare legs. You use your expensive body wash that smells like some designer perfume. You also wash your hair, massaging shampoo into your scalp, pressing conditioner into the ends.

It felt amazing—the ultimate stress reliever.

You get out of the shower, towel around yourself, and stand in front of the mirror. You do all your nighttime skincare and brush your teeth. Lastly, you blow-dry your hair so it's ready for tomorrow morning when you have work early.

As you enter the bedroom, your pyjamas and underwear are laid out on the bed.

You stare at them. Then look down at yourself in the towel.

You grab the pyjamas and put them on your nightstand next to the lamp that's emitting a soft, warm glow across the room. You then slide the towel off, leaving it on a heap on the floor and lie on top of the bed, completely naked.

There was a part of you that liked being alone because you got to be naked and not feel observed. There was something very intimate about being by yourself without clothes on.

That's not to say Jason has ever made you feel watched in your own skin or anything. Everything is just heightened when another person is seeing you so vulnerable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, you need to feel it. Now.

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

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

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

THUD!

You jump. Quite literally jump.

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

Jason.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Still sexy." You shrug.

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

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

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

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

You have three options here.

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

Option 2: Stay like this and see what happens.

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

You very quickly choose the last one.

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

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

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

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

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

The shower stops running.

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

Stay like this and see what happens.

You bury your head under the covers now.

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

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

There's a little more movement before he speaks.

"You hiding from me?" He asks playfully.

"Maybe." You respond.

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

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

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

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

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

He gives you a look.

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

You sigh. "Yeah. I am."

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

"Why?" He looks confused.

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

There. Explained. Now you wait for his response.

He squints at you. "Still not following."

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

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

"Oh." Is all he manages.

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

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

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

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

"Just tell me." He says softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hand stops, and you whine.

"Please just ask me."

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

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

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

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

"Yeah." You say pathetically quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's close. You know he is.

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

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

"Come… w-with me… oh fuck–"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shivers slightly. "Fuck."

You hum softly, "You okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

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

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

You scoff at his phrasing, "Yeah?"

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

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

He laughs, "Night, baby…"

ᜊ masterlist.

[cinder-rxse]

˚꩜｡ RED HOOD: REBUILT | CHAPTER EIGHT . by cindy

⤷ jason has an awful panic attack he tries to get through. luckily you show up with two coffee's in hand – though you quickly realise whats happening, abandoning the coffees and helping him through it.

꒰ cw: panic attack / torture flashbacks (kinda gory) ꒱

IT WAS MONDAY MORNING—the day after the off-world mission.

Jason hadn't slept. He had therapy later today. He's been feeling off since the morning.

Not the normal "I haven't slept in over 24 hours" off, no.

Something big was coming, Jason could feel it. He just hoped it came when he wasn't in the shop. He'd be fine, right? The shop was one of his coping mechanisms. It calmed him. So he'd be okay. He's okay.

He's cleaning off his tools, manually breathing to stop his subconscious from fucking him over and having him on the floor in seconds. It's creeping into the centre of his chest, that dread.

He clears his throat and cleans the tool faster.

It's fine. It's fine.

CLANG!

SCRAAAAAPE!

Oh fuck.

Oh no.

No, no.

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

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

He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing picking up.

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

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

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

That sound was the problem.

The: CLANG!

Followed by that: SCRAAAAAPE!

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

"My pretty… pretty birdy…"

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

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

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

Like, actually back there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shook his head.

Not real. Not real.

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

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

That feels real. Your skin feels real.

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

He shakes his head like a petulant child.

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

Fuck, that'd be a mercy.

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

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

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

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

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

"Shit." You say under your breath.

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

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

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

This place smelled like burnt rubber and gas.

He breathed that smell in.

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

You look at the boys. They look concerned.

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

Jason's gaze finally moves to the boys.

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

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

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

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

Jason sighs, eyes stinging. Fuck.

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

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

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

Jason exhales.

"Mhm." He hums.

His breathing is still a little broken.

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

"Whoa. No, just stay here."

"I have to–"

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

He looks at you, embarrassed.

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

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

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

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

Feels nice. He thinks.

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

Because he's so fucking ashamed.

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

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

This, right here, might've been worse.

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

She didn't.

The boys didn't.

They couldn't.

You give his hand a soft squeeze.

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

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

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

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

You nod, "Yeah, I bet."

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

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

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

"Sam's fucking face too… I… fuck…"

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

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

"You didn't."

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

It's Sam. Tommy is behind him.

"Swear wall, by the way."

"Tommy, not now." Sam nudges him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He comes over to you.

You hear him and turn. "Hey."

He gives you a nod. "Having fun?"

"Yeah." You say unconvincingly.

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

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

He lets out a sharp exhale with a soft smile.

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

Your expression goes a little more serious.

"How're you feeling?" You ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🤍 RED HOOD: REBUILT MASTERLIST

[cinder-rxse]

˚꩜｡ RED HOOD: REBUILT | CHAPTER SEVEN . by cindy

⤷ you and jason are getting closer. learning about each other. you have a little moment in the shop. but its all friendly! 😏

YOU CAME IN EVERY DAY THE SHOP WAS OPEN; most of the time that was early in the morning.

Monday, Friday and Saturday were the days Jason worked. And when he'd told you that. You reminded him:

"You literally told me the first time I was in here that you're always here."

"I don't get out much." Was his excuse.

It'd been two weeks of you walking in during the morning, giving him a coffee and then heading off to work yourself. It was an easy routine to fall into. Seeing you three times a week boosted his morale by at least 150%. Good for the workplace.

It was a Saturday evening. You'd been sitting on a stool near the car, eating a small packet of popcorn Jason had offered when you first walked in. He was standing only a few feet away in front of the open hood of yet another old car, hands working away.

"Who owns this one?" You ask, munching away.

"A man called Rodger." He grunts as he tries to undo something that won't budge.

"What's Rodger's life story?"

Jason finally undoes whatever mechanism he was trying to loosen and lets out a little 'thank you' as if talking to the car.

"Uh, Rodger? He's a compulsive liar, so I actually have no idea."

You eat more popcorn. Watching him.

"We should do some twenty-question bullshit." You suggest, mouth full of food.

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

"Are we twelve?"

"No, but we're bored."

He nods, his focus going back to the engine.

"Okay, shoot."

You think. You think some more.

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

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

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

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

"Uh, none," Jason says quietly.

"What?"

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

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

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

You squint at him, silent for a moment.

"I don't believe that."

He rolls his eyes playfully. "Which part?"

"The no girlfriends part."

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

"Is it my turn to ask a question?"

You nod, "I am an open book."

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

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

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

You let out a heavy exhale.

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

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

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

You chuckle, "Just like that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug, "Just had a feeling."

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

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

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

"You want me to ask you a question?"

"I like talking to you." You say.

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

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

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

"What was your first impression of me?"

You let the question sit before you speak.

"Honestly?

"No lie to me."

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

He's staring at you.

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

He freezes. "What?"

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

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

You look at him, worried you hit a nerve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

More silence follows as he works.

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

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

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

Jason looks at you. Confused now.

"What are you talking about?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're not shit at it."

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

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

He stares down at you.

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

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

Jason as an anime girl? Fucking hilarious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Woah.

He clears his throat and lets go of you quickly.

"Sorry," You smile.

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

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

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

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

"Not in Gotham? Where are you going?"

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

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

And you leave.

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

"What am I gonna do…" He says softly.

🤍 RED HOOD: REBUILT MASTERLIST

[cinder-rxse]

OKAY ANOTHER QUESTION FOR MY RED HOOD/JASON TODD FANFIC!!

guys... i probs know the answer. but just double checking i genuinley want everyone/majority of ppl to enjoy this series.

arewedoingsmutyesoryes?

when i say smut i mean not dom daddy jason vibes bc that is NOT jason at all in my opinion lmao. just it'd be tasteful and only in necessary chapters but im just double checking...

idk i write A LOT of smut so idk if its what the ppl want ESPECIALLY FOR this fanfic in particular –> CLICK HERE

justvotejustvotejustvote.

smut 😏

cutie smut ☺️

no smut 🫡

Voting ended onJul 30

so yeah just vote i alr know its gonna me just vote.

give me ur opinions idk.

luh you 🙃

[cinder-rxse]

OKAY QUESTION FOR MY RED HOOD/JASON TODD FANFIC!!!

should i make it more angsty vibes or fluff vibes. bc i can go dark with it or i can keep it kinda light yk. up to the people

if u havent read it – CLICK HERE

opinions pls:

fluff / more abt jasons growth through a relationship w u and all that shit

angst / more abt the reader (you) going through a bunch of shit

Voting ended onJul 30

help pls im getting lost in the sauce 😩

[cinder-rxse]

this vote saved the series iclllll

this is why you guys are the real goats here tbh

[cinder-rxse]

꩜｡ RED HOOD: REBUILT | CHAPTER SIX . by cindy

⤷ you decide to make your move. your friendship initiation with jason todd. your only friend in all of gotham. because you need a life. and maybe that life began with bringing a coffee to jason in the afternoon.

JASON REALISED ONE VERY, VERY TERRIBLE THING...

He was really starting to like you. In what way? He didn't have the answer to that yet.

But that interview two days ago? That made this feeling – whatever it was – ten million times worse.

He's in the Batcave, under the Batmobile – tuning things up for Bruce.

"Hey Jase," he hears Babs say as she wheels into the room.

He rolls out from under the car and sits up. "You on shift?"

"From now until 4 AM. Yay!" She exclaims sarcastically before chuckling breathily.

"You okay?" Jason asks seriously.

She nods, "Just… you know how it is. To know things will never go back to how they were."

He exhales and stands. "Yeah, I know."

Jason's packing up his tools when she speaks again.

"I was cleaning up the team's continuous comms feed the other night." She starts, a smirk in her voice. He can hear it. "You know it records every single second you have the helmet on, right?"

Fuck. The interview.

He pauses and faces her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason chuckles and nods. She's definitely right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason swallows, staring at her.

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

She laughs, and he smiles at her.

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

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

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

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

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

"Babs."

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

Jason's face drops.

"What'd he do?"

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

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

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

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

Jason lets out an exhale.

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

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

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

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

"This family is a curse."

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

Jason's taken a break from working.

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

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

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

What Bruce says goes.

Tim had been texting Jason all day. Clearly bored.

10:43 AM

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

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

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

JASON: By definition you absolutely are a nerd lmfao

TIM: wtv

11:22 AM

TIM: u think we can call cps on bruce?

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

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

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

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

JASON: Go to sleep, man.

TIM: stop using proper grammar to text holy unc 🙄

12:54 PM

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

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

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

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

…

12:57 PM

TIM: u rlly making me feel bad rn bro?

JASON: Go. To fucking. Sleep.

TIM: sybau

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

It's you.

A good surprise.

You smile at him, "Hi."

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

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

Jason comes closer. "You need anything?"

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

But Jason is caught off guard.

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

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

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

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

You then walk past Jason and over to Tommy.

"Where's Sam?" You ask.

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

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

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

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

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

"You like hot chocolate?"

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

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

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

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

Jason nods. "So… coffee?"

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

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

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

"Hey!" Tommy says from behind you.

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

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

"We're friends?" He reiterates.

You shrug, "Well… aren't we?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah. Great." He says back.

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

"Big article?"

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

He huffs, smiling, "Yeah, okay."

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

"Can I read it?" Tommy asks.

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

You turn back to Jason.

"Enjoy the coffee."

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

"Go." He says softly.

"Bye, Jason."

And with that, you're gone.

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

4:43 PM

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

JASON: Are you tapped into the security cams rn?

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

JASON: Have you slept today yet?

TIM: i think she liks u

JASON: **likes

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

JASON: She just broke up with her boyfriend…

TIM: so? he was a bum

JASON: How would you know?

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

Jason grits his teeth at that.

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

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

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

Then to the security cameras.

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

Fuck, maybe Jason was going through patrol withdrawals too.

He should not be taking relationship advice from Tim Drake.

🤍 RED HOOD: REBUILT MASTERLIST

[cinder-rxse]

˚꩜｡ RED HOOD: REBUILT | CHAPTER FIVE . by cindy

⤷ you finally get the opertunity to get up close and personal with the red hoods psyche. maybe that 'respectful scoop' angle actually works?

YOU'D JUST GOTTEN OFF WORK, HAVING STAYED LATE. It was around nine o'clock at night.

If you were in Metropolis, you'd have your headphones in, listening to music, romanticising the moment.

But you weren't in Metropolis.

You were in Gotham.

So you had your pearls metaphorically clutched, bag tight against your body and eyes darting around to make sure nothing was coming.

You walk for a while, and everything's fine when a large thump sounds above you.

You scream like you're being brutally mutilated. Eyes closing just in case you're about to die, you'd rather not see it coming.

"AH! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME OR I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

Then you open your eyes, and it's him.

The Red Hood.

You scowl at him. "Are you fucking serious?"

You hear his modulated chuckle. "Fuck that was hilarious."

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

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

You freeze.

"Oh. Right. That."

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

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

The Hood nods.

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

You chuckle, "Yeah, maybe."

There is silence for a minute.

Then: "You got more questions?"

Wait… he's asking for questions?

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

Annnddd… nothing.

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

Red Hood tilts his head at you.

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

You squint at him. "Creepy."

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

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

He exhales and begins climbing the fire escape.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ding.

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

Ding.

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

Is he really that fucking stupid?

He'd said he–

No. Not worth the mental energy.

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

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

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

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

Your family? Friends? All in Metropolis.

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

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

10:04.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He leans against the railing of the fire escape.

"You ready?" You ask.

He nods once. You start the recorder.

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

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

Right. Professional. All business.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Angry at what?"

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

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

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

"No." He says quickly. Sharp.

You nod, "Would you like to?"

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

"A journalist asking permission?"

You chuckle softly. "I know. Crazy."

More silence.

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

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

He shakes his head.

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

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

"What do you think?"

"How?"

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

You grimace. You look down at your notebook.

The questions you'd pre-planned.

What are your plans for Gotham?

Do you have a message for the street kids that look up to you?

Why the Red Hood? Why Red? Why Hood?

They all felt trivial now. Maybe you were better at your job than you thought.

You threw the notebook and pen onto your bed and faced him again. Still at the window. Him still leaning up against the fire escape railing.

"Were you scared?"

"Ask another question."

"Don't tell me to ask you another question. Just answer it or don't. This is my interview." You say firmly.

"I was a teenager." He says just as firmly. "Would you be?"

You sigh. "Tell me something about you that lives under the hood."

"What?" He's genuinely confused by the question.

"The guy under there, I mean. What's one thing he's into? A hobby or a sport or something."

He shifts his weight to one side slightly, just a little fidget.

"Is this an interview or are you making me a fuckin' dating profile?"

You laugh. "Be careful, I'll ask about your dating history next."

"So you are just like all the other reporters, huh?"

"I'm worse because I'm actually good at my job."

He nods. "Yeah, you are. It's scary."

You smile. "Come on. Give me one thing. A hobby, a favourite colour. Anything."

Red Hood looks over one shoulder to the city. Trying to think. Then back at you.

"Reading. Classics."

Your jaw drops slightly. "You? The artsy type?"

"I never said artsy–"

"Jane Austen?"

He doesn't say anything.

"No way." You shake your head in disbelief. "You heard it here first. The Red Hood reads Pride and Prejudice and enjoys it."

He laughs; you hear it. Modulated, but real.

"And he laughs?" You add.

He stops abruptly and coughs to cover it.

"You got one minute." He says gruffly. "Last question."

You look at him. Thinking. Then:

"No. I've asked all my questions. I'm done." You smile as you grab your recorder and click it once to stop it. You then wander over to your bed where your notepad and pen are and flick to a new page. Writing down ideas and key points for your next article.

You hear a scoff and look up. He's still there.

"Need something?" You smirk.

He shakes his head, "You're really weird."

"Lucky that's off the record. I could get you cancelled for less."

He laughs, "If I haven't been cancelled for what I've already done? I think I'm immune."

You nod, "Go away, I'm writing now."

He shakes his head, turning to the railing, climbing over it slowly. "You're welcome."

"Thank you!" You call out as he disappears.

Nevermind. You have two friends in Gotham now.

Jason Todd and the Red Hood. Pretty good group, no?

🤍 RED HOOD: REBUILT MASTERLIST

[cinder-rxse]

OKAY QUESTION FOR MY RED HOOD/JASON TODD FANFIC!!!

should i make it more angsty vibes or fluff vibes. bc i can go dark with it or i can keep it kinda light yk. up to the people

if u havent read it – CLICK HERE

opinions pls:

fluff / more abt jasons growth through a relationship w u and all that shit

angst / more abt the reader (you) going through a bunch of shit

Voting ended onJul 30

help pls im getting lost in the sauce 😩

[cinder-rxse]

˚꩜｡ RED HOOD: REBUILT | CHAPTER FOUR . by cindy

⤷ the first interaction between you and red hood. you manage to get a quote. but do you use it? do you not? thats the question. he panics, worried he'd given you too much of an answer.

HE'S ON PATROL ALONE TONIGHT. Dick had some Nightwing matters to attend to in Blüdhaven, which Jason was more than happy not to be a part of.

He'd just stopped some idiot from mugging a woman. The woman ran off more terrified of the Red Hood than the guy by the looks of it.

Jason stood there in the alleyway.

Jesus Christ. Gotham's boring tonight. He thought to himself as he was about to start scaling the fire escape.

Then: "Red Hood?"

What the–

He turns his head and sees you. Bag under your arm. Shivering slightly in the cold.

"Can I help you?" He asks, voice modulated.

She steps towards him, not scared. Just not wanting to scare him off.

"I'm a reporter with the Gotham Gazette. I'd love to ask you a few questions about–"

"I don't do interviews." He says sharply. Ignoring the part of him that feels bad about his tone.

You dont back down. "I know that. That's why I need one from you."

"Your logic's odd. Maybe you are a shit reporter." Uh oh. That's a Jason memory. You said that to him a few days ago in the shop. Shit. Would you notice?

You dont seem to realise, and instead you let out a harsh scoff.

"Just one question. I promise I'm not trying to get a sound bite or a quote or anything crazy. I just want an honest, real answer."

He thinks. Red Hood would not give in to this reporter. He'd say some witty line, scale the fire escapes and go back to fighting other goons in alleyways.

Annnddd.. he's already jumped off the fire escape before he can think about it too much.

Because in reality? A very real, very pathetic guy called Jason is under that mask somewhere.

"One question. Make it quick."

Your face lights up as you get out your recorder.

"Why the quiet focus on the little guys? What's the reason behind it, I mean?" You start, "I don't see Batman going out giving protein bars to street kids. So why is it something you've decided is one of your priorities as a vigilante?"

Jason, or rather, Red Hood, is stumped.

"Pretty sure that's three different questions–"

"Then choose one, Hood." You say firmly. You're not fucking around. This quote? This mini interview? Could change your life. Nobody had gotten a quote from the Red Hood. No one. This is your Lois Lane Superman moment.

Jason was taken aback by how stern you were to a guy who had loaded twin Kimber .45 pistols at his waist. The safety's on, but still. Bold.

"Because nobody did it for me." He says. Just as firmly as she was only seconds ago. "Gotham swallows those kids up, and when they get spit out, they're either dead or traumatised for life." He's passionate about this, so he keeps going. "Almost all of them stay homeless until they die, so the least I could do is spend a couple of hours of my patrol handing them a few small things that gang members can't steal from them and sell."

The modulator makes him sound aggressive. Not passionate. He can tell from the way you tensed up. You haven't backed away. But you're wary of the power the man in front of you has.

He takes a few steps back.

"You were a street kid?" You reiterate. Just to be completely crystal clear.

Red Hood begins climbing the fire escape again. "I answered your question."

You call out, "Wait – Thank you!"

And with that, he disappears onto the rooftop.

You click the recorder to stop it. Holy fuck.

That was perfect.

You'd half expected him to just completely ignore you and brush you off. But he not only answered, but he also gave you a new piece of information.

He was a street kid. That's why he did it.

Holy–fucking–gold mine.

Jason gets back to his safehouse, and he's panicking. Did he give her too much? She has every right to use that because he fucking agreed. God, was he really one of those guys? One of those guys who'd walk into oncoming traffic if a girl like you asked? No, he wasn't. Because he wasn't doing it for sex or for attention or anything. He was just… doing it because you were interesting. Which he didn't know if that was more or less pathetic.

He calls Dick.

"Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up." He repeats erratically as he tears off his helmet and paces his very small living room.

The line stops ringing.

"Hey… man. What's up?" Dick sounds groggy, like he's just woken up.

"Fuck… Dick, I think I fucked up. I think I…"

Jason can hear sheets rustling on the other end of the line, like Dick is sitting up in bed.

"Hang on, slow down. Just take a second."

Jason stops pacing because he's getting dizzy from hyperventilating. He sits on his small couch.

"She's a reporter. And she found me. And she asked me a question." Jason managed through fast breaths.

"Jay, what are you talking about?" Dick says, confused and concerned.

Jason takes one big breath in. It almost hurts. Then out again.

"She asked me why I do it. The street kids stuff and I… told her I was one. And now she's gonna publish it."

The other end of the line is quiet. Then Dick lets out a soft exhale.

"Jason. You're catastrophizing."

"No I'm–"

"Yes, you are." He says firmly, and Jason's quiet. "It's not like you tore off your helmet and said 'my name's Jason Peter Todd, and I'm the son of Bruce Wayne who's actually Batman and– oh my brothers are Nightwing, Red Robin and Robin and my sister was Batgirl–'"

"Okay, okay. I get it." Jason cuts him off this time. Taking a deep breath.

"You're okay, little wing. You've done nothing wrong."

Jason pretends he hates it when Dick calls him that. But this time he doesn't say anything about it.

"Jesus, I'm sorry for waking you up…" Jason apologises.

"No, no. I'd rather you call me than suffer on your own, man." Dick says fondly, "I've got patrol in thirty anyway. Probably good that you woke me."

Jason hums and sighs a long, deep sigh.

"So you think it's fine? That I said I was one of them?"

"I think it's more than fine, Jay. Does wonders for your serial killer image."

Jason lets out a sharp exhale. "Gee, thanks."

"No problem. I am Mr Look On the Bright Side," Dick jokes, "And think about all the kids out there that're now going to look up to you even more."

"They shouldn't."

"Jay. You're good. Stop pretending you're not. It's pissing me off now."

Jason chuckles under his breath. "Whatever."

He hangs up and breathes. Crisis maybe averted?

He'll have to wait until he sees the headline tomorrow.

Jason knows it's somewhat irrational to think all their identities are compromised due to one small thing. But anxiety isn't rational – in the words of his therapist.

Now he just wants to sleep.

The following day he's in the shop, cleaning his tools.

He'd gotten a text from you saying:

YOU: i'll come with my brother at 1pm??? is that okay?

JASON: 👍

There were no big headlines out about him being a street kid. And he keeps having to remind himself that he was being completely irrational the other night when he spiralled thinking everyone was going to get exposed from one little truth that he'd told you.

"Hello?" You sing-songed, pulling Jason out of his thoughts. He'd stopped cleaning.

Jason walked towards the entrance of the shop and there you stood, your brother next to you in a full suit. Right.

"Hey," Jason jerked his head up in a bro-like hello to her brother.

"Nice to meet you, Jason. I'm Christian." He extended a hand to Jason, who eyes it.

"Got oil grease on my hands. That suit looks expensive." Jason says plainly.

Christian nods and retracts his hand.

Fuck, did Jason make this awkward?

Christian looks at the bike. "She's been in your hands for a little long, no?"

Jason clears his throat. "Yeah, sorry about that."

"No stress. Not like I use it daily or anything."

"Our Dad bought it for him when he turned eighteen. Now it just collects dust." You sigh, staring at it.

"Well, it's a very, very nice dust collector," Jason says with a smile.

Christian laughs in that way that rich people do. Jason would know; he'd grown up around then from the age of twelve onwards.

"My wife loves me on it. It's like I get on it and all of a sudden she's pouncing on me all night–"

"Jesus Christ, Christian. Don't talk about your wife like that." You hit your brother in the arm. "Disgusting."

Jason swallows. Awkward.

Christian chuckles again, rubbing his arm, looking at you, his sister.

"Calm down, Jason knows what I'm talking about." He looks to Jason, then, "Bet you have women all over you with this... 'I could bench three hundred pounds' vibe you've got going on."

Jason is lost for words. What in fuck does he say to that?

A better question is: What does Christian want the answer to be?

Yeah, man. Get bitches on my dick every other day.

Fuck no.

No. Women don't really fuck with emotionally unavailable trainwrecks who die and come back to life.

Also, fuck no.

So he settles for:

"You've got me mixed up with my brother. Dick. He's a ladies' man to say the least." Ladies' man Jason? What are you, fifty? "He doesn't ride a motorbike, though, so I guess you've got him beat."

Christian does that chuckle that screams wealth again.

"This guy's funny." He points to Jason, looking at his sister. "If my Ferrari's ever need a little TLC, I'll be sure to get them to you."

Jason exhales a laugh. Right. Just a casual little Ferrari. Nothing crazy.

You look between the men – then to your brother. Then back to Jason.

"Would you help us get it on the truck?–"

"No, I'll ride it home. Feeling like revving my wife's engines a little now."

Jason cringed inwardly. This guy was fucking unreal.

He's like if Dick had misogynistic undertones.

Christian waves at Jason, then leaves. Taking his bike with him.

You sigh. "He is disgusting."

"Brothers usually are." Jason smiles awkwardly.

You chuckle softly. Looking at him.

Then Jason thinks of a question. Conversation. Friend. Right.

"Was everything okay with your boyfriend? You seemed really stressed about it." He asks. Trying his best to sound nonchalant.

You nod, "Yeah, he's just… a man. So, needs me to do everything for him."

Jason eyes you but doesn't pry. It's not his business.

"Did you end up deciding what your angle was gonna be?" Jason asks next. Not wanting to end their conversation on her potentially shitty boyfriend.

"Yeah, actually, I did." You say, smiling proudly, "Managed to get a little interview with Red Hood."

"That's… big." Jason says. Remain neutral. He thinks.

"I know. He gave me some good stuff to work with I just… can't shake what you told me."

Jason's confused then. What he told her? As in what Jason told her? Or what Red Hood told her? What the fuck is going on.

"What'd I tell you?

"About how if people knew about this place. This shop. However innocent and good, there's always people out there to exploit," you sigh, "I don't know, the things he told me could lead to people digging and I almost don't want to publish the article I drafted."

Jason's a little shocked because:

"You're a journalist." He says plainly.

"Yeah, but I'd rather build good relationships with my sources than screw them over and make them angry." You start, "Thats the other issue with Gotham. Reporters purely want to exploit. I want to be an outlet for people like the Red Hood, so that he can get his story straight. I do not want to make a story for him when I can just get him to trust me enough to tell me what he wants people to hear. On his terms. That's how I get the respectful inside scoop."

Woah.

Jason's done for.

Because the only thing he's thinking right now?

She is fucking amazing.

You've done it.

You've officially made Jason believe there are good people in this city.

And of course you're from Metropolis.

He clears his throat.

"Gotham's going to eat you alive."

You shrug. "Gotham can try."

He chuckles.

"So. I'll see you when I need a…" You try to think of something technical on a car that'd need fixing. "Fuck I don't even know."

He smiles.

God, there's a lot of happy action happening on his face.

"Yeah, when you need a whatever it is."

You start walking away, then turn abruptly when it comes into your head.

"Oil change! There, see?" You giggle.

"Student becoming the master already?" He calls out to you.

"Bye, Jason."

The bell rings. As the door closes.

"Bye."

Maybe the Red Hood should start killing again.

Number one on that hitlist?

Your boyfriend.

🤍 RED HOOD: REBUILT MASTERLIST

(kind of on the writing grind rn 😝)

[cinder-rxse]

˚꩜｡ RED HOOD: REBUILT | CHAPTER THREE . by cindy

⤷ he's fixed up the bike and its ready for you to pick it up – except his entertaining two little critters at the same time. youre introduced to the softer side of the man who looks like he's walked out of fire and survived (the irony).

"NAH, BATMAN IS WAY COOLER. HE HAS A CAPE."

Sam says. To which Tommy glares at him like he's just lit his cat on fire.

"Take. That. Back." Tommy warns. The venom in the ten-year-old's tone is not too dissimilar to some of the guys Jason's fought before.

Jason then wheels out from under the car, eyeing the boys who are sat on tyres that have been stacked.

"What are we arguin' about now?" Jason exasperates, Gothamite accent slipping out around the boys. He secretly adores these kids, but they're still kids. Annoying.

Tommy looks at Jason, "Sam thinks that Batman is cooler than Nightwing."

Sam groans, "He has a cape!"

Jason chuckles; they're ridiculous. But they're him.

Tommy and Sam are street kids. They stop by the shop every other day when they don't want to be at home after school. Jason had first met them when he was at the shop late at night, and it was raining; he'd let them in to give them some shelter from the cold and the storm.

Now here they sat. Like this was their own house. Their stomping ground. Which now? It kinda was.

"What d'you think, Jason?" Tommy asks, crossing his arms and refusing to budge.

Jason looks between the boys and sighs, "Neither?"

"That's not an answer!" Sam exclaims.

Jason laughs, really laughs. Then leans back on the creeper and wheels his way back under the car.

Tommy gasps, "No, Sammy, he's right."

"What the fuck are you talkin' about now?" Sam swears.

"Swear wall, Sam!" Jason calls out from under the car as he works.

Sam groans and hops off the tyre to the only wall that doesn't have clutter on it. The swear wall. There's a pen on the floor in front of it, four names on the wall.

SAM: IIII IIII IIII I

TOMMY: IIII IIII IIII IIII III

JASON: III

Sam adds a strike, now at seventeen.

Once he's sat back on the tyre next to Tommy, he continues.

"Jason is right. Neither are as cool as our guy." Tommy nudges Sam.

Sam's confused for a moment longer before realising with a long 'Oh…'

Jason unscrews something way too close to the oil store, and it goes absolutely everywhere. On his face, neck, hands, shirt. He grunts and quickly tightens it.

He wheels back out from under the car. Grabs a rag from nearby and cleans up his face.

"Who's your guy?" Jason asks as he spits out some oil that got in his mouth.

"Red Hood?" Sam scoffs, rolling his eyes as if Jason asked if the sky was blue.

"Duh." Tommy adds.

Jason grins and nods.

Then the bell to the front door rings.

Jason gets up, and it's you. Of course it is.

You stare at his white t–shirt that's now very obviously stained with oil.

"Whoa. Hello," You smile.

Jason nods, giving you a stupid wave, "Hey."

Your eyes then catch the two boys. You look back to Jason, "Who's this?"

The boys look half in awe and half petrified.

Jason gestures to them, "That's Sam, and that's Tommy."

Sam gives a little skittish nod, and Tommy's jaw is on the floor.

"Is that ya' girlfriend?" Tommy asks bluntly.

Jason chokes on air; you giggle.

"No, no. I'm working on her brother's bike." He scrambles.

Tommy eyes the two of you. "Gettin' in with the brother? I'm gonna try that with Sarah."

"Jesus, Tommy, you're ten." Jason scoffs a laugh.

Sam is just smiling quietly at you, then he tugs on Tommy's arm, "C'mon Tom. Let's go."

"But–"

"Nice t'meet ya." Sam bows his head slightly as he drags Tommy out towards the door, past the swear wall, as they grab their bags and leave.

You turn back to Jason.

He looks at you and shakes his head, "Crazy kids."

You smile. This guy is getting more and more interesting.

Jason snaps back into things.

"Right, your brother's bike. Over here." He walks over to where the bike is.

"Everything good?" You ask, still smiling about before. Smiling about how this six-foot-four guy whose built like a tank with scars on his face, seems to be quite the teddy bear when it comes to kids and struggling communities.

He nods, "Yeah, everything's perfect. Like I said, easy fix."

You nod, "Well, thanks."

"No problem," Jason responds quickly, like instinct. "I'll get this onto the truck and–"

It starts pouring down with rain in the middle of his sentence.

"Shit… is that bad for the bike if I have it in the rain?" You ask.

The answer is no. It'd be fine.

But Jason thinks about something his therapist said in their last session. A week ago, before he'd even met you.

He'd said that it was really hard when he had to deal with himself alone throughout the week. Being in therapy was fine, but it was the in between that was really fucking him up.

"You survived. So now you need to live. Be alive. Not just be a survivor of what happened to you."

Okay. Let's feel alive then.

"It's not ideal, no. Do you have a cover for the tray?"

"A cover?" You ask, confused.

That's a no.

"Well… if you want, you could just wait it out in here." He shrugs, "Unless you've got plans or somethin'."

You look around.

"As long as that's okay with you?"

He nods.

Then it's silence.

He hadn't thought this far ahead. Conversation. Right.

Uh… nope. Nothing.

More silence.

Then–

"Swear wall?"

You ask, gesturing to the wall.

Jason lets out a chuckle. Leaning against a car.

"Yeah, the boys swear a lot. Not that I care. It's just a fun game, I guess." He explains.

You hum in acknowledgement, "They're from around here?"

He nods, "Street kids. I mean, not entirely street kids? But they've slept on the streets before when things get bad at home."

Your face drops slowly. "What do you mean?"

Jason looks at you.

"It's… crime alley." He says, as if that's explanation enough.

He then really looks at you. Like closely. Bright, hopeful eyes, clothes that scream of privilege, a subtle scent that smells like what he'd imagine happiness and joy would.

"What's that look?" You ask.

"You're not from Gotham, are you?"

You smile awkwardly, "No. I'm not."

He nods, "You almost had me fooled."

"Sorry?" You chuckle dryly.

"Dunno. Usually it's obvious." Jason shrugs, "Metropolis?"

You scoff, "See, now that's scary."

"Been here my whole life. I know Gotham. I know our type." He shrugs, a long exhale as his brain plays memories of him being on the streets, in the manor, Robin.

"So what's your type?" You ask.

Okay, and he's gone again. He clears his throat.

"The Gotham type?" He asks, making sure they're on the same page. You nod, and he gestures to himself.

You chuckle, and he stares a little too long before looking at his feet.

"Why're you here?" He shrugs. Then realises that's a rude way of saying what he means, "Sorry, I mean… why would you come to Gotham?"

You sigh and wander over to the car he's leaning against, standing next to him, leaning against it too.

"Better stories," You start, "Metropolis is very… surface level? And I want to be the next Lois Lane so… I need my own domain to rule."

Jason nods.

"Got a subject in mind?" He asks, curious.

"I'm tossing up at the moment," You look forward to the cabinets and mess on the other side of the small, two-car garage as you speak. "Batman's… too known. Nightwing, isn't Gotham anymore. I really wanted to write about the Joker. But my editor… said people in this city like to ignore him because he really is just that fucking evil."

Jason swallows. Silence for a moment.

Then: "Red Hood's on my radar. He's interesting." You shrug, "Maybe more so than Batman and Nightwing combined."

He freezes. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, he's the only one in the Batgang to actually kill. No one else does. I find that odd."

"He doesn't kill anymore." Jason hears himself say way too firmly, "I mean… I haven't seen anything in the news or anything."

"Still. He's a mass murderer." You say, "But he's been caught a few times feeding street kids and finding them overnight shelters to stay at. So overall, very contradictory."

Jason clears his throat, "Sounds… like the perfect story."

You nod. "Yeah, maybe." You then turn to him, "Or maybe I should write about small-time heroes like you."

Jason scowls, "Firstly, I'm not a hero." He turns to you then, "Second, I told you that if people find out about a place like this, they take advantage of it."

You exhale, "Yeah, I know. Just think you're doing more good than you realise."

"Doing good? Aren't you supposed to be a journalist?"

You laugh, "Maybe I'm a shit one."

He shakes his head, "I'll give you my verdict when I read your first article."

You smile up at him, then your phone rings. You take it out, look at the contact and… fuck.

"You okay?" He asks without a second thought.

"Yeah, sorry. My boyfriend is spamming my phone, Jesus." You say.

And shit.

Jason's stomach drops. Well, just his luck.

Not that this was anything at all. It certainly wasn't.

But he couldn't help but think about it… like… once.

You look at him, "Can I pick the bike up another day? I've got to go; he's… fucking hell. Just text me, and I'll come in. Sorry."

He nods, "Yeah, of course. Go."

"Bye, Jason. Thanks for this."

And with that, you run out of the shop into the rain, then into your car.

And Jason is left leaning against the car thinking:

Well. At least I have a new friend.

"How fucking pathetic." He says that one out loud.

Ah. Swear wall.

🤍 RED HOOD: REBUILT MASTERLIST

[cinder-rxse]

˚꩜｡ RED HOOD: REBUILT | CHAPTER TWO . by cindy

⤷ and so they meet again – you come by to drop off your brothers bike and end up learning a little more about this socially anxious/shy mechanic. finding him more and more interesting...

HIS THERAPIST HAD TOLD JASON TO ADD RUNNING INTO HIS WORKOUT ROUTINE.

Jason reminded Anne that he scaled rooftops for a living and definitely didn't need any more cardio. She told him that running – not to or from danger – has been scientifically proven to boost mood and relieve some residual anxiety.

Jason didn't know if he believed her.

But he'd just gotten back to his safe house. A little sweaty, a little out of breath.

He'd run for forty-five minutes straight after waking up from another bone-chilling nightmare.

Therapy is a marathon, not a sprint.

Jason chuckles at the thought – irony not lost on him considering he'd just been sprinting from his problems for three-quarters of an hour.

Once he was showered, he'd checked the family patrol schedule on his burner phone.

7 PM – 1 AM: RED HOOD + ROBIN (ORACLE ONLINE)

Great. A patrol with Damien. Or as Jason called him, demon-brat.

Jason sighs and puts down the phone on the small ledge of the bathroom sink, eyeing himself in the fogged-up mirror.

His towel was slung low on his hips, skin still damp, hair drenched.

Looking at himself for the first few months he was back was really hard. He couldn't stand it. Because he felt like he was genuinely living in someone else's skin. Like it wasn't him that was staring back. It was a stranger.

His eyes trail down his chest, across the plethora of scars that have gruesome memories attached.

The Pit healed a lot of the smaller scars he had as Robin. But the big ones? The nasty, haunted ones?

They were still there, glaring back.

His breathing gets sharper as his phone dings again. He looks down at it.

It's you.

YOU: is today at midday okay?

Jason picks up his phone. Be normal, Jason, just be normal. You can't fuck up a text, right?

JASON: Yeah, thats perf–

He huffs and deletes it.

JASON: Yep. Sounds good.

Sent. That's better.

He puts his phone back down only for it to ding the minute it makes contact with the porcelain sink. He picks it up again.

YOU: great!! thanks jason 🙃

He lets out a stupid puff of air at the emoji.

JASON: No problem. Is it your brother dropping it off?

Good. Very professional. He thinks to himself as he sends the message.

YOU: no. i'll bring it in the back of his pickup truck he's letting me drive. he's got meetings. is that all good? or is there some policy about clients bringing in their own vehicles?

JASON: No policy. Just wanted to know if I was expecting a guy in a suit.

YOU: haha. nope, just expect me. might need help getting the bike out of tray. see u later!!

JASON: All good. See you at 12.

He puts his phone down and exhales. He doesn't even know you at all. You're just a woman who walked into his shop. This is fucking stupid.

He looks at himself in the mirror and chuckles dryly.

This is the moment he decides you're just another client. That it really isn't as big of a deal as his brain makes it. Sure, you're… pretty. But he's seen plenty of pretty women before.

He needs to recover after the other day. Bad.

He snatches his phone up and heads into the other room to get dressed.

Jason's at the shop at 11:50. Organising, cleaning.

Your pickup truck pulls up out the front at 11:59. His head snaps up and he comes out of the shop.

You smile as you get out of the driver's seat.

"Hey, how are you?" You ask simply, shutting the door to the drivers side.

He nods, "Yeah, good. Need help with that?"

Jason gestures to the tray with the bike strapped down.

You nod, "Usually I'm a pretty independent woman, but I can't bench four-hundred and fifty pounds, so…"

Jason smiles and comes around to the back of the truck. Opening the tray as he starts unbuckling the straps.

"Careful. I'm not joking when I say thats over four hundred pounds of metal." You warn. Jason's a big guy, but four hundred pounds is four hundred pounds.

Jason picks the bike up with a little grunt and gets it off the tray with a thud on the concrete. He looks almost triumphant. He knew he could do that. Just wondered if he'd look like it was a struggle in front of her.

"Not that heavy," Jason shrugs nonchalantly.

You squint your eyes and nod, "Sure, tough guy."

But what you're really thinking? That was pretty fucking impressive.

Now inside the shop, Jason takes a look at it.

"Easy fix," He says as he stands up from where he was crouching near the exhaust, "It'll take me maybe a day? Probably less."

"Really?" You look at him, surprised.

"Yeah. It's really not that bad." He says, looking at the bike.

There's a semi-awkward silence before you come up with something else to say.

"Okay. Well… great. Just text me what he owes you." You say, happy that this broken-bike saga is over and your brother will finally stop complaining about how shitty all the mechanics in Gotham are.

Jason eyes you like you've got a third head. Oh, right. You don't know how he works.

He shakes his head. "No, no, it's fine. I don't do that."

You jerk your head a little, eyes narrowing.

"You… don't let people pay you for work?" You clarify.

His eyes dart away. "Not really. No."

"Not really or no?" You ask.

"Just, seriously don't worry about it." He says with an exhale. Eyes on the ground now.

You sigh. Realising. Oh. Is he being like that?

"Look if this is your way of hitting on me? I'd rather just pay you because I don't like being in debt–"

"No. No it's not that – I'm not – I don't–" Jesus Christ, what happened to having it together? He takes a breath, "I opened this place because I like tuning up cars, fixing shit."

You're still so confused, "But… how does this place stay open?"

Jason freezes. Because the answer is;

Bruce Wayne. He's my dad. He feels bad about me blowing up at eighteen, so now he'd give me the moon if I asked. Which I won't.

Can't say that.

"Some wealthy investors. They felt like doing charity, I guess." Good save, Jason.

You nod, "Wow. Okay."

There's another pause.

Jason clears his throat, "Also, maybe don't go spreading that around? It's like a community secret, and I don't want a bunch of assholes coming here to take advantage of this place."

"Of course, yeah." You smile. Because this guy certainly didn't radiate – I do charity work – vibes.

He shifts on his feet, awkward now.

"I'll uh… text you when it's done."

You nod and start to leave before stopping, "Oh, wait." You say as you turn back to him, pull out the keys to the bike from your back pocket and extend your hand.

He extends his hand to take them, and your fingers brush. Not a big deal. He swallows. You step back.

"See you tomorrow?" You call out as you open the door to leave.

He gives you a small wave.

He's seeing you tomorrow.

You're just a woman whose brother's bike is in need of a fix.

It's refreshing, a new face.

Jason wanted normal? Well, he's getting a movie.

Is that better or worse? He's undecided yet.

Pride and Prejudice is his favourite book, after all.

🤍 RED HOOD: REBUILT MASTERLIST

[cinder-rxse]

⋆˚꩜｡ RED HOOD: REBUILT . by cindy

mechanic!jasontodd

⤷ he's finding himself again. learning who jason todd is when the layers of trauma and emotional damage are pulled back. he's finally found a healthy coping mechanism; working on cars. he has his own shop, his own place. his world is finally getting back on its axis – then you come in. a chaotic, coffee addicted journalist with a request about your brothers bike. and jason finally realises just how much of his life he has to rebuild from scratch.

꒰ cw: reporter!reader | angst + fluff + eventual smut | toxic ex rel. / abuse ꒱

chapter one. the beginning 1.7k

chapter two. the intrigue 1.2k

chapter three. the swear wall 1.6k

chapter four. the inside scoop 2.2k

chapter five. the interview 1.7k

chapter six. the friendship 2.0k

chapter seven. the moment 1.7k

chapter eight. the panic attack 1.7k ꒰ cw: panic attack/torture flashbacks ꒱

ᜊ masterlist.

[cinder-rxse]

Was wondering if you could make a smut with NerdJasonTodd! and InexperiencedJasonTodd!, pretty please? 🥹 Know it’s kinda cliche but I barely see this theme with a SubJason. Maybe he could be tutoring reader (preferably female) and she starts teasing him cause she realizes he gents nervous and flustered easily. Would be so grateful if you did it🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

˚꩜｡ ONE SHOT FOR . . . / JASON TODD (nsfw)

⤷ he's trying to get his GED after dying. you're helping him so he doesnt pit rage quit. things take a turn of events when he needs a break from stufying.

꒰ civillian!reader | smut (subby jason/oral) + fluff | established relationship | MDNI ꒱

NOTE: out of creativity so here we go omd –– im making it a lil diff bc im a chud and hate writing highschool tropes bc i'm unc (21). also spelling mistakes are fucking me at the moment so pls bear with me anyways okay might be shit but enjoy xx

YOU AND JASON HAD BEEN SITTING AT THE DINING TABLE IN THE MANOR FOR ABOUT AN HOUR.

He had recently decided to get his GED.

He just figured that normal people had graduated from high school, so he should too.

His life had been painfully abnormal so far, and this was just another thing to make life seem more human and less – absolutely mindfuckingly insane.

So here you both sat. At the dining table. Studying.

"Why can't math just be like English? I don't fucking understand this shit." He groans as he throws his pen onto the textbook.

You smile at him, "You're smart, Jason, just let me explain it again, and you'll get it."

He sighs and stares at you like a wounded animal. Then goes back to filling out worksheets. As he does, you see him getting angrier and angrier. At himself. At what's led him to this point. At the fact his pen stops working every other stroke.

So you decide to put a hand on his thigh under the table in an attempt to ground him. You two had been more physical lately. He'd been getting better at it. And he'd told you before he liked it when you touched him wherever, whenever.

Other than a few scars on his chest, your touch was a good reminder that someone cared for him in a way no one else ever had.

He eyes you but doesn't make it a big deal, attempting to be all nonchalant. Jason clears his throat and keeps working on the worksheet.

"You okay?" You ask sweetly.

He nods, "Yeah, just... I'm great."

He shifts in his seat a little when you edge your hand up higher.

"You sure?" You ask again, this time a little more menacing.

He looks at you and swallows, "I'm trying to do this. Like really trying."

"It's upsetting you, Jason. At some point, you've got to take a break and come back to it later." You say, hand not moving, as you completely mean what you say. It does no good to force yourself into studying when your head is full of shit.

"Didn't think it'd be this hard," He shrugs, putting the pen down and leaning back in the dining chair, "Makes me feel so fucking stupid."

"You're not stupid." You say firmly.

He looks at you and smiles – in a self-deprecating way, "Yeah, well. Feels like it."

You rub your thumb in circles over his upper thigh and he lets out a very small gasp. You tilt your head at him.

"What was that?" You smile.

He shakes his head, shrugging, "Don't know what you're talking about."

You bring your hand up further, closer to where you'd only ever used your hand. He jolts a little.

You smile, "Is it that?"

"You should... move your hand..." he exhales shakily, "We're... we're in a semi-public place."

"We're in Wayne Manor, and everyone's gone on a mission except you. We're basically in an indestructible, secluded fortress." You chuckle.

"Alfred's here somewhere." He says roughly as your hand comes up to his belt.

"Maybe I should hide under the table then?" You say playfully with a grin.

"What the fuck are you–" He pauses when he sees you slip under the table. Then feels you push between his legs.

"Just push the chair back a little for me," You say softly as you tap his legs.

"No, we can't just–"

"Push the chair back." You're not asking.

He sighs and pushes the chair back a little so you have more room, half under the table, half not.

You run your hand up and down his thighs, and he lets out a ragged breath, face going red as you look up at him.

"What's your... what's your plan here?" He asks quietly, almost out of breath.

You reach up for his belt and start undoing it; his hips twitch slightly, and you pause – "Keep those hips still for me." He nods, apologises under his breath as you undo the belt entirely and start unzipping his jeans. "Lift them for me?" You ask politely, and he does. You pull down his jeans. And you can tell he's worked up. His boxers don't hide it.

"Y-You... fuck..." He struggles for words; you smile.

"Stuttering baby?" You coo as you lift his shirt just enough to kiss the skin above his boxer's waistband.

He chuckles almost nervously, "Yeah... fuck... feel like a fucking idiot... shit..."

"Always so dominant out there in the field, huh?" You whisper into his crotch as you kiss the clothed tent of his boxers. "Didn't think I'd ever call the big bad Red Hood cute, that's for sure."

Another kiss, and he let out a soft noise which he wanted to die over.

"Mm... m'not cute..." He says, almost incoherently.

You pull down his boxers, and he lifts his hips without asking this time.

"Dunno, baby. Those noises are pretty adorable..." You grin, eyes on his and God, he looks so flustered. "Gonna keep making them for me?"

He bites his lip and nods, then you grab him softly in your hand and angle your head and kiss the base of his cock. He lets out another soft noise.

"Oh..." he sighs out.

You kiss up from the base to the tip and smile, "So good. You ready, Jason?"

He looks conflicted, "H-Honestly? I don't fucking know."

You tilt your head, hand still on the base of his cock, unmoving.

"What do you mean, baby?"

He shrugs, "Just feel like... m'gonna come really fast."

You smile, "That's okay."

You give two slow strokes, and he moans softly.

"J-Just... slow, please. So slow. Or I'll... ruin it."

You chuckle and nod, then lean forward and take him in your mouth slowly. He's big, so slow works for you just fine. He moans out louder and slaps a hand over his mouth.

You pull off him quickly, "No. No you're not gonna hide those sounds from me, baby..."

He looks down at you, desperate, in shock.

"But I'm gonna be so fucking loud? I can't... can't be quiet and... fuck, why am I being like this?" Jason asks, genuinely confused.

"Because it's new, baby." You say as you lower your head again to take him slowly.

He groans loudly. Low this time.

You bob your head up and down slowly. And he's just... he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"Oh, God... holy... mm..." He just cannot seem to shut up.

You keep moving your head up and down, slowly.

And it's only been about 3 minutes before his breathing picks up.

"Hey... h-hey, just give me a minute– holy fuckkk... mm... hey–" he moans loudly when you take all of him slowly, "Baby? If you stay there, I'll... I'll fucking – oh no... please... please..."

You then jerk your head back off him only to lunge it back down again and take all of him again and again and again – very fast.

He moans, and his legs are shaking; he's gasping, biting his lip to try and save himself the embarrassment of Alfred hearing him like this.

And he comes. A lot. Very warm. And when he does, he doesn't make a sound. You look up through your lashes and see him; he looks gorgeous. Silently gasping. Mouth open wide. Eyebrows furrowed before he throws his head back because he can't bear to look you in the eyes like this. It's like he's drowning in how good it feels.

You choke on the come flooding down your throat. There's so much of it that it's honestly overwhelming. You swallow it down, pull back and cough a little.

He finally starts breathing again, like he's come up for air. And he looks down at you.

"You... mphhfuck... you okay?" He says breathlessly.

You nod and chuckle, wiping your mouth with your hand as you start helping him get decent again.

Eventually, you slide out from under the table, and he has his eyes shut.

"Are you okay?" You ask with a smile. Now sat next to him again at the table, books still in front of you both.

He nods and looks at you, face still red. Breathing still a little uneven.

"Yeah, I'm... great." He nods, "Should... should get back to this though."

He gestures to the math work. You nod.

"Good break?"

He chuckles awkwardly, "Yeah, good fucking break."

(probs gonna redo this later bc i hatge it but djsbhja)

[cinder-rxse]

˚꩜｡ RED HOOD: REBUILT | CHAPTER ONE . by cindy

⤷ he's working in his shop, dick annoying the shit out of him, hovering. then you come in and he realises just how much missing out on those integral teenaged years as fucked him over.

JASON'S WORKING ON THE CAR IN FRONT OF HIM. RELAXED. WHICH IS RARE FOR HIM.

"Can't believe you actually run this place," Dick says as he rummages in one of the tool cabinets.

"Hey – don't fuck with that. They're organised." Jason turns and points the wrench at his brother.

Dick pauses for a second, then closes the compartment.

"I wasn't taking them out or anything; they're still in the drawer," He defends.

Jason sighs, dropping his arm to his side in defeat and in the realisation that his brother was, at some point in the future, going to somehow manage to burn this place to the ground.

"No, I mean I organised them into drawers then organised them inside the drawers too," Jason clarifies.

Dick squints his eyes at him, "You know there's a diagnosis for that?"

Jason rolls his eyes and turns back to the car, continuing his work on it.

The shop was… really good. The only reason it'd even started in the first place is because he now goes to therapy once a fortnight.

Crazy turn of events for Jason–emotionally constipated–Todd, I know.

When his therapist –  a lovely woman called Anne Holloway – first asked what his coping mechanisms were when it came to his anxiety, Jason had thought this would be the one normal thing about him.

He cleaned. He worked out. He read. All healthy, right?

Except, he'd clean until his hands were raw from the chemicals he used.

He'd work out until he passed out from exhaustion – which additionally was his only way of getting a healthy amount of sleep most of the time.

And his reading… well, he barely read anymore. Too wired after missions. Too wired in the mornings after he woke up from nightmares that made him violently ill for hours.

His anxiety, his PTSD? It was getting worse.

This confused Jason because he thought therapy was going to fix it or at least make things easier. But the fact is, he'd been shoving everything into a neat little compartment in the back of his mind for so long that actually unpacking his trauma was going to get way, way worse before it got better.

So, no. No, his coping mechanisms weren't normal, nor healthy.

Hence, his newfound love of being the local mechanic.

It's not like he was some car connoisseur, but he'd known about cars since he was little. To survive as a street kid, you steal parts, give them to bigger kids who sell them and give you five bucks for it – ten bucks if you're lucky.

He had to understand machines to stay alive. And he's grown to appreciate machinery even more now after everything he's been through.

Well-designed machinery – specifically cars or weapons – rarely failed you. Always had a solution. Always had an outcome you could figure out logically.

He liked that.

He liked machinery the way people like dogs.

More than humans.

"This place is a little small though, don't you think?" Dick shrugs, looking around as he corsses his arms, standing in between two cars. The only two cars that can fit in the two–car garage Jason had specifically asked for_._

"Nah, wanted something small in Crime Alley."

"I bet B wanted to give you a full-blown warehouse." Dick froze. The word warehouse slipping out.

Jason chuckles, meeting his eyeline.

"I'm not gonna freak out if you say the word warehouse, man. What's next? Crowbar and I have a heart attack and die again?"

Dick straightens a little and smiles awkwardly at his brother, "Right, you're a therapy man now. All emotionally regulated and shit."

He shakes his head and smiles back at him, "And yeah, he wanted me to have a whole ass factory with panel beaters and spray painters. I told him that wasn't what I wanted."

"A two-car garage though? With the world's tiniest break room?" Dick's voice is high-pitched as he squints at his brother.

Jason nods. "It's lived–in. Small, sure, but if kids ever need a place to crash, it's unsuspecting. Gang members won't bother them here."

Dick stares at him, proud. Quietly proud of the man his brothers become after everything.

"How's it going with Anne? She's amazing, isn't she?" Dick asks as he gets closer to where Jason's got the hood open, looking in to see what he's doing. Not that Dick understands anything about cars.

Jason keeps working as he speaks, "Yeah, she's good. Very patient. Doesn't force anything."

The bell at the door rings – Jason finishes tightening something as he looks up.

"Hello?" A voice rings out, soft, cautious almost.

"Yeah, be with you in a sec, hold on," Jason calls out.

Dick gasps dramatically, "A woman?"

Jason scowls at him with a scoff, grabbing a rag draped over the car and wiping his hands.

"Don't be a caveman; women come in here all the time–"

And then you came into view. Bag over your shoulder, hair windswept from being outside, work uniform slightly mussed up due to the chaotic nature of a day in the bullpen.

Jason and Dick were staring.

Dick lets out a breath that sounds like a surprised chuckle.

"Women like that?" he mutters under his breath.

No, not women like that. Jason thinks to himself.

You smile at them, "Hi. Sorry, I wasn't sure if you guys were open."

Jason was still nonverbal. Dick looked at him like – Bro… maybe say something?

You huff awkwardly and shift on your feet, "Just… do you guys fix up bikes? My brother's trying to find a shop that'll fix it up properly instead of scam the shit out of him, and I've heard good things about this place."

Jason snaps out of it and nods, clearing his throat, "Yeah– yeah. Yeah, we– I mean I can do that. He has… he doesn't work here." Jason points stupidly at Dick, already wanting to retreat and die. Again.

You smile at him again – thinking he probably has social anxiety or something. Aw.

"Great, when can I tell him to bring it around?" You ask politely.

Jason wills his mouth to work. Wills it to just say what he's fucking thinking.

Which is: I only work Mondays, Fridays and Saturdays. Today is Monday, so Friday is best–

"Whenever suits your brother. I'm here all the time." He says, cringing at himself – "I'm not all the time, just… most of the time. I guess. So."

You nod, thinking he's sweet for trying so hard to string his sentences together. Poor guy must've had a hard time in high school. Maybe a bit of a nerd? Bullied by some jock type?

"Do you need my number or anything?" You ask, just trying to help him out with how the process of gaining a new client might go.

Jason looked surprised but then realised what you were talking about. Dick was trying really hard not to laugh.

"Yeah, that's… that would be good." He nodded, pulling his phone out of his back jean pocket and walking over to you. Handing it over.

You take it and punch your phone number in – before realising, "Shit, wait, I'll give you my brother's number too. He's the actual client here." You put your brother's phone number in too. And hand the phone back to the guy. "What's your name? Couldn't find any names attached to this place…"

"Jason. I own the shop." He nods, proud he at least managed his name without contest. "That's Dick. He's my brother."

You nod at Dick. "Nice to meet you both. I'll be in touch – or my brother will."

Dick nods back, "Nice to meet you too, Miss."

"Yeah, good to meet you," Jason says as he exhales because thank fuck this conversation is over.

You leave.

Jason does not want to turn around. Because when he does, he'll see Dick's smug face at the realisation that Jason Todd has no idea how to speak to women. Like, at all. In the slightest.

"Bro." Jason hears Dick say in amusement, "That was… impressively bad."

Jason groans and turns toward him, but walks past to the car with the hood still up.

"I mean… that was fucking hopeless." Dick chuckles.

Jason sighs and starts working at the car again, tightening the loose bolts.

"Real funny. Ha. Ha. Keeping rubbing it in." He says, frustrated. Annoyed at himself. At Dick.

"Jay, we have got to do something about that because your game was like…"

"Dick, just drop it," Jason says quietly, gritting his teeth. But Dick continues.

"–No there wasn't even game; it was like… like game over. Your game was six feet under the ground–"

"Yeah well, so was I, Dick." Jason snaps back. Standing up straight from where he was working, eyeing his brother. "I was six feet under whilst every other normal fucking eighteen-year-old was asking girls out and getting used to how to talk to pretty women. Which – not sure if you noticed – but wasn't high on my priority list when I was being tortured and killed. So I now have no idea how to navigate any of that shit at all." Jason says with a scowl, "However embarrassing it looks? It feels about ten times worse, so please just fucking drop it."

Jason's breathing is more erratic now, like the edge of a panic attack.

"Sorry, man. I didn't mean it like that." Dick says softly, feeling awful.

Jason looks at the ground. "I know you didn't."

"No, I'm serious, Jay," Dick says as he sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "The whole family does it. We make jokes about it all the time, and we shouldn't. I mean fuck, you don't call me a whore every day, and I've been around half of Gotham before Kory…"

Jason chuckles a little to himself, then breathes slower.

"I don't know why that got to me…" Jason huffs a breath of confusion as he shakes his head, leaning forward with his arms on the open hood, closing it.

"Because you want normal. You didn't get normal. And now your asshole, whore brother was giving you shit for it." Dick says, reaching over the hood of the car to squeeze Jason's shoulder.

"Don't get it twisted, I'm still the asshole brother. Thats my title." Jason points at him, shrugging off his hand. They chuckle.

"Love you, man," Dick says softly. Jason grimaces, "And hey, if you ever need any advice–"

"Shut the fuck up and let's go. Alfred's made lasagna apparently." Jason turns and grabs his keys. "It's her brother's bike anyway; she won't come in again."

Dick grins at him, "We'll see."

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Being weird as shit," Jason says, pushing open the door to the shop.

"I'm your brother; it's my job."

🤍 RED HOOD: REBUILT MASTERLIST

[cinder-rxse]

⋆˚꩜｡ ONE SHOT FOR . . . / JASON TODD

⤷ he's had an intimate encounter with you last week – after a long friendship full of tension. now he has no idea what to do with himself. you confront him.

꒰ vigilante!reader | angst + fluff | established friendship | suggestive – MDNI | jason's POV | 4th wall breaks ꒱

NOTE: this jason is a combo of canon jason todd timeline and arkham knight oki xx dont get mad. also lemme know if you want a series. might consider 👀👀👀

BY MONTH FIVE IN ARKHAM, I'D STOPPED BELIEVING I'D HAVE A FUTURE.

Didn’t stop me from imagining it every now and then.

It was pathetic, really –– reminding myself of what my life could’ve looked like had I not gone after the Joker that night. 

The coroner's office will tell you I died when I was 18. Severe trauma from close range explosive blast, cause of death: asphyxiation. 

I’d tell you I died when I was 16. Cause? Devastating surrender to hopelessness. To the fact I’d never – ever – get out. That he really wasn’t coming to save me this time. That I’d die scared, alone, and ashamed of just how low Joker managed to get me. 

I’d never been more vulnerable in my life than some of those moments with Joker. 

And that made me sick.

Fucking hell I’m dramatic aren’t I?

Anyways, point being, I never thought I’d get to be here. In the Batcave. Fixing Bruce’s car because of something ‘sounding off’ which was code for: “I’d like you to stay longer after patrols because I miss my son.”

I never thought I’d be here, and I definitely didn’t think I’d be… nevermind. Don’t even want to think about it.

The car looks fine, Bruce. I think to myself.

I get out from under the car and stand up. Joints cracking. Back, ankle, neck.

Because though the Lazarus Pit brings you back, it doesn’t un-break what was completely broken before it.

I sigh as I turn to look at the Batmobile. Same one I tried to steal the wheels off of when I was a scrawny, scared little kid.

I still feel like him sometimes.

I hear a throat clear behind me and a jump slightly, turning to see where the noise came from.

Fuck me with a fucking crowbar.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” She says, the woman who’d… nope. Not thinking about it.

I shake my head and shrug, crossing my arms.

“Been busy,” is all I manage to say back. That was fine, I think? Not giving away any signs that she’d rewired my whole nervous system the other week.

She smiles like she doesn’t believe me.

She has to stop fucking doing that.

I can’t even look her in the eye or my mind flashes back.

“So we’re just going to pretend then, hm?” She says as she tilts her head, testing the waters. Knowing I’ll retreat if I get pressured, like a wild animal. Hate that I do that, but I do. Hate that she knows it.

I exhale and look down, “What do you want me to say?”

“That you liked it.” She shrugs, stepping closer, still far away.

I exhale sharper this time, almost laughing, “You serious?”

“Just say that you––”

“Of course I fucking liked it. Jesus, was that not obvious?” I snap. Well, that was quick.

Couldn't compose myself for more than 2 minutes. 

Just like last week. That’s the problem.

She pauses before asking, “Why’re you upset?” Her expression is more cautious, more serious now.

I turn away and face the Batmobile again, walking around to the back of it, opening the engine cover. 

Surely he’s fucked something up in here with how he drives. 

Anything to get me away from… this.

She stands there, staring. I can feel it. Then footsteps. She’s next to me.

Then quietly, and I don’t know why –– maybe because I enjoy the constant humiliation ritual I participate in that’s called living life as Jason Todd: “Because it freaks me out.” 

And for a moment she doesn’t say anything. So I say something else before I crawl back into my shell like the grumpy fucking turtle I am.

“Because I’m twenty-one and you make me feel like a fucking teenager and the last time I was one, I died. Literally.” I huff a tired noise before adding, “And because my body, brain and I have a weird relationship when it comes to anything feeling good.”

She still doesn’t say anything. Which worries me slightly because I probably sound like a complete fucking idiot. 

I stare at the engine. Has a bat symbol on it. Bit excessive Bruce.

“You’re scared because–”

“I don’t get scared, I said this freaked me out.” I corrected her, my tone was harsh. I feel bad immediately.

Feeling like an asshole but what I meant was; you can’t really get scared after you see the shit I’ve seen.

She sighs, but I can tell by her voice she’s not annoyed, just trying to understand.

 “You freaked out because something felt good?”

“Honestly? Just forget it, this is stupid as hell––”

“I don’t want to forget it, Jason.” She says sharply. And I turn to look at her.  

I don’t understand why but I’d imagined it’d been nothing for her. It’s not like we had sex. I’d told her at the time that I got weird about that stuff because of Arkham. 

How’d you know that if you’ve never had sex before Jason?–

I’ve tried to relieve myself a few times on my own after stressful patrols and let’s just say it didn’t work because that disgusting laugh crawled up my spine halfway through. 

There, happy? Great. All on the same page.

She was okay with not going too far that night. Just… helped me out a little. Well, a lot.

I was so tense the whole time it was honestly embarrassing. But she’d managed to do that for me without me completely losing it. 

She’d made me feel safe enough that I didn’t disappear into my head.

That.

That is what freaked me out.

Because after Arkham? After dying? After everything? I thought I’d never feel safe again.

She looks up at me, a little softer now. Don’t think I’ve seen her look like that before. “I don’t know if you think I just… do that to any guy with a pulse. I have experience but thats different from fucking all of Gotham––”

“Not what I think.” I clarify, because God forbid this girl thinks I’m slut-shaming her somehow. “I don’t think you do that.” 

“Jason, I would’ve done more than that if that’s what you were okay with that night. And that’s a big deal for me.” My stomach does that weird thing again –– the one that makes me feel sick but in a fuzzy way. “I hate being vulnerable. I hate it because we both know the kind of shit it gets you in.” She’s softer when she says that.

I nod. She has no idea how much I understand that. Maybe she does.

She continues:

“It freaks me out too.” She shrugs, “In a different way, sure. But it does.”

I exhale. Didn’t realise I wasn’t breathing. 

“I really, really have no idea what to do about you.” I say quietly, boyish. I hate it.

“Just don’t file what we did away as something you don’t want to think about because the feelings are too complicated for you to understand right now.” She says plainly.

I’m just dumbfounded to be honest.

I feel that anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach. God, not now. I need to wrap this up.

“Look,” I shift weight onto my other foot, my left ankle killing me. Arkham reminder. Fuck. “I barely hold my own shit together. I’m still trying to understand how this version of me works.” Good start, Todd. “So I’m not… I can’t forget it. But I don’t have room for… whatever comes after.”

She scoffs, “I’m not asking you to marry me––”

“I know that, Jesus.” I exhale again. Am I fucking this up? “Sorry I just… don’t want to fuck you around and I’m trying to be honest. I care. Okay? I do care.”

“Care about what happened? Or me?” She asks, eyes on mine. Even that felt intense.

I hesitate, “Are they not the same thing?”

She nods, tongue in cheek. “One is an experience, Jason, the other is a person.”

Now I really feel like an ass.

Since when did I, Jason Todd, have girl problems?

“It meant something to me.” That's all I can say. Not really an answer. “You say you don’t do that kind of thing for just anyone? Yeah, well, I don’t do it at all. Point blank, period.” 

She looks a little surprised, “Wait, so you’ve never…”

The pit in my stomach gets deeper. Please, just another few minutes.

My breath stutters a little. Great.

Her face softens, “You okay?”

I groan at myself. “Yeah, just… like I said. My brain likes to fuck with my body.”

She nods and steps closer, reaching a hand out slowly for mine. Taking it. Then squeezing it softly.

“I don’t get good things. I don’t.” I say with venom that probably isn’t necessary, staring at her hand in mine, “I feel things about you that I don’t understand, so I’m sorry if it comes across as if I’m ghosting you or if you feel like I used you or something. Because I would not do that to you. Not after that. That's not me.”

She nods, then lets go of my hand, “Find me when you understand it then.” 

Then she’s gone.

Update my death certificate.

Cause of Death: Being emotionally unavailable.

As I said earlier. I’d never thought too far into the future.

Never thought I’d get my family back.

Never thought I’d be in the cave again.

Never thought a gorgeous, badass woman would be any kind of interested in me.

So this? This situation?

It gave me a little flicker of hope for something good after having felt nothing but pain for so so long.

Terrifying.

Still dramatic though, right?

Jesus, don’t tell Dick any of this.