i think we should discuss more soft jason, more lovey-dovey jason, more obsessed with his girlfriend jason, cutesy only soft in front of his girlfriend, adorable, kicking my feet against my bed jason, ... basically i need more jason todd....
do you understand how im feeling?
-🍨
i'm picking up what you're putting down alright! jason todd x gn!reader. short fluffy established relationship blurb. reader paints their nails and uses a vanity.
****
"This one is for rejuvenation," you say, sliding the sheet mask out of its packaging. "It has aloe vera and sea minerals."
"What the hell are sea minerals?" Jason asks as you smooth the mask onto his face.
"Dunno, but they're good for you. Stop moving your mouth."
You're atop him, legs straddling his thighs. Jason drums a silent pattern on your hip. You smooth the nose flap and his nose twitches. The flap curls out of place. You sigh.
"Dude."
"Tickles," he says, the word muffled from trying not to move the mask.
"Okay, I'm done. You can talk now."
"I feel rejuvenated already," Jason says, pink lips even pinker in contrast to the ghostly mask.
"You look rejuvenated to me," you say happily.
He grins. Jason always seems to smile more around you.
"So what're we doin' tonight? Besides putting sea minerals on my face."
"Um?" You point to your face, with its own mask. "Not just you. Soon, we'll both be rejuvenated."
"Sorry, sweetheart," Jason says, looking at you like you're the best thing on earth. "After we both get sea-mineralized, are we ordering in?"
"Yeah. I have a coupon for Vinnie's. Can I paint your nails?"
"Sure, baby."
"Yippee!" You leap off the couch and sprint to your and Jason's shared room. You dig through the vanity Jason hand-built and painted for your birthday last year. It's Robin's egg blue, with white accents. He admitted shyly, later, that he'd built it in the hopes that it'd make you want to move in permanently with him.
So a bribe? you'd asked, grinning.
I like to think of it as motivation.
And, well, it worked. You've been living together for almost a year now.
You take out the dark red, almost black polish and return, jumping on the couch. Jason's on the phone, ordering pizza. He gives you his left hand and you tuck yourself against him, opening the polish and starting to paint his nails with the focus of a brain surgeon.
"Uh-huh, yeah, for delivery. Twenty minutes? Alright, thanks." He hangs up. "Ooh, my favorite."
"You better believe it, handsome. Only the best for my favorite boyfriend."
"Favorite?"
You shrug. "Yeah. Don't tell the others."
Jason gently takes the polish and sets it on the coffee table. You're confused—you've only painted two fingers.
"What're you—"
He cuts you off by grabbing your waist with his unpainted hand, pulling you against him and kissing your neck. You squeal in laughter, grasping at his shoulders.
"Jason!"
"I'll show you favorite," he says, pressing ticklish kisses down your throat. He has his painted hand in the air, away from his antics, because he knows you'll pout if the polish gets messed up.
"Uncle, uncle! Please." You pant, delighted, as Jason lets up. You're lying on his lap, and he pulls you in for a real kiss. You pull away from his mouth enough to say, "You know you're the only one for me, Jay."
He hums and kisses you again, rubbing your shoulder. You slacken in his grip, running your fingers through his hair. You twirl one of the silver curls around your finger.
"Much better," Jason says when you break for air.
"I'd never upset my meal ticket," you say, gleeful when he rolls his eyes.
"You're on thin ice, baby."
You lean in for another kiss, ready to make it up to him.
summary: jason's got no one to blame but himself for the mess he's made. the pieces of the case start to come together.
tags: angst, reference to off screen violence, reference to serial killer
rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 2.1k
a/n: thank you to everyone that's stuck around with this fic for so long. life and other projects just got in the way, but i'm really hoping to get this fic finished in the next few months. thank you to @batchilla for keeping me accountable and reading an early version of this chapter.
Somebody should have told Jason there are worse ways to hurt someone than killing them. His family likely already know this. He thought he knew pain but this—you’ve managed to cut him down at the knees, at the throat. He didn’t know he could cry like this over someone not yet dead. Somebody he could still reach out and touch, if you'd let him. Not that you would. Not anymore. Wind whips the tears away, burning with salt and friction as he runs. A pebble—his ankle nearly twists. Jason curses but keeps going. The pain is secondary to the numbness hollowing his body out, centered around his heart. He’s not even sure where the tears are coming from. Somebody should have told him it would have been kinder to stay in his grave. To let the dead stay where they were buried. It would have meant a lot of bad people were still breathing if he had listened though, and there’s one bad man that has to die. Whoever he is.
If there's one thing to come out of the wreckage he is incapable of not inflicting on everyone around him, it will be the death of that man. No taunts, no torture. Just an end. Those girls who still haven't had their bodies released by the coroner and you have suffered enough. Jason's made you suffer enough.
There had been a point of no return, somewhere. It had slipped past him, unnoticed, until it was too late except to watch the fall out come raining down around you both. Rules. He had given himself rules and then flouted them all. All but the one that he should have broken. Told you himself that he loved you. Before it was too late. Before his stubbornness and pre-emptive fear of pain had hurt you more than you could have ever hurt him.
Your contempt doesn't surprise him. If he's honest with himself, it always would have ended this way. Him, staring longingly at your back as you put him out with the trash. A back alley reject that he'd never grown out of. What surprises him more is his own self-loathing. What had been his constant companion is now taking on new dimensions entirely. Friends. He'd been so fucking stupid to think he'd ever be able to keep things as clear cut as that.
Jason Todd had had your heart and he'd broken it. Repeatedly. In the name of not breaking his own, even though he'd been doing that all along. He wants to laugh but the hysteria bubbling in his gut makes him shy away. It would sound too familiar and nauseating.
The vantage point from this roof is not quite as good as the view from the building directly across from yours, but it will have to do. You don't want to see him, to even know that he's there, and that rooftop is one you'll be watching. It had been a mistake. A lot of things had been. He's got no one to blame for it but himself. But he's got a job. One last promise to keep. A man needs to die for you to be safe. Maybe Jason Todd, Gotham University student and all around asshole, does too.
The hack is easy. Nothing that he couldn't manage on his own, for all that he had needed Babs' help to get in to the system. Disappearing from it is comparatively easy. A few key strokes and Jason Todd no longer exists. Dying gets easier the second time around. Especially if your family doesn't care enough this time to try and stop it.
Spoiler is angry enough that she doesn't bring him a coffee but not angry enough to stand him up. She's waiting for him at the park they'd chosen, feet propped up on the side of a broken fountain, back to him and pressed against the slats of the bench.
"O's pissed," she says between sips of her drink.
"If she was, she'd have told me herself," Jason replies, choosing to stand rather than join Spoiler on her bench. Oracle would have hacked his ear piece, made the digital clock on his microwave shout at him, sent every patrolman in the GCPD to his favourite bookshop if she was really angry. This message passed through someone else hovers somewhere between annoyance and frustration.
"Pissed enough to tell me to pass it on," Stephanie amends, glancing up at Jason. "So am I, for the record."
Jason nods. "Noted." He tucks his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. His jacket is probably too warm for this time of year but he feels naked without it. Exposed and yearning to go back to all those times he let you wear it.
Stephanie scoffs, pushing up from the bench and rattling her paper cup to check if there's any liquid left inside. "You're an asshole."
Ducking his head, Jason tries not to roll his eyes.
"And I still don't trust you," she continues. "But I was starting to give a shit about you and now you pull this. Looking out for the victims is as much a part of the job as taking down the bad guys and you know that. Tell me why I shouldn't try and run this case on my own."
Hands balling into unseen fists, Jason stares at her, desperation starting to eat at the edges of his vision.
"She's not a victim. And I'm not distracted anymore."
Stephanie scoffs, then starts wandering down the running path, forcing Jason to jog to keep up.
"There's only one person with a clear connection to killer, someone who needs help, and you just went and cut their safety net out from under them." She tosses her empty cup as she passes by a wire trashbin. It makes a soft thunk as it hits the rim and tumbles in. "Maybe she's not a victim yet but if there's a list, she's on it."
"She told me I could solve this case without being in her life and she was right," Jason chokes out, the words gritty on his tongue.
A couple comes jogging up the path in athletic wear, the man pausing to tie his shoe. Jason has to swallow his other excuses. He and Stephanie lapse into silence while the man's girlfriend smiles at them, awkward and polite. It's only when the couple has disappeared around the next bend in the path that Jason begins to speak again.
"There's more women dead than there should be because I was too distracted," Jason tells Stephanie. His voice doesn't feel like his but he can feel the vibrations in his throat as if from a distance. "I want to get this fucker before anyone else gets hurt."
Stephanie kicks at a pebble on the path. It skitters nearly a meter down the dirt road.
"A life outside the mask isn't a 'distraction'," she grumbles, playing with the string on her purple hoodie. "Even B knows that."
The muscles in Jason's face freeze into a grimace. "We're not here to talk about him."
Gently, Stephanie nudges him with her elbow. "Maybe you don't want a civilian identity today, but don't blow up any more bridges." She pauses. "Metaphorically speaking. We might have to blow up some bridges before the case is done. I'm still mad, by the way."
Still half frozen and numb, Jason can only nod. "Wouldn't expect anything less."
They've walked far enough into the park now that they've reached the picnic area. It's overgrown with weeds and dead grass but the wood has yet rotten through on the benches. Stephanie sits, straddling one of the benches, hands still tucked deep in her pockets. She crooks an eyebrow at Jason and makes a vague wiggling motion that Jason takes as an invitation to sit. The wood is damp enough that Jason can feel it through his jeans.
"O found something—well. More like N found something and then asked her to follow up."
Copper floods his mouth and it takes a moment for Jason to realize he's bitten through his cheek.
"He's not supposed to be on this case."
Stephanie shrugs, unbothered. "Do you really care, as long as he helped find something we missed?"
And the answer is no, of course not. If it's something that will save you, will lead straight to the killer, then Jason doesn't care if the source is the Joker himself. But the sting is still there. That despite his clean line in the sand, Dick hadn't listened to him. Or Babs. Or even Stephanie by extension.
"So what did we miss, then?" Jason grits out from between his aching jaw.
Pulling out a flashdrive, Stephanie pushes it across the soft wood of the table towards him.
"You thought Will Aartsen was suspicious but he had an alibi," she says. Jason nods. "Instead of leaving it there, I kept digging. Did you know his family cut him off at the begining of the school year?"
Dazed, Jason shakes his head. The cheap plastic of the thumb drive doesn't quite feel real in his palm. "I knew his family was rich. Thought he was, too."
Stephanie taps her fingers on the surface of the table in no discernible pattern. "Now, I can't prove this next bit, not yet," she cautions him, forehead starting to furrow. "But muggings in the neighbourhoods around the GU campus started increasing around the same time."
A strangled noise builds in Jason's chest and bursts out of his mouth. A bird startles out of one of the nearby trees. "He couldn't just get a job?"
Stephanie bites at her lip not to laugh. "Entitlement's one hell of a disease." Her face falls. She hesitates, buying time by tucking her hair behind her ear and fiddling with the elastic of her ponytail. "I think that he was the one that tried to rob you. Both of you."
And Jason can see it suddenly. Will's wrist had been broken the same weekend Jason had broken the mugger's. Will had bitched and moaned so much that Jason had practically tuned him out. Will's wariness and animosity around Jason had increased specifically after that night. Especially when Jason had been around—
"That doesn't explain the alibis," Jason says, mouth dry. He tucks the flashdrive into an inner pocket of his jacket, hands too sweaty and unsteady at the news. "Or what dickface found."
Nodding, Stephanie says, "Look, connecting him to the muggings—and I'm not saying I have, not yet—is one thing. But there still wasn't anything connecting him to the murders, at least nothing that I thought we could act on."
"You wouldn't be tellin' me all this if there wasn't somethin' now," Jason says, stomach dropping out. He should have known. Will had been off from the start.
"N decided to follow your…friend, stake out her apartment at a time you usually didn't." Jason starts cursing the predictability of his own routines under his breath. "He wants to apologise, by the way, for scaring her."
"That time she thought she saw someone on the roof," Jason says slowly. "I didn't believe her."
Stephanie squirms in her seat. "He wants to apologise," she repeats. "He saw Aartsen's bike by her apartment and decided to chase down that lead. When O's search turned up the alibis, N took a closer look. All of the credit card purchases were made in his name were done at self service kiosks. Security cameras never captured Aartsen, but they did get footage of his mother's personal assistant."
"Fuck," Jason swears, hopping and trying to extricate himself from the picnic bench. "And you're just telling me this now?"
"It's not definitive proof!" Stephanie hisses at him. "GCPD won't move on him without anything more concrete and even I'm still 100% not sure we've got the right guy."
"I'll kill him," Jason mutters. He hasn't felt this nauseated since—since you kicked him out.
Quicker than he can register, Stephanie's hand snaps out and closes around his wrist.
"No," she says, voice dangerous and low. "No I didn't tell you so that you could kill him—"
"He could hurt my—my friend!" he growls back. "He's been hurting her, he's terrorized her, he's probably planning to—"
"O and N have him under surveillance!" Stephanie shoots back, getting up from the table and up into his face. Her grip around his wrist tightens as her expression hardens. "He won't get near her, we'll get the proof we need another way, you don't have to kill—"
Jason's phone rings shrilly in the back pocket of his jeans. It's the ring tone he'd programmed. For you. Both he and Stephanie freeze, then Jason breaks out of her hold and scrabbles to answer it.
"Jay?" Your voice is tinny over the cellphone but Jason can still hear the wobble in it. The way it only gets after you've been crying and your throat starts to close up. "He says I have to—I have to say goodbye."
I don't care what anyone says, I WILL NEVER agree with the decision to have Steven "With You 'Til The End Of The Line" Rogers ABANDON his best friend to go with Peggy. Fuck Marvel for that, respectfully.
Soft Lovin’ (Chubby!Bucky x Reader) 18+
All The Way Down - 18+
Promises - 18+
All The Man That I Need - 18+
Tiny Match-maker (SFW/Fluff)
Tiny Match-maker:Prince Charming (SFW/Fluff
Competent things that Jason Todd does that I find extremely hot:
Driving with one hand/putting a hand on the back of the passenger seat when he reverses.
Is able to reload a gun without stopping a conversation or looking away from you.
He's really good at darts. Impeccable aim. I'm all over him.
Has amazing balance. This is especially evident when you're on the train. Jason always stands to leave seats for others. If you stand with him, he not only can balance himself, but if you're wobbly, Jason will very easily hold you in place with a hand on your back or hip.
He's good at fixing things. Knows exactly what to get from Home Depot. He's that Ron Swanson "I know more than you" moment.
Very aware of his surroundings which results in things like tugging you gently so you don't bump into anyone or anything. Does this without breaking conversation, of course.
Good at undressing you or dressing you. Not necessarily in a sexual way, just that Jason is observant enough to know your routine and style. He knows what jewelry or accessories you wear and he'll put them on you. He'll put your shoes on for you. Zip up your dress or pants or button your blouse. Tie the sashes on your clothes. And he's just as good at getting your clothes off, especially when you're too tired.
Is good at navigating. Can read a map easily. Has a sharp sense of direction. Sometimes gives directions like "you'll go three miles west" and you have to give him a look because what the hell is he talking about? You're not a compass...
He remembers faces and names well. Jason has a good memory in general. He needs it for what he does.
Jason is just really smart! The way he lives enables him to meet a lot of different people and be exposed to a lot of different cultures and places. Jason would be good at navigating a foreign country, for example. If you were on vacation he'd know where to eat, what areas to visit, how to talk to the locals, etc.
Jason speaks a lot of languages. He's good at figuring out puzzles or decoding linguistic clues. He's a voracious reader. Knowledge is power for Jason.
If you're eating somewhere that isn't sit-down (e.g., Chipotle) Jason knows your order and will order for you. He urges you to sit and let him bring food to you. It makes him feel wanted.
An obvious one is that Jason's good in the field. He's good in combat. You've only witnessed this a few times because Jason doesn't like fighting in front of you. But the way Jason wields his body or weapons and fluidly disarms or restrains someone is hot as fuck! You're all over him on those nights (Jason doesn't understand why).
Jason is super protective but he does it in a way that's not posturing. He doesn't have an ego about it. But if he sees that you or someone nearby feels unsafe, he'll stand there and put himself between you and the danger. Yelling or fighting isn't his first choice. Jason's confident and competent enough that he knows how to deescalate without raising his voice. I need him so bad.
Strong man lifts stuff teehee! Jason very easily can carry your groceries or assemble furniture or even move you around. Like if Jason's coming to sit on the couch and watch a movie with you, he'll move you so he can sit with you atop him. It always flusters you and it always makes you want to paw at him rather than watch the movie <3
When he gets more comfortable in your relationship, Jason does little touches that, to you, sort of establish dominance without him meaning to. That is, Jason pets you a little and you melt. Usually it's from a hand on your thigh while you're sitting. Or him touching the small of your back or putting an arm around your waist. It makes you giddy how easily Jason touches you.
Sometimes you'll purposely make Jason take a plate or towel from you because he gets so focused when he's trying to get something from you. It makes you feel hunted in a sexy way. Before you can blink, Jason's got the plate. You don't even know how it happens, how he moves so fast and takes things without a struggle. Reminders of Jason's easy strength and agility are also very hot.
NSFW: Jason is really good at making you cum. The thing about Jason is that when he wants to do something well, he won't stop practicing until he hones the skill. So when it comes to pleasing you in bed, Jason puts in the work until it comes very naturally to him. He is particularly dexterous with his fingers and gets annoyingly good at making you squirm and whine.
Somewhat NSFW: Jason's really fucking clever. Sometimes this results in him getting cocky or teasing you a bit. Never in a mean way. But an example is if you're secretly reading a smutty book, Jason will find out no matter how careful you are. And he will be so damn smug about figuring things out. If he sees that you get flustered when he's outwitted you, forget it. Jason will absolutely take advantage. 😏
Above all, the hottest thing by far is that for the majority of these things, Jason isn't even aware of how attractive he is. To him, it's just stuff he knows how to do or behaviors that come naturally to him. He's not trying to show off or be hot and that only makes him hotter 🤌
summary: you get asked out on a date. it's not by jason.
tags: angst, reference to off screen violence, reference to serial killer, jealousy, piv sex, biting, rough sex, swearing
rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 6.5k
a/n: this part was where the whole idea for this series started and so consequently i struggled to write it. huge thanks to @janybabyy for beta reading this! it took me longer to get this out than i wanted but this is the longest chapter so far by 2.5k and you get some smut to so please don't be too mad with me.
Jason doesn’t bring up the diner. Neither do you. You can’t say anything because if you do, your jaw will unhinge and every moment, every accounting of each small hurt will come spilling out between your teeth. It will lace through your heaving retches of pitiful emotion, that part that still cries out why not me, why aren’t I good enough, and it will harden him against you. Permanently. So no, you do not speak of it. Can’t form the words. But oh do you think of it.
You think of how he took you there first. A little thing that you had pretended could be a date, in another universe. A silvery grain of hope. Now you see it for what it really was. A trial. A test run before the big day. Jason had not quite shouted and you had not quite pretended that it hadn’t hurt. It had. The memory of it still smarts when you think of how his voice had cut, freezing to the bone.
Jason doesn’t speak of it and you do not speak of Jason. To Jason. You make plans with Danika under the condition that his name won’t be spoken. You accept more and more invitations from your coworkers to hang out outside of work so long as their plans don’t fall on a Friday. It’s infuriating how despite the lengths you go to to fill your time, you still cannot get enough of him. No matter how you swallow down your pride and your pain through the days that keep passing torturously by, you cannot find it in yourself to turn him away from your door. That for every new plan you make, you can’t stop the small part of you that still sits up and wags its tail when Jason’s lumbering shadow comes to walk you home. You need him so badly it’s nauseating, eating too much candy and feeling sugar-sick while you pop the next sweet into your greedy mouth. You need him in a way that scares you if you think on it too hard. The white hot burn of atmospheric re-entry, poison seeping into groundwater. He’s— fuck. There’d been a lesson once, in long ago failed crushes and high school romances where you’d sworn to never be this girl, the one that reduces herself down to who she is loved by, yet here you are. It cannot continue.
For the very first time you refuse the food Jason offers you. This will be the beginning of the long, slow extrication of him from your life, until you can see him and not breathe in around the sucking wet wound of your heart.
“Let me make you somethin’,” he had mumbled into the bare shoulder of your still sleep warmed skin. “Breakfast before I go.”
“Don’t,” you tell him, rolling away and out of the warm cocoon of your bed. Your pyjamas are scattered on the floor, a ratty old t-shirt and sweats, but you pull them on anyway for the short walk to the shower. “Got brunch planned later and I don’t want to spoil my appetite.”
“Somethin’ for your freezer then,” he suggests, still staring up at you from the bed. “With everythin’ going on I know you aren’t makin’ it to the grocery store regularly.”
“You don’t owe me anything Jason,” you call over your shoulder, the sibilance of the n a weight on the tip of your tongue. Always Jason. Never your Jay. Not once the sun is up and the world’s awake. You shut the bathroom door firmly behind you, turn the shower knob so that the spray of the water drowns out anything else he might say. He’s gone when you get out, hair dripping as you towel it off. There’s a bunch of meal prepped ingredients arranged in your fridge, whatever had been left over from your last long forgotten grocery run. The seal makes a funny noise as you shut the fridge door.
Four days after your fridge is emptied and refilled with groceries that cost more than you were comfortable with, you make the next incision.
“I’ll see you at 9:00 after your trivia thing to walk you home, yeah?” Jason asks, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
“Oh what trivia thing?” Danika chimes in, gently nudging you with her elbow. Her question is real but her smile is vaguely hurt at your lack of forthcoming.
You swallow before adjusting the weight of your bag on your own shoulder, shifting to avoid the stream of people leaving the classroom. “A few of the other research assistants have a trivia team they do for fun. Sometimes I join them.”
“And Jason?” she prompts.
“I walk her home so no psychos get any ideas,” he says shortly, interrupting you before you can do more than open your mouth.
“Actually,” you start, “I was thinking of getting one of them to walk me home tonight instead. I know that you’re busy.” You turn to him, eyes wide and only a touch pleading.
He stares, body dangerously still. You can feel Danika’s eyes prying, the movement of bodies eddying around you. Soon a new crowd of students will come crushing in, a new lecture block will start. All of you will go your separate ways.
“It’s never any trouble to make sure you’re safe,” he says slowly. Stupidly. Like you don’t understand all the false meanings and doubled language dripping from his lips. The image of Barbie, the blonde, sears itself into your mind again.
“No, but I don’t like putting you out of your way when me walking you home won’t have nearly the same effect,” you reply with forced gaiety. Your grip on the strap of your bag pulls the skin tight across your knuckles. Awkwardly you force yourself not to shift from foot to foot. “Besides, you know that none of them could possibly be the killer, don’t you?” It’s a challenge as much as a confirmation. If it was one of them, surely Jason would have found out or at least voiced his suspicions to you by now.
Tightly Jason nods, one hand coming to run through his curls in distraction.
“If that’s what you want,” he says finally.
You nod. “It is.”
Ian is kind enough to volunteer to walk you home. His presence does not banish the shadows or soothe your nerves but the alternative of being alone is worse. Jason would have made the street seem brighter. Jason would have made you feel safe. But Jason won’t be here forever and there’s more types of damage that can be done to your heart than a frightening walk in the dark. Your hand is still wrapped around the can of pepper spray in your bag and you startle easily at the sounds of the city, sounds that you’ve heard all your life. Movement on the skyline catches at your periphery and you stifle a groan. Red Hood is not so subtly keeping pace with the two of you. Distractedly you say your goodbyes to Ian at the door to your building, a bright ball of something burning in your chest.
Without your conscious input, your fingers are already dialling his number, the phone wedged between your shoulder and ear as you do up the bolts on your door.
“Hello?” Jason says uncharacteristically cautious. His voice is tinny, what must be the effect of picking up through his helmet.
“And what,” you ask tightly, “do you think the definition of ‘don’t walk me home’ means exactly?"
“I wasn’t following you,” he says defensively. “I was checking out something in that part of town."
With a huff you set your bag down and start flicking on the lights. It’s not quite cold enough for you to justify switching the heating on, but there’s still a chill to the air. With a shiver you shed your jacket and go hunting for a sweater.
“Did I say that you were following me?” you ask to dead silence on the other end of the line. “I wanted to know why you say one thing, then do another when it comes to trusting my decisions."
“It’s not– it’s not like that,” he insists stubbornly. “It wasn’t safe.”
“So then either you don’t trust my judgement about the safety measures I take, or you weren’t telling the full truth when you said that my coworkers weren’t a threat.” With a flick of the tap, you fill up your hot water kettle, the rush of the running water filling the silence. Another flick with the kettle in its dock sets it to boiling.
“I trust you!” He protests. Another flicker of movement on the rooftop opposite yours has you rolling your eyes. He never gives up or gets the hint, does he? You huff and go back to preparing your tea. “I trust you, I don’t trust him, even if he might not be the murderer.”
“Are you lying to me Jason?” Not just about this moment, about anything, everything. About the girl in the diner, about his feelings for you, if he thinks that you will truly survive this madman. The question is more vulnerable, more cutting, than you had intended but you cannot regret it. If only he would tell you the truth, explain all the dogged silences and secrets, perhaps this could be something still capable of mending. Perhaps entangling him from you won’t be necessary. His tinny voice is the nail in the coffin of all your hopes.
“M not lyin’ about this.” But I am about other things goes unsaid. It rings clear as day anyway.
You strain and set aside your teabag. It’s steeped a little stronger than you’d like, but then Jason has a way of distracting you, of making all the little details fade into the background. The tea is bitter but you drink it down anyway.
“Fine then,” you tell him, voice oddly detached from your body. You barely register it when you hang up.
Work is work. Despite your newfound closeness with your coworkers, the monotony of endless research and endless grant applications gets to you. The office walls seem to close in, stuffy air suffocating. You pinch the bridge of your nose, eyes screwed tight against the brewing headache of sleepless nights and the constant high pitched adrenaline hum that never seems to leave your limbs these days.
“–offee?” a voice asks over your shoulder. The back of your head almost collides with the speaker’s nose in your surprise.
“Sorry?” you mumble.
Ian simply smiles from outside of the collision zone and repeats his question.
“Do you want coffee? I’m going to do a drink run for the office and you look like you could use one."
Taken aback, you can only stare, the stifling heat of the room getting to you. You shouldn’t have worn such a thick sweater. But then today’s been all about bad choices hasn’t it?
“I’ll come help you,” you decide spontaneously. "You’ll need help carrying them back if you’re bringing back orders for this lot.” The fresh air should do you good. Waken you up a bit, clear away the cobwebs Jason’s left behind.
“That would be great,” he says with that same easy grin as you shuck on your coat.
The walk isn’t long to the nearest campus coffee kiosk and while the department budget will stretch to the occasional caffeine injection for its bright stars of tomorrow, it most certainly won’t stretch to the trendier chain that’s popping up across Gotham. Ian’s an easy companion, seeming to sense when to break the silence and when to let it settle. The melting slush is turning greyish on the pavement and the air does quite a good job of wiping away the last of the night. Ian winces at the length of the line for the till and you laugh at his unusually sour expression.
“Already regretting your good deed of the day?” you tease him.
“Oh the day’s still young, there’s plenty more good to do and plenty more to regret,” he says wryly. “No, what I’m more worried about is the absolute beast Duvall is going to turn into if he doesn’t get his coffee in a timely manner.” The line slowly trudges forward and the two of you move up the scant few steps.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” you reassure him, squinting up at the menu boards. “Everyone likes you, even crochety old Duvall."
“And do you like me?” he asks, catching you off guard. You start to stutter through a response but he interrupts. “Sorry, that was rather rude of me."
“No, I was just– surprised by the question is all,” you deflect.
“I should have started with ‘are you single’,” he confesses, an apologetic grin on his face. “I really didn’t mean to put you on the spot, I know the timing’s awful with that maniac on the loose.”
“It’s not that I’m not flattered,” you start slowly, completely uncertain where you’re going with this. It’s not a lie to say that you are single – Jason had made the terms of your arrangement very clear even if he hadn’t ended things yet – but it feels like one. “And I’m not dating anyone but things are a little...complicated at the moment.” There. A compromise.
“Oh I had thought for a moment that, well, your friend...but then I was also never sure,” he says embarrassedly ruffling his hand through his hair. On Jason the action looks melancholic. Romantic even. On Ian it looks rather like youthful insecurity.
“We aren’t,” you tell him, a little more brusquely than you had intended.
“Look I don’t want to make things awkward,” he says, that slight air of embarrassed vulnerability still hanging over him. “I respect you as a colleague and as trivia team mate, but I would like to take you out on a date. You don’t have to give me an answer now,” he hurries to add before you can shut him down. “It’s an open ended offer and I won’t expect anything until you decide to give me the green light or tell me to piss off.”
“I’ll think about it,” you tell him finally as the two of you approach the cashier. “I’m not saying no, but I do need to think about it."
It's an idea you return to. An easy enough distraction from the thorny sandstorm that is your relationship with Jason. Ian is nice. He's straightforward, surprisingly respectful, and unlikely to be salivating over the idea of your prolonged death. But there's no spark. No sunkissed heat in your belly calling you home to his arms or putting stars in your eyes. Maybe that's a good thing. After all, chasing that animal high is what got you into this mess in the first place. Ian’s a logical, sound option for a girl like you with the future you've got planned.
“What do you know about Ian in your thesis seminar?” you interrupt Danika’s half desperate attempt to prepare for her presentation. Idly you realize that you’ve been gnawing on the back end of your pen for the last few minutes.
“Uhhhhh you’re gonna need to be more specific because there’s more than one,” she says, eyes suddenly zeroing in on you and the welcome break from studying. “The one with the hard on for Yukio Mishima or the one doing interesting stuff with Sam Selvon’s adapted works?”
“Pretty sure it’s interesting stuff Ian?” you mutter.
“Oh well in that case,” she says, popping her gum, “he’s generally pretty great, or at least that’s the impression I get. Bit of a teacher’s pet but then word is he’s trying to get a couple of the tenured profs to go to bat for him for a European grant. Why?”
You stare at the table, fiddling with the pen between your fingers. Biting the inside of your cheek, you sigh. It was inevitable that you’d give in to her prodding, it just takes a little more courage. Then again, it seems like everything takes a little courage these days.
“He uh.....he may have asked me out?” you tell her, voice rising as if it was in question.
“Okay and how do you feel about that?” she asks, voice surprisingly gentle.
Concerned, you look back up at her. She should be squealing or cheering you on for this. Not— being all soft and understanding. It feels weird and unexpected. If you weren’t already feeling off balance before, you most certainly are now.
“What, no ‘good for you’ or advice on what to do?” you tease her gently.
Twisting her long hair around her index finger, she sighs. “Look ordinarily I’d be all over this. We’d be scrolling through his insta like yesterday, gushing over whether or not you should wear something sexy or not, figuring out where to do the first date. But honestly? With everything going on, you haven’t been doing so well – don’t think I haven’t noticed you pulling away from everybody – and I’m worried you’ll throw yourself into a relationship just so you don’t have to focus on being scared all the time.” You stare at her in shock. “Not to mention whatever is clearly going on between you and Jason.”
“I’m sorry— I didn’t mean to make you worry,” you manage to stumble out.
“Girl, you didn’t make me do anything. If anything, I was hoping that with enough space you’d eventually talk to me when you were ready but I think that kinda backfired,” she says wryly. “You’re under the kind of stress that would send most people screaming into the street. So, if you’re happy about it, then we’ll do girl talk and get excited. If you aren’t, we’ll figure out how to get Jason to beat him up.”
“Who am I beating up?” Both of you jump at the sound of Jason’s voice coming from over your shoulder.
Danika stares at you, waiting for your permission. You huff through your nose, then give a miniscule nod.
“Ian. He’s asked her out,” she says carefully.
Jason moves further into your line of sight, brow furrowed. “He’s been harassing you?” He ignores Danika entirely, totally focused on you.
“No, he’s been very nice and he asked me out. Jumping him is a last resort in case he stops being nice,” you tell him. Something coiled in your gut begs you to egg him on. To dangle a new contender in his face just to see what he’ll do, if he’ll get jealous, if he’ll actually make up his mind about where the two of you stand.
“Oh,” he says dumbly and you want to scream. Oh? Is that all?
“And I was thinking about taking him up on the offer,” you insist, digging your nails into the meat of your palm. It’s vicious, this urge to make him react, to make him do something when the entirety of your relationship has existed on the margins. Purposefully undefined and liminal.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea right now?” he asks tightly, eyes sliding to Danika as he tries not to overplay his hand for an audience still kept purposefully in the dark. “What with everythin’ else goin’ on.”
“Oh I don’t know,” you play coy. “Ian’s done nothing at all to make me feel like I’m in danger. It could be good for me, to go out with someone that’s clearly into me. Besides, it’s not like there’s any reason I can’t go on a date, is there? It’s not like I’m dating anyone else or something.”
Danika’s head tracks back and forth between you and Jason, confusion clear. She can tell that something is going on, and undercurrent of what’s being unsaid, but the shape of it escapes her. Neither of you budge to tell her. You stare at Jason instead, willing him to make a decision. He’s already broken your heart a hundred times over, all that’s necessary is the death knell. If he won’t love you, then the least he can do is tell you. Make the wound clean instead of all this festering that has turned you into someone you cannot be any longer.
“No,” he says at last. “There’s nothing stopping you there.”
Jason doesn’t speak of Ian, or your date, or apparently your short term singlehood. He does nothing more than hum his understanding when you warn him that you won’t need an escort home on Tuesday. He does not speak of it and so achingly you do not either. The point of no return has been passed and the words stall in your mouth. He acts no differently towards you as a friend and you hate it. You want him to rage, to cry. To come begging for your forgiveness or demand another chance to try. Anything but this affectation of indifference, like all those moments, tender little scraps of affection you had begged for until your throat bled, meant nothing. Less than nothing if his reaction is anything to go by.
He doesn’t enter your apartment anymore. Sees you to the door and says his goodbyes stiffly. He occupies his usual places – the seat to your left on Wednesday get togethers, leaning against the wall outside the lecture hall door – but his mind is clearly elsewhere. On other things, with other people. He’s already a fading ghost in your life even if he doesn’t know it yet.
The date goes fine. Ian is surprised but happy when you ask him if the offer is still open. He suggests an early weeknight dinner as a concession to your very real safety concerns about the killer’s weekend routine. He meets you on time, holds the door and pulls out your chair for you without being prompted. Ian pays you exactly two compliments on your appearance and one about the work you’re doing. He asks as many questions of you as he answers. The food is perfectly fine. He is the perfect gentleman but he isn’t Jason. Lukewarm would be a generous description of your feelings towards Ian, a sentiment he seems to have caught on to by the way he smiles sadly at you in front of your door.
“There’s not going to be a second date is there?” he asks ruefully.
You shuffle, hands clenched tightly around the strap of your purse. “I’m sorry,” you tell him earnestly. “I thought— I thought I was ready.”
“I just wanted to give things a go, who knows where we’ll all end up after graduation.” He sighs and you flutter indecisively between wanting to pat him on the shoulder awkwardly or simply averting your eyes. “But if I’m not going to be your first choice then I’d prefer to leave things here, before I really get my heart broken.”
“I’m sorry,” you repeat again. It hadn’t exactly been kind of you to use him like this, even if a part of you had really hoped things would work out with him. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”
“Oh I think I’ll recover after nursing my bruised ego for a few days,” he says with his trademarked grin. “And after that, perhaps we could become better friends.”
“Friends,” you agree, still a little off balance.
Awkwardly you stick your hand out to shake, as though closing a business deal. With a half laugh, Ian shakes it, the two of you commiserating on an end to that unfortunate chapter in your relationship. Ian takes his leave and with a relieved sigh you close the door, resting your forehead on the hard surface to cool the burning in your face. With a sigh, you push away from the door turning to put away your bag and keys. The bag hits the floor a half second after you shriek at the dark figure sitting in your apartment.
“Fuck you Jason,” you pant, hand clutching at your chest as if you could gentle the rabbit pace of your heart. “Are you trying to kill me out of fright?”
The shadowy figure of the Red Hood only leans forward on the couch, head tilting to the side inquisitively. Silence broken only by your sharp rasping pants fills the small corners of the room.
“You didn’t invite him in,” comes the modulated voice of one of Gotham’s most feared vigilantes. Annoyed, you push up to your full height and enter the room proper, strewing your things behind you in your wake.
“Take it off,” you tell him, consciously not looking at his form. “Take it off, I’m not talking to you like this.”
A moment, and then the metallic click off to your left signals that he’s at least listened to this one request of yours. Your stomach sours, corners of your mouth turning down, as you think about all the requests he hasn’t.
“You didn’t invite him in,” Jason repeats stubbornly and you struggle not to pull at your hair in frustration.
“No I did not, otherwise I’d have to explain how I – a Gotham U English Major – have close, personal contact with the Red Hood, which is not the way I wanted to end my night.” Your shoes go flying somewhere, but you can’t be bothered to go searching for them. It can wait while you sigh in sweet relief at getting out of your heels for the first time that night. “Besides, it’s none of your business if I did.”
The couch cushions rustle as Jason pushes up from them, his tall form casting a shadow over you. Steadfastly you ignore him as you get yourself a glass of water, the cool water sliding down your throat, washing away all the words getting stuck there.
“You’re plannin’ on seein' him again,” Jason says in a flat voice.
Your shoulders rise at the accusation. Very deliberately you place the glass down next to the sink, a soft clink of glass on metal.
“Of course I’m going to see him again,” you tell him matter of factly. “We work together."
Jason takes a step towards you, weight making the floorboards protest, and you skip out of the way before he can cage you in with the countertop. You find one shoe, then the other, holding them by the ankle straps as you pretend Jason isn’t trailing behind you like a lost puppy. Soon the room is tidy, the glass washed and draining on the rack. His eyes track your every movement making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. You stand in the middle of the room, hands on your hips, unable to delay the confrontation any longer. The two of you stand there, in the middle of your shabby little apartment that had seen better days even in the 1970s, both caught swaying in the invisible currents of your emotions. Jason breaks the détente first.
“You’re goin' to go on another date with him, aren’t you?” he asks, fist clenching.
You scoff. How dare he break into your home and judge you after giving you the explicit go ahead. There’s been so many chances, time enough before you’d actually gone through with it, for him to say something. Times that you’d hoped he would. And now here he is, waiting for you in the dark, waiting to shame you for the choices you’ve made.
"Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I’m not going to date him. And even if I was, it’s a little late for you to have an opinion on my love life, don’t you think?” You taunt him, mirroring his pose, shoulders stiff and hands balled along the seams of your dress.
His jaw works, eyes twitching away from you. “I’m– we’re friends. I was worried about you."
“Right, we’re friends,” you mock. “That’s all this is about. Being a good friend, being worried about my safety. Nothing else.”
“Yes,” he insists. “As your friend, I’m sayin’ he wasn’t right for you.”
“Oh and you are?” you retort. Anger is bubbling up in your chest, red hot and poisonous.
“I didn’t say that,” he cautions.
You step forward, unwilling to let him hide behind carefully placed words and deflections. Flashing emergency lights shine through your window, coating everything in sparks of red.
“Friends,” you say, voice dripping with disdain, “don’t do whatever the fuck it is we’ve been doing for months. Friends don’t get to be jealous and then hide the excuse of wanting me to be safe. We’re not friends, Jason. Not if you’re doing–“ you gesture at all of him sharply, “–whatever this is."
“I am,” he insists and you repress the urge to shriek. He moves towards you, crowding you in. “And I’m worried about your safety, just like Danika and Lina and–"
“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT WITH ME, JASON?” you scream, voice cracking. “HUH? WHAT DO YOU WANT?” you shove at him, desperate to put space between you. “What, you’re just– just gonna expect me to wait around for you forever to make up your goddamn mind? Because I waited I waited, Jay. I waited, and I bargained with myself every fucking time I let you in that maybe, maybe this time would be different.”
Jason raises his hands between you, lets you see his empty palms as he tries to step closer. You shy away.
“I didn’t– I’m sorry just can we just–“ he starts but you cut him off.
“Can we what. Because I’m tired of second guessing of every fucking moment while you spin me another pretty lie to cover for the fact that you don’t know what you want.”
“I do!” he protests. “I want you outta harm’s way and happy–"
“Happy? Do you think I’m happy?” you ask incredulously. “Is this what you think happiness is? Chasing after what little you’ll give me, looking for the rest in other guys only to come home to you accusing me of two timing? Is this what we’re gonna do Jay? Are you gonna wait at my window, whine and scratch to be let in every time I fuck another guy?” In your taunting, you’ve drawn closer and closer to Jason, itching to see every blow land across his stony face. Maybe this will be the thing that finally gets him to crack, to admit to something, anything.
Jason’s mouth crashes into yours, copper whispering in from where he nicks his lip on your teeth. All the air gets sucked out of the room with the taste of him, time stretching out in an elastic band, ready for the recoil. Suddenly everything slots into place. His hands are twisting in your hair and you are just as greedy, ripping at his jacket, his shirt. Jason’s mouth finds your jaw, your pulse and you convulsively clutch him closer, the wet hot heat of his mouth weakening your joints. Mine, you think you hear him murmur into the tender space where your throat meets your clavicle. You pinch his hipbone, dig your nails into the small of his back until the point of pain. He doesn’t get to make this sweet. A hint of teeth in the meat of your shoulder twists your mouth into a bitter grin, his hold on the back of your neck growing claw-like.
He tries to walk you back towards the bedroom but you refuse to make this easy for him. You plant your feet, push at him until the two of you are rolling to the floor limbs entwined. He has to work for this, you have to make him work for this or else neither of you can have this. Seams rip audibly, your dress getting stuck around your shoulders before giving up under Jason’s strength. It lands somewhere behind the couch but you don’t care, already focused on undoing his belt buckle. Heat trickles down from your belly to your cunt, ravenous and corrosive. All your good sense got left at the door the minute you had recognized him. The gusset of your panties tear under his rough fingers and that, that does piss you off. You are not gentle pulling his dick out of his pants and Jason grunts in your ear, sending a vicious curl of pleasure through you.
He lines the head of his cock up with your cunt and you goad him on, heels digging into his ass. There’s nothing between you, just his searing hot skin against your vulnerable cunt – and fuck, you’re going to have to deal with this tomorrow – but you’re so lost in your angry, drunken desire for him that instead you claw him closer, desperate to sink under his skin the way he’s lived in yours since the day you met. Taking the full stretch of him unprepared compliments the blunt pain that has lived in your chest for weeks. Waiting for him to work you open on a few fingers would have been the smart thing to do, but then you haven’t been very smart when it comes to him have you? He fucks you full, tearing you apart as you give as good as you get, hissing and clawing like a wild thing. The head of his cock keeps catching on that soft part of your gut that has you seeing stars and you fight for air to fill your lungs. Jason reaches for your hand and you slap him away, instead twining your hands through his curls and pulling him back down for another biting kiss.
He matches your ferocity with his own, grabs at your hips with a bruising grip and you moan at the thought of the evidence he will leave behind. That this isn’t only happening in your head but it’s real, that somewhere at some point at least his desire for you existed. Jason finds a new angle, on that has your clit grinding against him as he fucks you with all that he’s worth and you dig your nails into the nape of his neck, cunt clenching around him. Pleasure is secondary to hurting him as much as he’s hurt you and yet he helps you find it anyway. All that anger and poison burning up your veins is just fuel for the fire, lust turning everything upside down. You try to memorize the slick drag of his cock against your folds, the weight of him inside you, as you tip over that final precipice, muscles seizing up under the force of your orgasm. Jason fucks you through the aftershocks, cunt fluttering around him and heart pounding in your ears. His face is too raw for you to look at directly and so you let your head loll to side as he works himself to completion.
Coming around his cock seems to have been cathartic. A careful bloodletting that purged all the festering vices and clamouring emotions in your head. Everything inside you has gone quite, strangely numb and hollow now that you have finished throwing yourself at him until you break. The little broken moans leaving your throat aren’t just the aftermath of desire but a reaction to the little shattered pieces of your finally broken heart. Under your shoulder blades the edge of the rug lights up your skin with every thrust, the smooth linoleum under your lower back a cooling counterpoint. The scraps of your underwear have made it half under the couch, still close enough that you could reach out and grab it now if Jason wasn’t still jolting you across the floor. Tendons tensing, he pulls out with a grunt and paints your lower belly white.
To his credit, when Jason collapses, he is careful to avoid crushing you. Thanks seems unnecessary. All of the energy has drained from you along with the vinegar and battery acid that had bathed your nerves for weeks. There is nothing left for him to destroy. You grab your torn panties – and deeming them un-reparable – start to clean his cum off of you with a resigned sign. They’ll have to be thrown out, maybe tonight’s whole outfit. Even if you could repair the ripped dress, you won’t wear it again. In the afterglow, the whole affair feels seedy. Trite. The streetlight flickers casting shadows across Jason’s face. Fuck, you’d forgotten to draw the blinds.
“Get out.” The words are quiet but sure.
“What?” he asks incredulously. He reaches out but you avoid his touch. If he attempts to comfort you, you are not sure that your resolve will hold.
“I said get out. We’re over. I don’t want to see you anymore.” You struggle to sit up, still sore from the recent fuck and trying not to let your still cum-wet panties touch the floor. It’s already going to be a bitch to make sure no fluids got on the carpet.
“But I thought—” he starts softly.
“I don’t care what you thought. Get out. I’m done with letting you break my heart.” Your voice is flat, as hollow as you feel. The breakdown will come later when this bubble of numbness pops, but it’s keeping you afloat now.
“I won’t,” he pleads. “I’ll fix this, I’ll—”
Crazy how only yesterday those words would have made all the difference. You would have bought it, hook line and sinker if he had looked at you the way he is now, promising to do better. But he won’t because you can’t let yourself risk what’s left yourself on words said in passion. There’s a life, a love, out there that you deserve. He’s never been willing to give it to you.
“I don’t care. Your promises don’t mean anything to me anymore. Get out of my home.”
He needs— he needs to go. Now. So you can air out the room to get rid of that combination of sex and him that has always had you caving before. So you can try to move on with your life.
Jason changes tactics. “There’s still a killer out there.”
You hum disinterestedly. “So? With or without me you would have gone after them anyway. I don’t need to see your face for you to do what you would have done all along.”
His mouth opens and shuts as he mulls over a response, arms crossed defensively across his chest. At some point during your distraction, he had managed to do up his pants. You don’t want to remember him like this, lost and defeated at having his favourite toy taken away. You want to keep that perfect image of him from the early days of your friendship, the vision of Jason that hadn’t hurt you yet and where there was only potential for good things stretching out into the future.
“I’m asking you one last time to leave Jay,” you tell him, an air of finality to your voice. Then, you get up and walk away from him.
By the time you get out of the shower, all trace of him is gone from the apartment. The last tie has been severed.
summary: a misunderstanding between you and jason snowballs
tags: angst, reference to off screen violence, reference to serial killer
rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 1.8k
a/n: another update??? that you didn't have to wait months for??? yeah i'm shocked too.
Something is wrong. You know this because Jason comes pounding at your door at 11:00 AM with brownies in hand. He never comes round to your apartment during the day. It’s always night time, always to check how secure your doors are or to fuck. He’d tried to play it off as simply wanting your help studying for the midterm but your gaze had never left the plastic box of the store-bought container of brownies. In the entire time you’ve known him, Jason has never tried to feed you something he hasn’t made himself. He’d made himself at home at your dining table, spreading out books and papers, steadfastly pretending like nothing was so very different about this day than any other. There had been sweat beading along his hairline. But Jason has never been one to volunteer his secrets willingly. Certainly not the ones closest to his heart, otherwise he’d be sitting in a different apartment, bending over books at a different table, sitting next to ‘Barbie’. Whoever she is.
Battery acid bubbles in your chest at the thought. From the very start you’ve known that your hold on Jason is tenuous. Subject to his whims and conditional to your silence. You just hadn’t thought to ask why things had to be this way, you hadn’t thought to think about it very hard at all. You know why, of course. If you’d stopped for a single moment, allowed yourself to actually consider just how small Jason’s lack of love made you feel, well then all the ugly half-rotted feelings below the surface would solidify. Become real. Right now you are un-moored. Adrift. As long as the question gets no further than your throat you will remain so. Nothing has to be ended. If you ask, Pandora’s box will never be closed again. So you sit and nibble on the store-bought brownies that taste like plastic on your tongue, jealousy bubbling in your belly, and wait him out. Your patience does not last as long as you hoped it would.
“Okay that’s it,” you say, standing up from your seat, chair screeching on the floor. “You’re acting weird.
Jason runs his fingers through his hands – a clear tell, he’s nervous – before he speaks. “I’ve figured out who’s behind the murders—” you open you mouth to speak but he barrels on, “—but I haven’t figured out how to catch him yet.”
“Isn’t that a good thing? Still? You’ll get him eventually.” you ask, arms hugging your torso. Soon. This could all be over soon. You won’t have to live in fear, won’t have to stare out the slats of your blinds and imagine dark shapes in the streets.
“Maybe,” he hedges. “It doesn’t feel like soon enough. Doesn’t feel like I’m doin’ enough, yeah?”
“And that’s it?” You ask. “There’s absolutely no other reason why you’ve come over in the middle of the day and didn’t immediately head for the bedroom?”
Jason doesn’t flinch. Barely. But the accusation lands and he won’t look you in the face as he speaks.
“Nah, just didn’t feel like sittin’ around alone at home with the realization.”
Liar.
Okay so is he lying to your face? Yes, and Jason’s conscience twinges at that. But really, what would telling you the truth achieve? Already you jump at shadows, hollows carved under your eyes with the stress of it all. You’ve withdrawn, fearful of the world and the dangers in it. Telling you that the man brutalizing women not only wants you dead but is likely in your life already? That would just be an act of cruelty when he’s no closer to catching the monster than he was yesterday. So yes, yes he is lying and yes he hates the little seed of distrust he sees growing in your eyes but he can’t bring himself to snuff out your belief in humanity entirely.
It stings though to hear you describe your relationship as purely transactional. Like he’s only ever in your apartment to get his dick wet and in exchange he’ll make sure you don’t end up in pieces in some back alley. He doesn’t— he doesn’t have the words to explain that he’d take much more if he thought you’d allow it. That the starving heart of him would claw his way into your life and never let go if there was ever a universe where your disgust of him wasn’t a certainty. Already he can see the way the distrust lingers in your posture, the way you’ve pulled away to spend more time working than with him or any of your friends. He can feel you leaving already and the hardest thing he’s ever done is to let you go gracefully. But its what everyone does eventually and Jason is tired of leaving fingernail marks on everything he’s ever loved. So that’s what he’ll do, he’ll—
“—you’ve already checked out everyone in her life?” Stephanie’s voice interrupts his brooding. They’re at an IHOP this time, fluorescent lights beating down on the pancakes he hasn’t touched yet.
“Yeah.” He clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah. Eliminated anyone without the body parts to do to the victims what this fucker did and I went over them. Dickhead got Babs to check the only possible options out too.”
“So that leaves us with Rei Danh, Will Aartsen, Miguel Flores, and Ian Jackson,” Stephanie muses before shoving a piece of pancake with a frankly obscene amount of syrup on it into her mouth. Jason slides the napkin dispenser over to her without comment.
“Can’t have been Rei,” Jason supplies. The man’s lopsided smile and invitation to join the swim team flashes behind Jason’s eyes. “He was helpin’ his drunk girlfriend home when we got mugged.”
“Flores seems unlikely, sex crimes usually get committed against the gender the perp is attracted to,” Stephanie adds, mouth stuffed looking like a chipmunk. The syrup bottle sits between them on the table, empty. She looks at him with a quirked eyebrow and keeps chewing. Jason sighs and waves down a server for another bottle of syrup.
“What about Will?” Jason asks after their waitress is out of earshot. “He kinda hates my guts.”
“Making enemies in and out of the mask, huh?” She tries to joke. Jason stiffens, smile a plastic thing. Realizing her mistake, she continues much more gently. “He made credit card purchases during the kill window at places on the other end of town, even in New York once. He might be an asshole but there’s no way he was in two places at once.”
“Which leaves Jackson.” Jason’s lip curls at the memory of him smiling at you and your starry eyed response that one night at trivia not so long ago. “Who also alibied out for all but one of the murders.” She slumps back in her seat and groans.
Jason picks at his pancakes as he asks, “Could follow them. See what happens on a Friday night.”
“All four of them?” Stephanie asks. “That’d mean four of us and one to watch your friend.” She makes air quotations around the last word that Jason steadfastly ignores. “That’s five of us off patrol and you know weekends are when the crazies come out to play. Besides, it could still be someone else. Her landlord or the guy at the deli she goes to semi-regularly.”
The pancakes are like glue in his mouth as the rest of the conversation devolves into strategies of what to do next. Stephanie calls out even a whiff of his bullshit, when his fear starts to cloud his judgement too far and the only thing he can focus on is how to keep your heart still beating, which is refreshing. No more going in circles and scrutinizing his plans for wrinkles only to find out mid-plan that he hadn’t actually caught everything.
It’s when he goes to pay the bill and his eye twitches at how much they’re being charged for such shitty pancakes that Jason finds himself saying, “Hey next time we’re goin’ to a proper diner with proper pancakes because I’m not payin’ that much to eat wheat glue again.”
You can afford to take a break. The sun is out, it’s not a Friday, Danika promised to hold the table the two of you are studying at in the student union while you pick up food for the two of you. Jason had simply reacted with a thumbs up when you’d told him you plan for the day and asked if he could walk you home later. Whatever. You can manage this quick walk to the nearby diner – the same one Jason had taken you to, god why does everything have to come back to him? – and get Danika the strawberry banana pancakes she deserves.
The sun is blinding off the melting piles of snow not yet turned fully grey by the dirt of the streets. You have to be careful where you step now not to get your sneakers soaked in the snowmelt. Already you’re only thinking of how good the pancakes are going to taste as you put in your order to go, the diner smelling so good your stomach can barely contain its growling. Shifting on the balls of your feet out of boredom, you survey the diner and freeze. There, in a corner booth sits Jason. He’s not alone.
If you’re being honest, the girl is gorgeous. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and the physique of Gymnastics Barbie. It’s not hard to see where Jason’s nickname for her comes from. You can feel the fraying edge of your coat cuff tickling your inner wrist and you can’t help but feel woefully inadequate next her. No wonder Jason’s gone and given his heart away. No wonder he had nothing left for you. You don’t feel hungry anymore, not around the stone in your gut, the smells of the diner suddenly nauseating. She says something and Jason simply sighs indulgently, eyes rolling fondly until they freeze on you in the periphery. He turns to you, mouth forming words you don’t hear when the cashier is calling out your name and order number.
You don’t give Jason the time to catch up to you as you grab your order and flee the scene. It’s like one of those games what’s wrong with this picture only the answer is you. There had been questions you’d decided it would be better not to know the answers to, only to go and trip right over them. God you feel like such a fucking fool. Is that what this had all been about? Using you as some kind of trial run so that he didn’t screw things up with the girl he actually wanted?
The bottom of the paper bag burns with the heat of the food but you can’t stop hugging it to your chest. Numb. You’re so numb by the time you return to campus and Danika that it’s the only thing you can feel. The backs of your eyes prickle but you refuse to waste any more tears on him. Hope is a wonderful, gentle thing right up until it guts you like a rabbit with all your disappointment.
summary: jason's got a new ally and starts to make new connections about what's really going on in gotham
tags: angst, reference to off screen violence, reference to serial killer
rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 1.8k
a/n: so. it's been a while. mostly i was afraid of writing stephanie brown for the first time (and if she seems ooc, i'm still working on it) but i promise the end is in sight for this fic.
Jason’s got to hand it to Barbara, she’s a problem solver. Not only has Dick been warned to stay far, far away for now, but he’s actually listening to her. Shocker. It’s been weeks of patrol and Jason hasn’t seen a slip of blue fluttering at the edges of his territory the way he’d expected to. Getting the full brunt of the Dick Grayson Puppy Eyes Experience is a lot. Jason had let it distract him from his goal, but no more. Playing at happy family can wait. It’s a bitter thing, this pain in his chest that for all his family says they love him, none of them will listen to him. But to Babs? Well her words are worth their weight in gold apparently.
Jason lands on the next rooftop a little harder, pebbles crunching under his feet as he rolls to absorb the shock. He pants, breath coming out in harsh waves as he shakes the landing off, before backing up to get his next running start. It’s an easy rhythm to fall into, on that doesn’t let him dwell on any uncomfortable thoughts. He’s got an objective and a time limit and that’s all he needs to know.
He’s not late – he’d left with plenty of time to make it – but Spoiler is already waiting for him. Smart. She’s had time to survey the ground, to use the terrain to her advantage before meeting him alone. Funny, Jason doesn’t think he’s seen her without one of the other Bats running interference. He’s turned tail and beat a hasty tactical retreat several times after catching sight of Spoiler purple next to Red Robin crimson on a rooftop. Grit crunches under the rubber sole of his boots as he makes his way to the building’s exhaust vent, letting it shelter him from the wind. Spoiler tracks him, body pivoting so that she never gets caught with him in her blind-spot. A habit, one probably engrained by Red Robin. Jason might not be tangled back up in the inner circles of the family but he’s got eyes and ears enough to know that they’re close. The lighter flickers in his hand but the cigarette catches. Not really a wise choice to be letting his guard down so quickly, not when Spoiler is so clearly still sizing him up, but its the closest thing to an olive branch he can manage.
“Oracle says you’ve got a serial killer problem you can’t handle.” She breaks the silence first. The first drag of the cigarette fills his lungs, the cold of the wind pinking his ears, and for a moment Jason wishes he had the hood on instead.
“Wouldn’t say I can’t handle it,” he says between draws on his cigarette. “But I need fresh eyes, more eyes.” Somewhere in the distance a siren wails. Neither of them move.
“Anybody else could have looked at the case,” is what she says finally. “D—Nightwing was practically begging to.”
“An’ he woulda been so focused on reforming me, he woulda forgotten about the case entirely.” The ash never hits the ground when Jason taps at his cigarette, the wind whisking it away.
“And you think I won’t?” She asks.
Jason scoffs. “I don’t think you give a shit about me. I think you give a shit about dead girls turning up in a part of town that’s not too far in your rearview mirror.”
Spoiler’s shoulders sag, her weight coming off the balls of her feet. “Fine. I’ll help for them, not you, got it?”
“Oh reading you loud and clear, don’t you worry.”
Spoiler drifts closer. Not close enough to get within grabbing distance but close enough that the wind doesn’t carry his words away. Jason pulls a thumb-drive out of his jacket pocket and tosses it her way. She catches it, as expected, and squints at it as if it might begin to bite.
“That’s everythin’ I got.” Jason nods at the drive. “But the phone calls are missin’. That’s what we need from O.”
“Phone calls,” Spoiler repeats flatly.
Jason sighs. “It’s in the file. The victims were taken on a Friday night but they made phone calls to a loved one early Saturday morning. The ones that did pick up won’t tell the police what was said and I haven’t been able to get ahold of the voicemails.”
The thumb-drive disappears into Spoiler’s gloved hand as she clenches her fist around it. Jason tries not to let the relief he feels show.
“I’ll see what I can do,” is her tight lipped reply.
Jason stubs out the cigarette, the cherry embers neatly extinguished. It’s a cold night, windy too. Soon all traces of their meeting will disappear into the night with them. Jason turns to leave, but Spoiler’s voice stops him.
“Hood? We might be working together on this but that doesn’t mean I trust you.”
Jason should have worn the Hood. It hides his expressions much better. This had been the moment he’d been waiting for all evening, hadn’t it? She shouldn’t trust him, not by any stretch of the imagination. It means she won’t take any of his investigation without tablespoons of salt. She’ll catch something – she has to, for your sake – something that Dick in all his heartfelt soppiness over Jason’s new life would have missed. That doesn’t make the sting of it any less, the aching relief of pressing down on a bruise to find the bone unbroken under it. He doesn’t turn to face her, simply throws the glib words over his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Stephanie Brown contacts him four days later, a text to a cellphone he definitely didn’t give her the number for, and arranges to meet. The coffee shop is cozy, one of those quirky independent shops where all the drinks are named ‘death by caffeine’ or ‘kill me quicker’, the corner she’s picked out suitably isolated from any of the other customers. Jason stares down at her furiously typing away on her laptop completely oblivious to his presence, and sighs before trundling off to the counter.
“Can I get whatever you’ve got that’s closest to a flat white and a refill for her?” He nods at Stephanie’s still oblivious hunched over figure.
“Sure! That’ll be one ‘Drowned in the Milky Way’ and a ‘Helado de Café Homicide’’ the barista says far too cheerfully and Jason makes sure to tip her extra.
Stephanie startles when Jason places the mug down in front of her and he does his best to hold in his sigh. Really, what is B teaching them these days?
“Thought you could use that,” he says, settling into the chair across from her. It’s too small for his frame but he tries not to let the discomfort show. There’s a fine line between her distrust and her disgust and only one of those things is going to help him here.
She swigs back a grateful gulp, a thin line of foam painting a moustache on her face. Rummaging in her back, she pulls out a manila folder. Eager, Jason reaches for it but she surprises him with her speed, pulling it out of his reach.
“Barbara got the transcripts.” Jason nods, then settles in to hear what she’s found. Nothing good by the dark circles under her eyes and the flat affect of her voice. “Are you sure that the first victim was the first one in the file?”
“Went back six months in the coroner’s files, wasn’t anythin’ close to this,” he tells her. His knee starts to jiggle unconsciously.
“There’s— there’s something in the calls, something that feels like he’s making them reference a specific event,” she starts slowly. “He’s made all of the women say variations of “he’s going to finally put holes in the pretty one” and “he’s gonna show the world what a bitch the lady is, toss her out so we can all get on with our nights”, stuff like that.”
Jason can’t feel the chair under him anymore. He can barely hear Stephanie calling his name over the roar in his ears and the echoing memories of a gun, an alley, a man. His mouth is dry, so dry. Thud thud thud goes his heart knocking against his ribs. The cup handle breaks off in his hand, the sting of the cut bringing him back into the present.
“There was—“ he stops, clearing his throat. “There was an attempted robbery. In November. The robber he— he said those things.”
“Okay well good, we can follow up on that.” Stephanie smiles.
“Can’t,” he croaks. Is the room getting smaller? It feels like the room is getting smaller. “I was there. Me an’ a friend. A friend that looks just like all the other victims.”
“Oh,” is all Stephanie says, leaning heavily back in her chair. “Well isn’t that a good thing? He’d be in the system from when you turned him in. It sucks that your friend got pulled into this but at least we can put this to rest.”
“Can’t.” Jason knows that he’s parroting himself again but he’s currently stifling the urge to go screaming through the streets. “Never turned him in.”
“Okay so if he’s dead, then it’s got to be someone else that overheard—”
“He’s not dead,” Jason interrupts her. God he’s so fucking stupid. He should have— have killed the guy when he had the chance or called it in to one of the Bats to take care of but no. He’d taken one look at your tearstained, vacant face and panicked.
“So he’s...” Stephanie says leadingly, confusion plain on her face.
“No clue. My friend was...she was in shock, I had to get her out of there.”
Stephanie stares at him. Jason stares back. She chugs the rest of her drink.
“Okay! Okay so we know that the killing started after this guy tried to rob you. I’m assuming he failed?” She levels him with a look and he nods. “Oh you’re really, really gonna hate this next part then.”
Very, very consciously Jason pushes the mug and its broken handle away from him on the table.
“I think he knows your friend.”
Red crescents are carved into Jason’s palm, his nails drawing more blood.
“Why,” he grits through clenched teeth.
“It was Babs that flagged it, not me, but the nature of the killings, the taunting phone calls, it all reads extremely personal. Beyond just the mugging.”
Jason can’t— there’s not enough air. He has to see you. Now. Needs to know that you’re alive and safe, tucked away in your shoebox of an apartment. He sees them – your friends, your coworkers, hell even the bus driver on your route home – faces grinning in the shadows. He can’t be here anymore.
Finally catching up on all the chapters I missed and AHHHHHH I’m gonna chew my fingers off from nerves over who the killer is AND WHY HE WANTS TO HURT THE READER SO BAD?!?!
