Pairing: Jason Todd x reader
Summary: It starts with sleepless mornings and a noisy neighbor. It ends with a rooftop, a red helmet, and the man youâd been searching for all along.
Warnings: 18+ mdni, canon typical violence, bloody and injury, smut, semi-public sex, dryhumping, oral (f! And m! receiving), deepthroating, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, lowk breeding kink if u squint. SLOWBURN.
A/n: 12.1k words of genuine insanity and ooc Jason since my memory of dc is dusty af. u can feel my will to live fading away near the end. Also I change tenses 20 times per sentence gulp. Also if u see any mistakes no u didnt
âNewtonâs theory of gravitation dictates any particle with matter attracts any other with a force inversely proportional to the square of the distance between themâ
This is the inverse square law. Itâs used for practical and theoretical applications, but itâs useful when considering why people are drawn to something when they are near to it. Emotionally, physically, empathetically. Psychologically. Once one begins to increase the proximity of two souls, there is a certain degree of attraction that occurs consequently.
This was the case between you and Jason Todd, and the universal binding you two were un-privy of was only determined to grow stronger.
Your apartment building wasnât necessarily fancy, youâd argue
It definitely wasnât one of those sleek high-rises downtown with rooftop pools and concierge desks in the upper end of Gotham that smelled of polished wood and dainty perfume - but nor was it one of Gothamâs forgotten complexes held together by peeling wallpaper, leaking pipes and prayers. It existed somewhere in between comfortably.
It wasnât perfect, but it was home. Your home. Pieced by red bricks that would coat your hands with its rough residue if you grated your fingers against it hard enough; the hardwood flooring creaked in familiar places, albeit a little worn down with age now. The radiators clanked occasionally because itâs Gotham, but you and all your neighbors learned to live with it.
Your neighbors were convenient. They didn't expect a follow up conversation after a good morning as a greeting, they knew exactly when their presence was welcomed and retreated comfortably when it wasnât. Mrs. Donnelly, the sweet landlady baked fresh cookies for the tenants every holiday, and put up the decorations for Christmas like her life depended on it. By the start of December the entire building from the lobby to the top floor would be covered in holiday lights, mistletoe and plastic ivy.
You liked it here. It was quiet, and quaint. Peaceful as much as Gotham would allow it to be.
It had been, to be precise.
Your night shifts started on Mondays and ended with you exhausted by 4am. By the time you reached home, you had barely enough coherency to pull off your scrubs and run a warm shower, tucking into bed to repeat the routine the next day.
To say you were worked to the bone would be an understatement, but there was a certain clinical satisfaction you received after a fast paced day at the medical center.
The moving truck pulled in on a rainy Tuesday morning. The patter of the rain splattering on the pavement in sync to the odd rhythm of your heartbeat.
You were just off your shift, and had barely spared it a second glance as you squeezed past the movers with your belongings balanced precariously on your hips.
Poor bastard, you thought, pitying whoever had willingly signed a lease in Gotham. You hope they survive at least a year.
Your Apartment 4Bâs anniversary would be marked this September, officially three years since you moved in.
In those three years, you knew of only one tenant who had resided in apartment 5B, a floor exactly above yours. They were the perfect neighbor, and kept to themselves mostly. You hoped the Universe would throw you a bone once again, and would allow you to continue the peaceful routine you had built up over the years without disruption.
God knows you needed it. Especially with the anticipation of a promotion in the near future, you were working your ass off which meant that if your sleep schedule was disrupted you could potentially lose this once in a lifetime opportunity.
The first night he moved in was uneventful, thank goodness.
You had learnt it was a he from your neighborsâ relentless gossip, but had yet to confirm and see the man of the hour for yourself.
The second day was normal once again.
You figured your new neighbor either worked ridiculous hours like you or simply hadnât finished unpacking yet. Good, maybe you had lucked out once again. You were slowly starting to relax and come to the conclusion that, yes, I will not have to worry for a nosy neighbor.
You shouldâve known better.
Your eyes snapped open, heart thudding with the abrupt awakening. You squinted through the darkness towards your alarm clock, it couldnât have been long since you came home from your shift.
Barely an hour since you crashed in your bed.
You exhaled through your nose and rolled over, tucking the covers underneath your chin a bit tighter. You hoped sleep would engulf you quickly.
He probably dropped a box, moving was stressful; you could offer your condolences and sympathize. You closed your eyes once more.
ââŠYouâve got to be kidding me.â
You were half asleep next shift while sterilizing your equipment, and could barely pay attention to your surroundings past the ringing in your ears. You had tossed and turned the entire night, for each time you managed a wink of sleep another object would bang and roll across the floor noisily from the apartment upstairs.
By 10am, you concluded that trying to sleep would be pointless. So you started your day way earlier than you normally would, taking a cold shower to shake yourself awake.
It slowly became a routine. Any gratefulness you felt for your luck dissolved away; you were ready to give him an earful if you ever encountered.
Because Friday, another BANG.
âWhat is he BUILDING up there?â You could almost pull your hair in frustration, having been woken up by yet another noise. As if your routine was not already fucked up, the dark circles you managed to conceal with makeup were getting harder and harder to do so by the end of the week.
Then next Thursday; the unmistakable shrill cry of a smoke alarm. You stumbled getting the emergency duffle you had prepared for in such a case, and watched in confusion as the crowd dispersed. Why wasn't any one panicking?
Your landlady filled you up on what happened; the sweet boy upstairs, you know? Jason Todd! 5B. He just burnt his toast, no biggie.
A burnt toast. A burnt fucking toast. And what? âSweet boyâ ?!, you were almost a hundred-and-one percent sure this man was built like a powerhouse if his footsteps were anything to go by.
At the very least you got his name, you were tired of adding details to the character youâd built around the unknown person for the past week.
You had come to the conclusion that he couldnât cook to save his fucking life, and was apparently posssesed with an unquenchable desire to drop books exclusively between the hours of late midnight and early morning, I mean you could literally hear the paper scattering and scraping across the floor, and nobody prepared you for how grating that sound could be.
Despite not having any other information about him, you were beginning to resent him on principle. Heck, you didnât even know what he looked like.
None of your other neighbors seemed to be concerned about him whatsoever. Why would they, anyway? They didnât have to experience the clumsiness of the walking disaster which was Jason Todd.
You were secretly hoping that their views would change when the smoke alarm went off again the third week. This time you were a little slower to get out of bed, having a suspicious inkling that it had something to do with Jason Toddâs destructive kitchen episodes. You had your suspicions confirmed when you trudged down the stairs to an almost empty lobby once again.
When you finally puffed up your courage enough to complain about him, you were met with a very off putting response. After you bought his name off in passing to your landlady;
âOh, the new boy?â Mrs. Donnelly chirped while polishing the banisters that afternoon. âSuch lovely manners he has.â
âOh, sweetheart, he carried my groceries this entire week for me, even helped me prepare for Halloween by offering to place decorations! Iâm tellinâ ya, men like him are rare as a gem these days!.â
You looked toward the ceiling, picturing Jason Todd sleeping in his bed peacefully, woefully unaware about how badly heâd fucked up your schedule. The same ceiling that had robbed you of eight consecutive hours of sleep for nearly four weeks now.
Maybe he was only considerate during daylight hours.
By the end of the fourth week, you had more or less given up. Youâd developed an unhealthy habit of narrating your upstairs neighborâs life solely through the noises filtering down your ceiling.
Definitely burnt dinner, if his curses are anything to go by. Wow, he swears like an angry toddler.
Is that furniture scraping? At six in the morning? Seriously?
Your opinion on vigilantes was a tad bitâŠdifferent.
You didnât think they were evil per say, god knows Gotham wouldâve collapsed in on itself years ago if vigilantes werenât there to harbor just a bit more security where GCPD couldnât.
However, working in the medical department for a few years now gave you enough grim experience to come to the conclusion that whoever willingly made a habit out of fighting armed criminals was not right in the head.
Broken arms, concussions, dislocated shoulders, sometimes all of the above were the norm. For you and the rest of the medical team however, it meant paperwork. A shit ton of paperwork. And overtime because a dislocated jaw takes more than just a few hours of surgery.
Your first shift in Gotham as a nurse and the amount of broken bones that you had to deal with on the first night was certainly anâŠinteresting experience.
You couldnât even count the amount of times someone had stumbled through the ambulance bay muttering,
âCape.â Orâ âBat.â Orâ âSome guy in a red helmet,â before collapsing at the front entrance.
Heavy on the red helmet, it seemed as if every single criminal unfortunate enough to fall into the hands of Red Hood ended up with his limbs more or less distorted.
Your first experience with Red Hood had been traumatizing enough that even reminiscing on it would curdle your blood, so you entirely avoided thinking about it.
Youâd just clocked out after a good twelve-hour shift, the beginnings of a migraine settling somewhere behind your eyes and sinuses. Your hands were aching for that anvil and a cold glass of water.
You knew you shouldnât have taken that shortcut through the deserted street, but exhaustion had been cradling your body since you clocked out and all you wanted was your bed and the sweet smell of the comforter. Youâd made it halfway through when voices carried through the flickering alley.
Your footsteps halted in their tracks.
ââŠNo.â The voice sounded young, tone wavering. A little seedy, pitched high enough for you to understand the person must be a teenager.
âThen maybe your phone.â You could hear the sneer in the voice.
You closed your eyes. You considered turning around, pretending it never happened. Wait for someone else to help him. But bravery begets bravery, and cowardice does the same.
You peered cautiously around the corner; three grown men had cornered a ratty teenager against the wall. You carefully unzipped your bag to pull out your pepper spray, the knife was buried too underneath the contents of your bag for you to pull it out without alerting the men.
You barely had time to take three steps forward into their direction before crash!, in the time it took for you to blink, two of the men had been hurtled in opposite directions, one crashing against the dumpster, and the other on the brick wall, by something cloaked in black.
The third blinked, dazed, before reality caught up and he sprinted on to the street with his tail between his legs.
What the fuck just happened?
The teenager wasted no time before following suit.
Your gaze landed on the man standing in the middle of the alley. A crimson helmet, pistols holstered at his (very) thick thighs.
He lets you gaze at him a bit more before snakily commenting;
âWell? You done ogling?.â His voice was flat, devoid of emotions through the modulator.
You didnât respond, still in shock.
Your eyes dropped to the dark stain spreading down his jacket. Are you okay?, you wanted to ask. But all you could manage was a sigh.
âYouâre bleedingâ He says, gesturing towards your hand with his palm.
Oh shit. Mustâve scraped it against the brick wall.
âIâve seen worse.â You sighed once again.
âDo you work in healthcare or what?.â He asked
You raised an eyebrow, âLucky guess?â, glancing down at your scrubs.
âYou should still clean that cut on your hand.â His voice had a waver of amusement in it, though you could not tell since the modulator distorted it beyond recognition. âDid you actually think the pepper spray would work?â
âIâve gotta ask,â you hissed. âDo they berate you of common sense before they hand you the mask?, not everybody has a gun strapped to them at all times.â
Biting back, huh?, he thinks. Cute. Though your exhausted voice holds little intimidation.
âWoah, easy tiger. Just giving you a piece of advice, next time donât walk into an alleyway full of men twice your height with just pepper spray if you want to live.â
You narrowed your eyes at him but didnât bother to reply, instead your eyes gazed at the dark patch now spilling on to his palm.
âYou should probably get that stitched, looks like a deep cut.â His eyes fall to his forearm, as if just noticing it. âIâll manage.â He remarks.
âGod, you vigilantes are unbelievable.â He gives you a mock salute before pulling his grappling gun out.
âGet home safe.â He throws one look over you at his shoulder before disappearing into the night.
To say you were pissed off would be an insult, you were absolutely seething. You could not let this promotion offer slip by, you had fought tooth and nail for it, survived back to back night shifts, endless overtime with only caffeine and spite holding you together.
So you steeled your resolve. Fine. Youâd talk to him.
Admittedly, you were a little clammy since you still hadnât crossed paths with this mystery man despite it being a month since heâd moved in. Youâd met Gothamâs infamous Red Hood before your own upstairs neighbor, for god's sake.
You smooth the wrinkles from your pajamas out of habit before raising your hand to the bell.
A minute goes by, and your hands become sweaty. Another minute.
Your carefully rehearsed speech replayed in your head.
Hi, Iâm your downstairs neighbor.
Would you mind not reenacting what seems like a construction site at six in the morning?
Nope, that wouldn't do. Too polite.
Hi. Could you stop dropping what Iâm pretty sure are bowling balls every single day?
Better, that should work.
A lock clicked. The door creaks open slowly, even though you do not hear any footsteps approaching.
Strange, for someone who apparently couldn't exist inside an apartment without making enough noise to wake the dead, he moved surprisingly quietly.
You were right in thinking this guy was built like an absolute unit, but nothing couldâve prepared you for just how unfairly attractive he was. A black hoodie clung to his broad frame, the sleeves carelessly shoved up his forearms as if heâd only just thrown it on.
His tousled wavy hair had a streak of white at the front, but the most prominent of his features were his eyes- an unusual shade; a muted blue . He was tall, annoyingly so, you had to cram your neck to even meet his eyes. His frame looked familiar, triggering an itch at the back of your head.
The door opens another inch.
His voice is rough, like youâd dragged him out of bed. A bit throaty like it was unused for a long time.
âCan I help you?â His eyes lingered on yours for a beat longer than necessary.
Your speech! Right. You prepared a whole speech for this.
Realization dawned on his face, âOhâŠâ
âYeah, oh.â You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. âI work nights. I get home around four in the morning, but lately this past month your habit of wreaking havoc has been fucking up my scheduleâ
He didnât look defensive, if anything, he looked absolutely mortified.
âIâve been waking you up?â
âYou mean you didnât know?â
He was quiet for a second, jaw tightening. âI honestly didnât.â
âWell.â You gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. âThe booksâŠthe furniture you drag at the crack of dawn⊠the smoke alarms.â
âI have a promotion coming up,â you continued, the irritation seeping back into your voice. âIâm barely sleeping as it is. Every time I finally fall asleep, something hits your floor hard enough to make me think the buildingâs collapsing.â
âIm sorry, I genuinely didnât realize the sound carried that much.â His voice was a bit monotone, as if he was detaching himself from the conversation.
âWell, i appreciate the apology but sorryâs just not gonna cut it if youâre still dropping whatever the hell youâre dropping at six in the morningâ
âIâll be quieter.â There was a firm determination in his voice.
You hummed. âIâll let you get back toâŠâ You glanced past him to see the apartment in utter shambles. Half unpacked boxes, dumbells strewn across the floor, books; so many books stacked in uneven piles. Jesus Christ, did he rob a library? ââŠWhatever this is.â His eyes followed your line of sight, a bit of a sheepish expression curling on his face.
âHave a nice day, Jason.â
âYou too.â He hesitated a little before saying, âI never caught your name.â
Right. You told him your name and watched as he repeated it back, like he was committing it to memory.
ââŠNice meeting you.â His voice seemed hesitant, as if he couldnât believe what just happened.
Damn it. He was way nicer than you were anticipating.
Jason Todd, surprisingly, kept true to his promise.
No thuds, no books, no smoke alarm. For the first time in over a month, you slept uninterrupted. You almost didn't know what to do with yourself; keyword being almost.
You woke up sometime at noon from possibly the best nap youâve had in a long, long while. You could almost sob from joy.
Running into Jason Todd in the lobby was a rare encounter for any of the residents, but for you it was not just rare, but also painfully awkward.
ââŠMorning.â His voice is a sleepy drawl.
âYeah, best sleep I've had in quite a while.â
You can't decide whether or not confronting Jason was a good idea, because now wherever you go you seem to run into him.
Taking out the trash, coming home with your groceries, leaving for work.
Once a phantom weight in the building; someone who had spent an entire month only existing as footsteps through your ceiling, Jason Todd suddenly seems impossible to avoid.
Sometimes his eyes would linger, tentative as a bird testing their weight on a branch before settling comfortably.
Mrs Donnelly seems to notice the newfound awkward friendship ( if you could call it that ) between you and Jason, and tries her best to play matchmaker, no matter how much you both groan when you see her turning the corridor to stumble upon one of your painfully awkward moments with him.
She took great advantage of the fact that you both couldnât refuse her.
Like last week, when you came downstairs to Jason on a ladder because she insisted on his help hanging Halloween decorations.
âOh good! Youâre both here!â
Both of you visibly tense.
âI need someone medically trained to assist Jason!.â
âWhy medically trained?â
âIn case Jason falls.â
âWhat?- I wonât fall, Iâm not that clumsyâ he frowns.
You blink at him, dry amusement curling at the edge of your lips.
âI hope thatâs a joke, Jasonâ Same guy who interrupted your sleep for over a month because youâre like 100% sure his hands tie themselves after 3am.
He muttered something dark under his breath, something that sounded eerily like âI apologized, didnât I?â
He was annoyingly endearing, really. You couldnât stay angry for longer at him, the news circulating the building made it really hard for you to do so anyways.
You knew he went out of his way to carry the elderly neighborsâ groceries whenever he could. He fixed Mrs Jenkinsâs, the old lady who lives on the second floor with just her cat to keep her company, broken bookshelf despite her only bringing it in a conversation in passing.
You also knew he remembered everybodyâs names. It didnât seem much of a great feat compared to the other things he did, but it took you a whole year to memorize their names, so that was a feat in itself for you.
You clock off your shift at 5am today, a little later than you normally would. However that didnât come as much of a surprise, since mid October meant more injuries as people of Gotham treat Halloween as less of a festivity and more of an all-you-can-murder-buffet.
Crime rate was at an all time high, but that didnât deter you from taking the normal route instead of a bus. The bus wouldnât, however, come for another hour by this stop and you didnât want to wait longer than you already were.
You walked methodically, one step carefully put forward, the other slowly, unhurriedly falling in place next. You shouldnât be too slow, never give a predator an opening. Donât seem fragile.
You didnât want to end up on a shitty news channel before that tasty promotion, you wouldnât let even the worst of Gotham deter you today.
You could smell the lingering effects of rain. The silence after âhow quickly the sky pulls itself together. You drowned yourself in your thoughts enough for you to almost miss the low groan coming from the alley. Almost.
No, you wouldnât do this again. You were painfully aware of what happened the last time you let your savior complex win.
You wouldnât. Absolutely not.
You let your footsteps carry you forward, not losing the unhurried rhythm they had before.
You last approximately 87 seconds before backtracking. Thatâs it, youâre going to die today. The universe remains cruelly consistent in throwing you in situations that trigger your savior complex.
The pitiful groans coming from the alleyway keep you alert as you clutch your knife. A peek, thatâs all you needed to confirm someone was in need of dire medical treatment . Your fragile terror is washed over by a vigilant alarm, and everything feels sharper.
You see a flash of red, pitifully caved in on itself.
It takes you a beat longer than it should to realize itâs Red Hood. The Red Hood. The one youâd met all those months back and had warned you not get into such a situation again.
Sticky puddles of blood cling to your shoes, staining the light of your scrubs as you make your way towards him.
âYouâve got to be fucking kidding me.â The words leave your mouth before you could think them over.
Slumped against the bring wall, one knee bent awkwardly beneath him while the other stretched out into the alley. His helmet taps against the concrete wall with a dull thunk. His breathing seems ragged, chest rising and falling in uneven intervals.
His jacket is torn, almost cleaved through at the side, soaking the fabric so thoroughly with blood it seemed nearly black under the dim streetlight.
You crouch beside him, willing your breath to not waver.
You click your tongue, âSeriously?.â
You let your fingers hover at the edge of his helmet before reality caught up to you. No way in hell would you try to take a vigilante's helmet off; heâd probably shoot you.
Instead you settle two fingers against the side of his neck. His pulse is weak, too fast, erratic. His body is barely holding itself up, trying to compensate for the amount of blood lost.
At the end of the day, he is in fact more human than vigilante.
You hastily grab your emergency pouch, slowly easing back into the familiar routine.
âI knew I should've kept walking.â You sigh so heavily your lungs hurt.
A rasp, barely heard over the modulator; a feverous choke, before a hand comes to rest at your wrist. The pads of his fingers graze your skin, rough and calloused.
âLittleâŠlateâŠfor that.â His voice fades away with a rattle. At least he was still alive.
You press your gauze firmly against the wound, and immediately his entire body tenses.
âSo you can feel pain.â You press a little harder.
âThats for refusing stitches last time.â
âYouâŠ.minxâ he lets out something suspiciously similar to a laugh.
Another long silence settles between you, broken only by his uneven breathing, now a bit more slower than before. You finish bandaging his side before finally leaning back.
âIm gonna need to check your face, Red.â
âYouâve literally got blood running down your jaw.â
You pinch the bridge of your nose.
âYouâve potentially got a facial laceration, it needs cleaning.â
âDo you want my help or not?â
âYou can either let me look or you can pass out from blood loss while I call an ambulance.â
His entire body goes rigid.
âThen let me do my job, Red.â You do your best to imitate your authoritative voice that you bring out while dealing with restless patients, but fail miserably.
The silence stretches long enough that you think heâs passed out. Another long pause.
You breathe a little easier, letting your shoulder relax.
âBut you âŠclose your eyes.â
You stare. ââŠWhat?â
That's how you find yourselves with your eyes covered with one hand, ears straining as the helmet opens with a hiss, feeling for any serious damage just by muscle memory and your hands.
âYou peakâŠand im leavingâ
âOh no, whatever shall I do without my favorite patient.â You feign an exaggerated sigh, tracing the wound with your pointer finger, slick blood dripping down your hands. You could feel a bit of stubble on the line of his jaw.
âDoesnât seem that serious, but you should still get it cleaned.â
âAyeâŠaye captain.â Even half conscious heâs giving you shit.
You remove your hands from his face, listening to the mechanical click as the helmet is placed back on.
The helmet seals shut again.
The word is so quiet you almost miss it. You blink.
âDont make me say it twice.â
Then he stumbles to a standing position, and fires the grappling gun. Before disappearing over the rooftops, he glances back once.
You take your leave after that, albeit with a little reluctance because you didn't want to leave him unattended when he was still in need of dire medical care. But you understand that Red Hood was definitely capable of tending himself, wounds like these were probably a walk in the park for him.
Halloween was Mrs Donnelly's perfect excuse to drag all the tenants down to the lobby to âspread the festive joy.â
You trample downstairs, battling through hanging fake cobwebs across the stairwell, still smelling faintly of antiseptic and hospital soap.
âHey.â A voice cuts from behind you, a deep timbre. Itâs Jason, hands shoved haphazardly into the pockets of his jeans, stepping down the stairs with a grace a man built like him should not possess.
You hum in sleepy acknowledgment before-
His voice cut through the silence.
You look back just in time to notice the loose floorboard beneath your foot. It dips,and you feel your ankle twist, but Jason is faster. A steady hand grabs your upper arm, crushing your back firmly to his chest.
Heâd crossed nearly half the staircase between you in what couldnât have been more than a heartbeat.
His voice cut through the silence.
You look back just in time to notice the loose floorboard beneath your foot. It dips,and you feel your ankle twist, but Jason is faster. A steady hand grabs your upper arm, crushing your back firmly to his chest.
Heâd crossed nearly half the staircase between you in what couldnât have been more than a heartbeat.
Jasonâs hand lingers only long enough to make sure you were steady before letting go like heâd touched a hot stove.
ââŠHow did you evenââ You stop yourself with a huff. Your mind is failing to comprehend how quick he moved, you literally saw the floorboard while you were already falling.
âJason! Stop flirting and come hold this ladder!â Mrs Donnelly yells by the entrance.
His ears turn a bright shade of pink.
âI wasnât-â He seems flustered, but thereâs something in his eyes. Something you canât pinpoint. There seems to be genuine concern simmering beneath the blue.
You laugh at his expense, and turn on your heels, saving him the embarrassment. You don't notice him watching until you disappear into the lobby.
You and the rest of the tenants spend the entirety of next week preparing for Halloween night, Mrs Donnelly was convincing when she wanted to be. It was difficult to say no to a seventy-year-old woman who looked genuinely heartbroken whenever someone declined.
It was less of âVolunteer work,â in the words of Mrs Donnelly, and more of a conscription. Jason, unfortunately for himself, was no exception.
Youâd caught him hauling boxes of decorations up and down the stairs more times than you could count, usually after disappearing for hours at a time only to return looking like heâd slept for twelve minutes.
The presence of Jason Todd always kept you on edge, mainly because of how easily he maneuvered himself in such situations. But also because of how unfairly attractive he was, safe to say you were developing a silly crush on your hot neighbor. You donât remember the last time you had one of those.
To most it would seem as if he thrived in such situations, but you could notice the growing deep eye bags he failed to hide with each passing day.
ââŠYou know,â you remarked one afternoon while untangling an aggressively knotted strand of orange lights, âYou look worse than I do.â And heâd only shrugged.
Despite his tiredness, you knew he was always high on alert. You had yet to figure out what it was that always kept him so alarmed and uptight.
Like, a few days ago, when, halfway through your sentence Jason suddenly looks over his shoulder.
Nothingâs there. Five seconds later someone opens the lobby door.
You blink. ââŠDid you hear him come?â
Youâve noticed his fingers are rough. You confirm your theory when you help him move another bookshelf and your hands brush. Even the slightest bit of contact makes you shiver.
He has thick calluses between his thumb and forefinger, you notice. You can't seem to pinpoint it but they feel familiar.
The evening before the thirty-first, on Halloween Eve, every available railing has fake cobwebs draped over it. Plastic skeletons hang lazily from the ceiling, one of them forever rotating in the draft of the stairwell. Orange fairy lights you had helped set up wrap around the banisters.
A single extension cord is responsible for powering half the decorations, and youd jokingly called it a fire hazard.
âDonât even think about saying it, your nurse brain always jumps to the worst conclusions,â Mrs Donnelly warned.
âJust a joke, geez.â You smile innocently.
You probably jinx yourself because approximately twelve minutes later the lighters flicker once. Then twice. Then a sound akin to a sizzle is heard before-
The hallway is dissolved into darkness.
A collective groan echoes through the building, residents stepping outside their apartments to investigate.
Someone mutters, you recognize them vaguely from the first floor, âAgain?â
Because this was Gotham. Power shortages were not that much of a surprise.
Mrs Donnelly reassured the power would be back in an hour, but you knew better. You had survived almost three years in this apartment, you knew it would take at least a good couple of hours.
You wander outside to the balcony, craving the October air. The cold bites at your cheeks, carrying the familiar scent of Gotham with it- metallic, with dusty undertones.
Gotham looks different without electricity. Streetlamps in your neighborhood have succumbed to the darkness, leaving only distant neon signs from the city center visible.
It seems almost peaceful like this. Like the history of murders, of blood and vengeance that stained almost every corner of Gotham are nothing but passing rumors.
âYou hiding too?â You look over your shoulder.
Jason stands a few feet away, a hood pulled over his head, the flamboyant white streak of his hair peaks under the fabric. He clutches two paper cups carefully in one hand.
He lifts one of the cups towards you.
âI got us hot chocolate, figured youâd want a break from all the caffeine you consume on a daily basis.â
You couldnât help the smile tugging at your mouth.
âNo problem, Iâve seen what caffeine does to nurses.â
You accept the cup, wrapping your hands around the plastic. The warmth seeps into your skin, soothing the chill that ripples across.
You watch children running around in cheap vampire capes, the sounds of their laughter echoing through blocks over, their glow sticks becoming little floating streaks of green and purple in the eerie dark.
Nights like these, you get reminded of how people of Gotham are still human. Still trying to survive in a city built on anger, sticky webs funded by society's lies, curling lips from mewls and beggars; carcasses of the outcasts resting in the streets.
They are still human, just as you are a nurse wading through the blood, sewing the wounds with precise stitches to try to piece back their life with your latex covered fingers.
ââŠI like watching other people enjoy it.â He clears his throat, âHalloween, I mean.â
Something about the way he says it makes your chest tighten. You glance at him.
His hood is now lowered, hair pushed back from his forehead. Some of the curls stick to his forehead. You watch the angular slope of his nose illuminated by the distant neon lights, his jaw is clenched.
You catch the faint outline of a scar disappearing beneath the collar of his hoodie, starting from his jaw. Very faint, barely there. It looked familiar, its outline. Where had-
âCold?.â Those eyes and the sea jewelled haze in them gleam under the faint lights, buried in colour, are fixed on you as if he could just reach inside your mind and unearth your thoughts one by one.
Jason was already shrugging his hoodie off.
âNo! Itâs okay.â You don't trust yourself for what you would do if you see Jason in that form fitting tee again.
âYou were shivering,â Worry laces his tone.
âYou look blue,â He doesn't seem convinced, eyes flitting down to the goosebumps erupting on your exposed skin.
âI work nights, Jason. Iâve looked blue for years.â
âYouâve got a comeback for everything, you minx.â He huffs out a laugh.
That nickname rings a bell again and itâs frustrating you to sit with this sense of DĂ©jĂ vu. Like youâd heard it from someone else before, like youâve seen Jason before, before he moved here.
Why did he even move into a building like yours in the first place? Work? Change of pace? New environment? You knew he would be able to easily afford living in a better neighborhood, the designers he clothed himself in weren't exactlyâŠcheap.
âYou work nights too?â
âSomething like that.â You frown.
âYou make it sound so mysterious."
A corner of his mouth twitches, âIt pays the bills.â
âDonât be cryptic now, what? Are you a porn star?â That would explain his Greek God build. You werenât convinced, not in the slightest.
Jason was saved from answering by a bright flash; the streetlamps erupting into their usual ghostly white color. You instinctively flinch from the sudden brightness, a hand flitting to shield your eyes.
Jason doesnât; heâs already turned his head before the transformer down the street pops.
The day of 31st October is as chaotic as ever, one of the only days you allow yourself to step out of your nurse persona and let your actual self breathe.
The hospital has been merciful enough to give you the day off, and your friends took that as a personal challenge to make sure you didnât spend it sleeping through the entire holiday.
You whined and protested that you werenât that overworked but deep down you knew you actually wouldâve spent the entire day snoring.
So your itinerary for Halloween started off with pumpkin carving, terrible horror movies, and enough sweets that you felt your teeth physically ache and protest.
You couldnât remember the last time you felt this light, this normal. You felt almost guilty for being this carferee, thoughts drifting to how maybe an extra hand at the hospital couldâve saved a life. Halloween night was chaos at the hospital. Drunken brawls, knife wounds, burns from homemade fireworks, you name it.
But this was much needed, you had to remind yourself from time to time that you deserved a break too. By the time you stepped out of your friend's apartment, you felt like you were experiencing an out of body sensation- feeling almost wispy.
You walk back to your apartment, discarded candy wrappers and the occasional smashed pumpkins decorated Gothamâs sidewalks.
The apartment building greets you with familiar warmth and you climb the stairs slowly, opting for them instead of the elevator. You never knew when another power outage would occur.
By the time you reached your apartment door, the laughter from earlier had finally settled into a pleasant exhaustion.
You reached for your keys, the jingling cranking your ears. Your hands stopped their pursuit to find the apartment keys.
After an entire day surrounded by people, silence rings in your ears. You feel claustrophobic, almost, so suddenly. Too tightly constricted in everything that signifies yourself.
That would do you some good.
So you continued climbing, past Jasonâs floor, past the final landing. The heavy rooftop door groans open.
Cold October air immediately brushes across your face, a sweet relief from the pressure that was building steadily in your gut.
The city stretches endlessly before you, Gotham glittering beneath a haze of lingering smoke from fireworks. Your feet carry you towards the ledge.
Someone else is already there, broad shoulders, hoodie; his usual attire. He wasnât shrouded in a costume, like you.
He sits on the edge of the roof as though heâs done it a thousand times before, one knee bent under him, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the skyline.
You break through the silence first.
âDidnt know this place was occupied.â
Jason glances over his shoulder. His expression softens the second he recognizes you. Eyes flitting down your form, the mini skirt youâd chosen for today and the soft button up. Something unrecognizable flashes across his eyes.
âYou mind?â You nod your head to the place beside him. He looks back toward the city before patting the concrete beside him.
âNah.â Plenty of room.
You sit in silence for a while, contemplating the heaviness of Jasonâs voice. His body exudes warmth, acting like your personal furnace in the bitter cold of the wind. You scoot a little closer to him, drawing your arms around your body a bit tighter.
Your hands brush as you shuffle further towards him, and he exposes his side to allow you further in his space. Open, as if this was second nature for him.
It was just the two of you. Neither of you seemed particularly eager to break the silence. It was comfortable, almost domestic.
ââŠHappy Halloween.â
You look up. Heâs already looking at you.
Closeâ heâs close by, which is perhaps why you gravitate towards him. Two masses, feeling greater force with greater proximity. This was the epicentre that drew you here.
You donât know who leans in first, but the kiss is soft. Tentative. Experimental. A fleeting brush of the lips which lasts three seconds before one of you pulls away. A moment tucked into the wind that would be carried away by the time the sun rose over the skyline.
You see his beautiful face warp into something confused, stars seem to dance in the bluish-teal of his eyes, and you want to press kisses against his eyelids to see if you might taste them.
You know he wants confirmation, so you tilt your chin up and breathe out a please. He seems to shake out from his reverie at that, ghosting his lips over yours in a teasing manner.
Slowly, he brings his head downwards, lips brushing against yours. When you try to tilt your chin upwards, he pulls back enough to maintain control of it. To deny you of taking before he could give. You see the corner of his mouth tilt upwards in an amused smirk at your frustrations, at your need to feel his mouth against yours once more.
You feel eager, desperate in a way you never have felt with a lover, or anyone, before.
He pulls you towards him by easing his hands underneath your armpits, shuffling you on his lap until you settle comfortably, hands curling on his broad shoulders.
His breath is hot against yours, as he swoops his claim on your lips once again. Drops one hand below your thighs and hauls you further up his body, swallowing your whines.
The kiss is hungry, ravenous. Falls into a deep clash of tongues, his mouth moving so skillfully against yours. His fingers clutch the base of your neck, tilting his head to gain deeper access to your wet cavern. When it seems oxygen is a liability do you pull free. You break into bouts of panting, a thread of saliva interconnecting you two.
You trace a finger up the scar at the side of his jaw, ragged beneath your fingers.
Every breathless sound leaving from your lips has him floating up to some semblance of heaven, but he knew the downright lewd way you were grinding against him, he wasnât going up there anytime soon.
No, he would willingly fall to the depths of your depravity if it meant another taste of your sweet mouth, tasting of all the candy youâd consumed.
His hands shuffle downwards, grabbing the globes of your ass to maneuver you in such a way that your pussy rubs perfectly on the friction of his jeans. You donât want to waste a single second away from the comfort of his mouth and lean back down to press your lips against his.
He slowly guides you back and forth on his thighs and you moan outwardly. Jason takes this opportunity to his advantage and slips his tongue into your mouth, exploring to his heartâs content.
âW-what if somebody sees?,â you canât really find it in yourself to care about what anybody thought right now but just the thought of Mrs Donnelly or Mrs Jenkins seeing you like this, humping Jasonâs jeans without a care; youâd probably die.
âDonât care baby, this is the sixth floor, doubt anybodyâs in this time of Halloween,â
He had a point, no matter how much you overthought it, it didnât negate the fact that most of the residents were out partying.
His hands, rough and calloused, unbutton your shirt with nimble fingers and roam around your flushed skin, pushing the cups of your bra above. Heâs mesmerized, in awe at how beautiful you are.
Jason paws at your chest, pulling your nipples firmly in his mouth and sucking feverishly, milking out little noises from you before he leaves them puffy and raw. They throb against your chest, aching in the cold October air.
Your pussy rubs deliciously against him, a wet spot blooming through your panties and soaking Jasonâs jeans. You would feel embarrassed at the desperation leaking through you if you didnt feel that Jason was just as ruined as you.
You knew anyone could barge in, the rooftop wasnât exactly the best, and the most private, place to have sex. But at this point, you didnât care, fuck if you could even string together two coherent thoughts except for Jason, and need.
"Come oooooon," you grumble, grounding yourself down on his still-clothed cock impatiently. Why the hell does he still have his pants on, you think.
âPatience, you minx,â heâs laughing again, the nickname itches your grain but all you know is that the sound suits him so much. And you know heâd sound even prettier whining.
You want to put that theory into test.
Jason takes to your throat while you pant, kissing down your jugular and you twist to the side, allowing him more access. He gets to your collarbone before licking a long stripe to the crook of your neck and biting down. The imprint his teeth leave behind feels just right, slotting perfectly against your neck.
A sneaky hand travels down your thighs, flipping your skirt up, massaging your inner thighs before experimentally flicking your twitchy clit.
Your eyes open with a loud moan, louder than intended and itâs quickly covered by Jasonâs hand, the man shushing you when you give a hiccupy cry into his palm. It hurts, but god it feels so good.
âA-ah, fuck!â You canât help but babble out incoherent moans, even the little tease of his fingers overwhelming you.
"Fuck, sweetheart, too loud, too loud," he gasps with that raspy voice of his into your neck, soothing the bite mark with a kiss. Another finger teases your pussy through the fabric, feeling the wetness splotching through the underwear. His fingers dip into your mouth, rubbing against your tongue before you wrap your lips around them, sucking. "Fuck, fuck, fuck,â he cusses, rolling his hips against yours desperately.
His hands roam freely on your tits, pushing the plush between his palms, warming them from the chill while he suckles harsh marks onto your collarbone.
âYe look so good, baby, so sweet in that tiny skirt of yours,â his mouth finds the flesh of your tits again, biting down on the soft bud before roving his tongue around it. Youâre needy, and so so desperate.
âJason, Jason, wanna make you feel good,â you paw at his belt, wanting, no. Needing to free him from his confines before you internally combust.
âYeah? Say it, baby, what do you want?â
âNeed your cock, Jason, please.â
âYou need my cock huh?, where does my sweet girl want it?â
âWanâ it in my mouth,â
You hadnât realized he was moving until he was grabbing your throat, hauling you upwards and forcing you onto your knees, the concrete bruising your knees red.
He doesnât seem to care though, eyes crazed and pupils blown wide, the promise of ruining you lingering unspoken. One of his hands hastily free himself from his pants, and the other lodges itself in your hair, tugging your chin upward until heâs looming over you.
He has you bent in an aching angle, other hand lowering to grip your mandible. A few of his fingers prying open your lower jaw.
Ignoring the instinctual chomp of your teeth, he pushes his fingers beyond with a grunt, boring your mouth open without a question.
Heâs big, a flushed shade of pink, oozing pearly precum from the slit. He wraps a thick hand around his length and works his hand up and down the shaft. The thread of his palm through your hair tightens until there isnât a possibility for you to squirm from his grip as he holds you kneeling on the concrete.
Never before had you looked this pathetic, but he seems to love it, if the acceleration of him pumping his cock in rotating movements was anything to go by; every glide up and down the glistening length of his shaft produced sloppy, sticky noises.
âFuck, fffuckk,â his movements seem to increase in intensity.
You felt so feverishly needy, skin burning with the hot desire. The sight of him was so erotic, your neighbor, the guy you never dared to think about this way but always plagued your thoughts deep into the night whenever you felt like taking the edge off.
Watching him was salivating your mouth, desire making you squirm, your pussy beginning to throb erratically . He wasnât taking his eyes off you either, half lidded and burning with lust.
He abruptly stops his ministrations, and you whine.
âEasyyy tiger, patience,â heâs cooing at your flustered state, barely holding your self back from humping the ground like a dog in heat.
He grabs the plush of your cheeks before tapping his cock head, once, twice, against the pout of your lips. He slowly nudges the engorged head in, watching you squirm from the sheer size.
You do the best you can to try and relax your gulping. He surges forward the moment you do, sliding further and further inside. Another gurgle, a sob tugging tears from your eyes.
He was too big, no matter how much you relaxed your throat. His head was already bumping the back of your throat, bruising it to the point of no return. Whatever you canât ease into your mouth, you wrap your hand around.
He gives you little time to adjust, picking up pace as soon as you flutter your lashes towards him, looking above at him in all his glory. You massage his heavy balls, jerking off the length behind as he rams in and out of your mouth at an incredible speed. Pornographic moans seem to erupt from his chest,
âShit, shit, you look so pretty like this baby, hot and wet around my dick, canât imagine how many times I pictured you like this,â heâs huffing now, panting as he watches the erotic sight, the feel of his cock puncturing the back of your throat throwing him near the edge.
You can practically feel yourself leaking on to the floor, your sopping pussy gluing to your underwear. The need is too much, too much to ignore, and you ease a hand into the cheeky red cotton.
Your fingers move nimbly between your folds, massaging the swollen clit, swirling the wetness around yourself. All the while he rams into you, eyes zeroing on the way your fingers move faster against yourself.
âTakinâ it like a champ baby, youâre so good fâme,â
You loooked fucking obscene, tits pulled free from their confines, button up lazily pooling at your waist and the skirt that barely covered your ass flipped over. The way your fingers flicked your sensitive nub, the way your red underwear was practically see through and useless against the gushing of your pussy.
âOh, if only you could see yaâself right now.â
If he wanted he could just fucking crush you, bend you in whatever way he wanted, take and take and take what he wanted from you since the moment he laid eyes on your soft skin and even prettier eyes. However, all he could do right now was settle in using your mouth as a fleshlight.
It had you shuddering morbidly, mouth parting a tad as you inhaled and exhaled shakily through your nose, increasing the circling around your nub.
Goosebumps cascaded down his shivering body, the timid panting increasing until he was groaning with every plunge. It sounded fucking obscene, a strangled grunt issuing from him, Adamâs apple bobbing enticingly, and then he was cumming, shooting warm ropes into your mouth.
He grips your hair lethally, not allowing you to move as he did, and just take it. His hips didnât seem to stop as he twitches his load down your swollen throat, even as it dribbles down your lips and splatters towards the concrete.
Obscene, it was so fucking obscene. You were a nurse, for gods sake and here you were letting him use you however he pleased on a rooftop.
That didnât, however, stop you from reaching your peak. Your mouth twitches around his girth as your release tears through you, body thrashing.
He eases out of your swollen lips, his pearly cum smeared all over your mouth.
âYou good, baby?, you took me so well,â you crooned at the compliment and ohhh you look filthy, so fucking cockdrunk. Pretty eyes blinking up at him so innocently as if his release wasnât dribbling down your mouth to your tits, some even decorating the concrete.
You look even better like this, he thinks, sucking him off and no thought behind your head to form a snarky reply.
âPlease, Jason, need more,â Youâre on fire, the need merging one with your blood.
âYeah baby, youâve been such a sweet girl, ya deserve it.â Heâs crouching down to lay you on the roof, not before tugging his hoodie off to lay it down beneath you.
He was wearing that tight fitting, long sleeved, tee again and fuck if it didnât do wonders to alleviate the need you were feeling.
Heâs kneeling between your legs, nudging them apart with the thick of his thighs and crushing them to your chest. He groans, so fucking loud at the mess youve made between your thighs. Your pussy already looks ruined, sopping heavily from the lust and your earlier ministrations. He can feel how sensitive your skin is, hips buckling in his hands whenever his hands strayed too close.
Heâs bending down to the plush of your thighs, easing off your underwear slowly.
He stars in complete awe at the flushed skin of your pussy, pooling out new wetness at the attention he was giving you.
âJasonnn,â you drawl from where youâre laid down, about to be his next meal.
He breaks out from his stupor at your heady drawl and presses a fiery smooch to your pussy, and a wet stripe from the base to your throbbing clit. Sweet, he thinks. You taste exactly as he was imagining you to.
You whine when he plunges down once again, battling off your sensitivity by keeping a firm palm against the shake of your thighs. You wrap your legs around his neck and keen into his face, not knowing if you want to push him away or bury him between your legs.
He feasts on your clit with all the grace of a parched man stumbling upon an oasis in a desert. He engulfs your clit between his teeth, suckling on it harshly and gulping down whatever wetness you leaked.
âFuck, fuck, Jason, so good.â Youâre mewling into your palm, hips bucking softly against the restraints of his hand. You can feel every single ridge of his tongue, the texture of his tongue only amplifying the pleasure.
You bury a hand in his soft curls, tugging at the roots and he hums in satisfaction; the vibrations sending you onto another dimension entirely.
The scar at his jaw rubs tantalizingly between your legs.
Close, you were so fucking close.
He seems to notice the increase in the pitch of your moans and pushes three fingers inside your leaking cunt, noticing with a pained grunt at how easily you take him.
âBaby, you feel so fucking tight, so fucking perfect around my fingers. God,â heâs increasing the pace of his fingers, and the way his stubble rubs against you as he feasts on your cunt, it takes just a few more thrusts before youâre thrown over the edge.
You swear youâre in nirvana, thrashing wildly in his grip though he steadies you with a hand on your tummy. You gush out pools of slick, the orgasm rippling in waves through your body.
Fuck, you already feel like your bodyâs about to give up.
He unlatches himself from your cunt with a pop! and a quiet sigh, his mouth glistening with your juices.
Jason sucks a mark against your throat before he lifts the two fingers to your lips. âTaste yourself for me, sweetheart,â he says, and you close your lips around the thickness, suckling and swirling your tongue around the digits.
He settles back on his haunches, observing the mess heâs made. God, you look like a sight.
You take him by surprise when you sit up on your forearms before flipping over, head down-ass up: presenting yourself to him. Your folds glisten in the dim lights, slick from your orgasm dripping between your thighs. So prettily offering yourself to his hungry gaze.
A little lamb waiting to be devoured.
Your nipples rub lazily against Jasonâs hoodie, the fabric somewhat warming you from the chill.
He presses a hand between your folds, spreading them apart to feel your pitiful wetness. Gosh, you were going to ruin him. He wastes no time in aligning himself with your cunt, circling the tip teasingly around your wetness, coating himself with your essence.
You knew now why he had started preparing you with his fingers. The nudge of his cock, blushing pink with excitement, was already starting to sting.
He lets you adjust to the penetration for a second, and then whatever control remaining vanishes, and he is sheathing himself in with a jerking thrust of his hips. Thick tears trickle down your inflamed cheeks as you yelp, hands lifting to bunch up the cotton of his hoodie serving as a makeshift carpet.
âSo fucking tight, baby, never had such a sweet pussy like yours,â he thinks this has to be some sort of purgatory, you feel so fucking good around him that it burns.
Youâre mewling as he sheathes himself inside fully, heavy balls smacking the plush of your ass. He changes the angle a little, forcing your head lower. Immediately, he increases the tempo, pounding into you, knocking every breath from your lungs.
His size has you writhing in a heady concoction of pain and growing pleasureâthe tip kissing your cervix with every thrust, and he doesnât take long in finding your soft g -spot.
Your mouth falls in a permanent âoâ as he rails into you, no time to adjust and let your warm walls accommodate his well above ordinary size.
Your pussy contracts around him and every inch is felt, the feel of the ridges of his veins making your eyes roll back.
âJ-Jason, Jason, s-sho good,â your cheek is pushed to the fabric, and all you can feel is the speed at which he is moving in you, and the way his thumb finds your clit to rub light circles.
âSo fucking good, wanted this didnât you? Patching me up like that, looking at me like that. God, you drive me crazy,â He punctuates each word with quick, deep thrusts. Youâre too fucked out to pay heed to what heâs saying.
You canât breathe as he drives himself over and over inside you, claiming your insides, seemingly pushing himself up into your fucking lungs. God, never had you felt so full. So full and complete.
He was splitting you open; making your cunt contort to the kneading of his thrusting. There wasnât any reprieve either, not as his groaning began to crack. The speed at which he was pounding in you was giving way to the sloppy, stuttered grind of his hips. You could feel the twitching of his oncoming orgasm as his hips spasm.
âGoing to cum inside you lovely, pump you full of my fucking seed, make you mine and ruin you,â heâs wrapping an arm beneath your torso, hauling you up until your back meets his flushed chest.
âCum in me Jason, yours, mâ yours,â He grunts in satisfaction.
Everything feels so much deeper in this angle, and he seems determined to plow open your pussy as he jackhammers upwards. His finger moves deftly on your clit, never stopping even once in his mission to defile you.
âYes, take it, take it â fuck, yesâ take my cock, take my fucking cockââ
Youâre near, and you know he is too with the way heâs smearing slick across your clit in hurried, quick movements, all the while his dick twitches roughly in you.
âC-close, mâ close baby,â he pants into your ears.
You came with a choked whine, tears streaming down your cheeks in heavy rivulets, your orgasm ripping from you. Electricity bolts across your spine, tingling your entire body with pleasure. All you could do was wordlessly sob from the its sheer intensity, cunt clenching tight around his length.
He didnât let you run from the orgasm, keeping you tightly wrapped in his embrace, and you mindlessly endured the gut wrenching pleasure.
He groans at how fucking tight you feel, and comes to a rolling halt, dumping load after load into your abused cervix. His dick spasms twice, and your fluttering cunt squeezes involuntarily, pulling out the last bits of cum from his flinching cock head. He makes sure to stuff his cum as deep as he could in a few short thrusts.
He lets you crash softly down into the hoodie, breath bordering on hyperventilation, and slowly glides his soaked cock out.
Youâre boneless beneath him and he allows you a moment of reprieve. He tucks himself back into his pants, and rubs a scarred palm up the curls of his damp hair.
He maneuvers you on your back so he could face you, and he sees the afterglow of what you can only describe as the best sex of your life.
You look beautiful like this, marked head to toe with him. Angelic, even. And heâs just a sinner in your orbit as you pull him down to your bare chest, wrapping your legs around his torso.
âI could accidentally crush you to death like this, you know,â he tells you as your hands brush his hair from his sweaty forehead.
A hum leaves you, tired smile on your lips as you turn your head to kiss the exposed skin of his jaw, and the another on the softness of his eyelids.
âYou could, but you wonât.â
âNo,â he responds, voice hushed. âI wonât.â
âHey, Jason, by the wayâŠâ
âI got that promotion.â
God you fucked your neighbor. And it wasnât just a lame quickie or two, but hands down the best sex youâve ever had in your life.
You donât know if he feels the same, but you know he feels something what with the way he looked at you that night.
Jason seems familiar, the way he carries himself, his eyes, his hands. His nicknames.
You donât know what to do with yourself. And it doesnât help that jasons been avoiding you like the plague now.
He avoids eye contact with you at all times , all the sweet caresses and lovely promises he made you that night vanished, leaving you high and dry. Literally.
Itâs like youâre back to that goddawful time where you spent an eternity knowing about Jasonâs presence upstairs, but never quite getting the chance to see him in the flesh.
You donât know what you did wrong, really. He had left you that night, pressing another sweet kiss to your lips as if it pained him not to do so. And had mumbled about an emergency before leaving you with just his hoodie as goodbye.
You donât know what to do. And you feel conflicted and lame and desperate, who wouldnât? You just fucked one of the hottest men youâve ever laid eyes on but fuck if he wasnât a mystery. Hell, you dont even know what he does for a living.
And the fact that heâs littered all over in scars, the way he carries himself unusual. A MMA fighter? Boxer? Why would he feel the need to lie about his career though? Maybe a hitman? Or an undercover spy? But why the hell would an undercover spy send most of his evenings repairing broken doors?
You were losing your goddamn mind.
It has been almost two weeks since youâve seen Jason, and you spent almost all those evenings either humping your palm pitifully, trying to recreate Jasonâs fingers; or overthinking about him.
You even find it difficult now to get busy in the harsh demands of your hospital, finding peace repairing an injury. Your hands tremble and your eyes waver, thoughts drifting back to Jason, Jason, Jason.
Heâs all you can think about, and all you were thinking about when a scream curdles through the empty courtyard of your building.
Residents pour out of the building before they can stop themselves.
Mrs. Jenkins stands beneath the old fire escape, wringing her hands so violently you were afraid sheâd dislocate something.
Halfway up the rusted metal framework, her tabby cat clings to a narrow tilting ledge, back arched and hair on end, hissing at anyone who dares to come too close.
âOh, PumpkinâŠâ she whimpers. âPlease come downâŠâ
Murmurs about calling animal control; the fire department; luring it with food.
You open your mouth to suggest grabbing a ladder whenâ
Jason moves swiftly with confidence brimming in his posture. You didnt even notice him in the crowd before.
He vaults over the waist-high railing bordering the courtyard with frightening ease, catching the lowest rung of the fire escape one-handed.
His boots barely seem to touch the rusted metal as he climbs as if hes done it a thousand times before. Halfway up, one of the bolts snapped and the entire staircase lurches violently causing the landing to dip several inches.
You watch as Jason simply shifts his weight without panicking. Within seconds heâs reached the ledge.
âHey, buddy.â His voice is softened, barely heard over the murmuring over the crowd. It does something to your brain chemistry.
The cat hisses. âYou done?â
Another hiss. âYeah fair. Come on, hop up.â
Slowly, calmly, he crouches and the metal groans protests beneath him. âYou bite me,â he murmurs, âand weâre both having a bad day.â
Pumpkin shuffles a little; then, with absolutely no dignity whatsoever, the cat climbs directly into his waiting arms.
ââŠTraitor,â someone mutters below.
A laugh ripples through the crowd, relief palpable. Jason smirks and jumps the three meters. Three fucking meters with a cat tucked securely against his chest. He lands in a crouch hard enough to crack the pavement without stumbling even once.
You watch in a brain-addled haze as Mrs. Jenkins burst into tears.
Jason looks vaguely horrified by the attention. âItâs⊠just a cat.â
You didnât clap with the rest of the crowd. There it was, the itch. The string that had been quietly stretching until its pulled taut.
You had seen someone move like that before, with the same grace. The recovery. The impossible balance. The same confidence.
No fucking way. Your stomach twists.
Your hands rinse the cup with water for the fifth time, scrubbing the same surface over and over and over.
You minx. Three floors, the staircase; loose floorboards was it? The alley. The impossible speed, the scar disappearing beneath his jaw. The emergency heâd disappeared for. What heâd murmured to you that night on the rooftop and youâd dismissed it because you were quite literally getting railed to death, and didnât want to deal with the blabbering of a sex drunk man.
His hands. Rough and callused, impossibly huge. The same hands that engulfed you with their sheer intensity, that had steadied you, that had taken you on a rooftop nearly two weeks ago. Hands that had grabbed your wrist in a blood-soaked alley while their owner bled out against a brick wall.
His eyes, always high on alert. Like they were constantly searching for something beyond reach, exactly likeâ
That couldnât be, right?
Your impossibly built neighbor with insane reflexes and a mysterious job couldn't be the Red Hood, right?
Gunfire echoed somewhere outside. Then another. Then shouting. Police sirens echo through the streets.
Your heart drops to the pits of your stomach. This is normal for Gotham, but your body is protesting.
You cross the apartment in three strides, pulling the curtains aside. Half the neighboring rooftops were swallowed in darkness. Makes sense, it was nearing midnight.
Then you clock movement. A figure lands heavily on the rooftop across from your building.
Your breath caught in your chest. Red Hood. If your suspicions were correctâŠ
Even from this distance, something looked wrong. He didnât land cleanly and one knee slammed into the concrete while the other hand caught himself against the gravel roof. His head stayed bowed for several long seconds.
He pushes himself upright, one hand pressed into his side before staggering towards the roofâs edge and raising his grappling gun.
He fires the cable shot into the darkness towards your building. The roof. Your roof.
Without thinking, you were already moving. You knew you had to do something about your spiral, it was stupid. The apartment door slams behind you. Three flights. Four. You skip entire steps in your haste. The metal door leading to the rooftop bursts open so hard it rebounds against the wall.
The name escapes before you can stop it. A figure stands near the water tower. Heâs nearly blending in the darkness, but you can see the faint outline of a hoodie and helmet still on.
The silence that follows is deafening, you stand near the doorway with your breath still heaving.
Slowly, almost reluctantly he turns, the crimson of his helmet glinting in the faint lights as he stares back at you. You don't move, and the silence slowly teeters to overbearing.
His shoulders sag as you tilt your head, you take a step closer.
ââŠYou werenât supposed to see this.â
You feel your pulse in your throat and allow your eyes to drift lower. His jacket remains torn.
Every impossible coincidence and every moment your brain refused to let go of.
It wasnât a question anymore. He didnât deny it, didn't laugh it off or make an excuse. He allows you to step closer to him and simply reaches up. Slowly, his gloved fingers find the catches beneath the helmet. A mechanical hiss breaks through the silence.
The helmet is lifted. Wavy black hair, damp with sweat, fall across his forehead. A streak of white falling across his forehead. Muted blue eyes.
The same ones that had looked at you like you were the center of his universe, held you so dearly against him. The same ones that had hidden behind a mask you've associated with danger.
The helmet has come off but that some how makes it worse.
It couldnât be right? You were hallucinating, yeah thatâs it. This is all a dream and when you wake up to the ringing of your alarm, there will be no Jason and no Red Hood.
Because you were prepared for a stranger. You were not prepared for Jason. You had been deluding yourself into brushing over the red flags, alas here you were.
He looks impossibly exhausted.
For a heartbeat, all you can do is stare. He looks flustered, ashamed even. He doesnt look at you, instead faces the floor. That almost hurts more.
Your mouth opens and closes again. Nothing comes out.
âIm sorry, I really am. I didn't mean to hurt you like that.â He clears his throat, âi mean, i- I didnât mean to leave you like that,â
You don't know what to say to that. You were upset, of-course you were. But the realization that Jason was The Red Hood meant that he faced more dangers in a day than an army veteran faces in a year.
âIâm hallucinating, right?â You blurt out. He frowns at you before shaking his head.
âIâm as real as one can be,â You pinch yourself a little before regaining clarity.
Your nurse instincts bulldoze straight through the emotional crisis.
âYouâre also bleeding on my roof.â
Jason blinks and just like that some of the tension dissipates.
âThatâs your first concern?, you're not even gonna get mad at me?.â
âYou have approximately thirty seconds before I drag you downstairs whether you like it or not.â A tired laugh escapes him.
He looks at you for a long moment.
Newtonâs theory of gravitation dictates that every particle with matter attracts every other particle with a force inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them.
You supposed that explained why, no matter how many names he wore, how many secrets separated you, how many masks he hid behind, that you always found your way back to Jason Todd.
A/n: need him so bad itâs killing me. Also felt like giving him little angst my poor babyâs alr gone thru so much
