The last thing he does, with the door open, is pull out that damned gun-shaped lighter, which he must've picked up from wherever it had been left, and toss it against my chest.
“You were excellent, Tori Spring,”
he declares, as his final words.
“Too bad you had to be so fucked up.”
OR
Where Michael Holden ended up betraying Tori Spring in the middle of Higgs fire.
pairing:mechanic!jason todd x bimbo!reader
word count:
category: mechanic au, grumpy x sunshine, dc comics, romance, slice of life, slow burn, action, banter, soft tension, competent reader, strong female lead, foul language, emotional damage, unbearably cute
dividers: enchanthings
a/n: hi anon! Hope you enjoy this update <3
Previous Chapter/Next Chapter
Getting ready for a date was supposed to be fun.
Getting ready for a date with Jason Todd, less than twenty-four hours after he had shown up at your apartment with pink peonies, apology pastries, and enough emotional vulnerability to knock your entire nervous system sideways, was apparently closer to a high-risk competitive sport.
Your bedroom looked like a glitter bomb had gone off in a luxury department store.
Three discarded dresses were sprawled across your bed. Two pairs of heels sat
abandoned near the closet after failing the extremely serious criteria of being hot, walkable, and adaptable to whatever mysterious date location Jason had refused to disclose. Your vanity was cluttered with lipstick tubes, setting spray, perfume, earrings, and the remains of your patience.
Diva lay stretched out across the rug in the middle of it all, watching you move around the room with the exhausted expression of an animal who had already endured too many outfit changes for one evening.
Your phone was propped against the vanity mirror, Rachel’s face filling most of the screen while Devon lounged beside her on the couch, only half visible from the shoulder up.
You stepped back from the mirror and smoothed both hands over your dress.
“Okay,” you said, turning slightly so the sparkle caught the light. “Final answer. Thoughts?”
Rachel narrowed her eyes at the screen as if the outfit had personally submitted itself for inspection.
The dress was short, pink, and glittery enough to catch the light every time you moved without crossing into full disco ball territory. It hugged your body exactly the way you wanted, with a neckline that made the tiny necklace at your collarbone feel almost unfair. Over it, you had thrown on a pale faux-fur coat that made the whole look softer, warmer, and somehow even more dramatic.
Cute enough for a casual date.
Hot enough for a fancy one.
Warm enough for Jason’s motorcycle.
Hopefully.
Rachel sighed.
“You look devastating.”
You beamed. “That’s what I was hoping for.”
“I mean it as both a compliment and a warning. If he makes you cry in that dress, I’m becoming a felon.”
From beside her, Devon lifted his head.
“Again, for legal purposes, you should stop saying that on video calls.”
Rachel waved him off.
“I’m serious. Look at her. Look at that dress. Look at her hair. She looks like every bad decision a man makes right before his life improves dramatically.”
You lifted a brow. “That was weirdly poetic.”
“I’m furious and inspired.”
Devon glanced at the screen.
“For what it’s worth, you look beautiful.”
“Thank you, Devon.” You pointed toward him through the screen. “See? Supportive. Normal. Nonviolent.”
“I am supportive,” Rachel argued. “I am supporting your right to have a nice night while also maintaining my right to be suspicious of the emotionally damaged six-foot-two apology florist who made you spend two weeks crying over a man who owns multiple leather jackets.”
You paused with an earring halfway to your ear.
The bright little laugh you had been about to give her came out thinner than you wanted.
“Rach.”
“What?” she said, still going, too wrapped up in protectiveness to notice the way your hands slowed. “I’m glad he apologized. Truly. The peonies were excellent. The pastries were a good touch. Him using actual sentences was a refreshing plot twist. But I’m not going to magically forget that I watched you rot on the couch in a giant hoodie because he apparently thinks communication is an optional side quest.”
Your stomach dipped.
You looked back at yourself in the mirror.
Suddenly, the dress felt more exposed than it had thirty seconds ago.
The sparkle too eager.
The coat too much.
The makeup less like excitement and more like an attempt to pretend you had not spent nearly two weeks convincing yourself you had imagined everything between you and Jason.
You knew Rachel was not trying to ruin this.
You knew she had held your hand when you cried. Had answered your increasingly pathetic texts. Had sat beside you while you wrote that awful note and sent his check back because you could not keep living in the limbo of wondering whether Jason was taking care of you or trying to pay down his own guilt.
She had earned the right to be mad.
That did not mean you wanted to carry all that anger into tonight.
“I know,” you said quietly.
Rachel’s expression changed a little.
Not enough.
“I just don’t want you going into this like one good speech and a kiss mean he gets to pretend it never happened.”
“He didn’t pretend,” you said.
“I know, but—”
“No, Rachel.” Your voice remained soft, but a little firmer this time. “He didn’t. He took accountability. He apologized. He let me be angry. And I am still allowed to want this.”
Rachel stopped.
Your fingers fussed with the edge of your coat.
You hated that your eyes had started to sting again.
Not enough to cry.
Absolutely not.
Your mascara had survived too much for this.
“I know he hurt me,” you said. “I know you saw me at my worst because of it. But I like him. I really like him. And tonight I just want to be excited without feeling stupid for giving him another chance.”
That finally hit her.
Rachel’s face fell.
Before she could respond, Devon shifted upright beside her and gently placed one hand over her knee.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
Rachel looked toward him.
Devon’s expression was gentle, but pointed.
“She knows you’re protecting her.”
Rachel pressed her lips together.
He continued, looking toward you through the screen.
“And you’re allowed to be excited. You’re not ignoring what happened by seeing what he does next.”
Your shoulders loosened slightly.
That was exactly it.
You did not need Jason to erase the last two weeks.
You needed him to make what came after them worth trusting.
Rachel exhaled slowly, leaning back into the couch.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Your expression softened.
“I know.”
“No, I am.” She grimaced. “I’m trying to be supportive. I’m just… I watched you cry so much I almost developed a personal allergy to the name Jason.”
“That sounds medically significant.”
“It is.”
You smiled a little.
Rachel’s mouth twitched in return.
“I know you want this,” she said. “And I know he looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin when he showed up yesterday, so that’s… something.”
“High praise.”
“Do not make me compliment him more than once in a calendar month. It makes me feel unwell.”
Devon looked at you. “She told me after he left that the flowers were a good choice.”
Rachel whipped toward him.
“Traitor.”
You gasped. “You thought they were a good choice?”
“They were pink peonies,” she snapped defensively. “I have eyes. They were objectively a good choice.”
You smiled at the bouquet where it sat on your nightstand, already placed in the nicest vase you owned.
They were still beautiful.
Still soft.
Still making your chest do something unhelpful every time you glanced at them.
“And,” Devon added, “she said he looked genuinely terrified of disappointing you.”
Rachel glared at him. “Do you want to survive the evening?”
You hugged your coat closer around yourself, trying not to look as pleased as you felt.
“Did he?”
Rachel rolled her eyes.
“Oh my God, yes. He looked like a man who had finally realized that being six feet of brooding jawline was not a substitute for treating a woman properly.”
“Six feet of brooding jawline,” you repeated, dreamy despite yourself.
Rachel groaned.
“I’m losing you again.”
“You never had me.”
“That is painfully obvious.”
A soft jingle sounded behind you as Diva lifted her head from the rug, perhaps sensing that the emotional weather had finally stabilized enough for her participation.
You turned back to the mirror, checking your lipstick one last time.
“Okay. So the dress is a yes?”
Rachel sighed theatrically.
“The dress is a crime. Wear it.”
“The coat?”
“Rich widow who inherited everything under suspicious circumstances. Love it.”
“The shoes?”
“Are you riding on the motorcycle in those?”
You glanced down at the pink heels.
“Maybe?”
Rachel stared.
You looked toward Diva for support.
Diva rested her chin back on her paws.
Unhelpful.
Devon laughed quietly.
“You could bring flats in your purse.”
You turned toward your small pink bag.
“It will not fit shoes. It barely fits lip gloss and an emergency compact.”
Rachel pointed firmly at the screen. “Wear the boots.”
You looked toward the ankle boots near your closet. White, heeled, but sturdier.
“They are less sexy.”
“They are still sexy, and they significantly decrease the chances of you eating pavement getting off a motorcycle in a microdress.”
You pursed your lips.
Annoyingly, she had a point.
“Fine.”
You stepped out of the heels and into the boots, zipping them up with a little sigh of defeat.
Rachel looked smug.
“See? Still hot. And now you can run if he says something stupid.”
You groaned.
“Rachel.”
“Supportively run.”
Devon shook his head, but he was smiling.
You opened your mouth to respond when your phone screen briefly shifted with an incoming notification.
Your heart jumped before you could control it.
Rachel noticed immediately.
“Oh, is that him?”
You grabbed the phone so quickly that Diva’s ears perked.
“Maybe.”
“It is absolutely him,” Devon said.
You tried to smooth your expression into something casual before reading the message.
It did not work.
Jason
Outside.
That was it.
Just one word.
Of course.
Still, your entire stomach seemed to flip over itself like it was trying out for gymnastics.
“He’s here,” you said.
Rachel sat up straighter. “Already?”
You glanced at the time.
Seven fifty-two.
A smile pulled helplessly at your mouth.
“He’s early.”
Devon gave Rachel a knowing look.
Rachel crossed her arms.
“Fine. One additional point in his favor.”
You laughed, grabbing your perfume and spritzing it once more over your wrists and neck.
“Okay. I’m going.”
“Text me,” Rachel ordered immediately.
“I will.”
“During the date if anything feels weird.”
“Rach.”
“After the date, then. But immediately.”
You slung your purse over your shoulder and checked your reflection one last time.
“Promise.”
“And send pictures.”
“You want evidence he’s behaving?”
“I want evidence of your outfit in proper lighting. But yes, also that.”
Devon leaned closer into frame and smiled.
“Have fun.”
You smiled back.
“Thank you.”
Rachel’s expression softened finally, all the sharp edges folding in.
“You really do look beautiful,” she said. “And… I hope he makes you happy tonight.”
There it was.
The support underneath all the teeth.
Your chest warmed.
“I think he will.”
“He better.”
You blew her a kiss.
“Love you.”
“Love you too. Remember: standards.”
“Standards,” you agreed.
“And pepper spray.”
“Goodbye, Rachel.”
Devon laughed as you ended the call.
The screen went dark, leaving you alone in the sudden quiet of your bedroom.
For a moment, you just stood there.
Your pulse was thudding too fast.
Your hands felt a little clammy despite the careful moisturizer and rings.
This was happening.
You were going on a date with Jason.
An actual date.
Not an accidental almost-kiss in the shop. Not a jealousy-fueled confession. Not him appearing at your door with flowers while you looked like a puffy-eyed tragedy in a hoodie three sizes too big.
A date.
You took a slow breath and turned toward the door.
Diva was already on her feet, staring at you expectantly.
You smiled.
“Oh, no, pretty girl. You’re staying here tonight.”
Diva’s head tilted.
“I know. Horrible. Cruel. An abandonment worthy of a memoir.”
She padded closer anyway, nose bumping against your hand.
You crouched carefully so you would not crease your dress and cradled her face between both hands.
“Be good,” you cooed, pressing a kiss to the top of her sleek head. “Mommy’s going to go see if she can secure you a decent father figure.”
Diva licked the underside of your chin.
You laughed, wiping carefully at the spot without smearing your makeup.
“Okay, that sounded like approval.”
She wagged once.
“Don’t judge me if I come home giggling.”
Diva stared at you.
“Actually, you can judge me. You’ve earned it.”
You gave her one last kiss between the ears, grabbed your keys, and stepped out of the apartment before you could talk yourself into trying on one more outfit.
The elevator ride down felt endless.
You checked your lipstick in the reflective metal walls.
Then your hair.
Then your coat.
Then checked the lipstick again even though nothing had happened to it in the six seconds since the last time.
By the time the doors opened into the lobby, you were considering whether “nervous enough to vomit glitter” was a medically recognized condition.
You crossed the lobby, heels tapping sharply over the tiled floor.
The night air hit you as soon as you pushed through the entrance doors.
Cool.
Soft.
Carrying the smell of city pavement and distant traffic.
Then you saw him.
And every anxious thought in your head evaporated so quickly it was almost insulting.
Jason stood beside his bike at the curb, leaning back against the seat with one ankle crossed over the other. His black helmet rested under one arm, and your pink one — ridiculous oversized bow and all — hung from his other hand.
He had changed out of his work clothes.
That alone should not have been as devastating as it was.
Dark pants. Clean boots. A black button-down with the sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms, because apparently he had decided you had suffered enough emotionally and should now be killed through physical attraction instead. His jacket was slung over the bike behind him, leaving the shirt stretched over his shoulders in a way that felt personally offensive.
His hair was still a little damp, like he had showered and run his hands through it instead of properly styling it. The white streak caught beneath the streetlight.
He looked good.
No.
Good was insulting.
He looked unfair.
He looked like he had stepped directly out of every terrible romantic impulse you had ever possessed and leaned against a motorcycle specifically to make it worse.
You stopped at the top of the steps.
Jason looked up.
And then he stopped breathing.
At least, that was what it looked like.
His posture straightened away from the bike. His grip on the helmets shifted. His eyes moved over you in one slow sweep before snapping back to your face like he had realized staring was going to get him in trouble and decided trouble was maybe worth it.
You smiled.
The nervousness came back, but warmer now.
More thrilling than terrifying.
You descended the steps slowly, letting him suffer a little.
It was only fair.
Jason stared at you all the way down.
When you reached him, he still had not said anything.
You lifted a brow.
“Hi.”
Jason blinked once.
“Hi.”
You waited.
He swallowed.
Your smile widened.
“This is where you tell me I look nice.”
“I know.”
“And?”
His eyes moved over you again.
Short pink dress.
Faux fur.
Glitter catching under the streetlights.
Boots that were still cute enough to validate you ignoring the heels.
His jaw tightened slightly.
“You look…” he started.
You clasped your hands behind your back, rocking onto your heels.
“Careful. We practiced adjectives this morning.”
Jason huffed a breath through his nose.
Then his expression changed.
Softened.
Enough to make your teasing falter for half a second.
“You look beautiful.”
Oh.
That was not fair.
You had been prepared for good. Maybe dangerous. Maybe some muttered Jason version of a compliment that you could drag into something flirtier.
You had not prepared for the way he said beautiful like the word had cost him a little something.
Your cheeks warmed.
“Well,” you said, much less smoothly than intended. “You clean up pretty nicely yourself.”
Jason’s mouth twitched.
“Pretty nicely?”
“Very pretty, actually.”
He glanced down at his shirt like he was suddenly suspicious of it.
You stepped closer.
“Is this your date shirt?”
His eyes returned to yours.
“I own more than work clothes.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t ruin the compliment.”
You smiled.
“I would never.”
He held your helmet out to you.
You took it, turning it in your hands with immediate fondness at the sight of the oversized bow.
“I missed this.”
“You wore it yesterday.”
“I had a difficult two weeks. Time moved differently.”
Jason’s expression dimmed slightly.
The joke lingered between you just a little too heavily.
Your smile softened.
“Hey.”
He looked at you.
You stepped close enough to tap one finger against the buttons of his shirt.
“No guilt face tonight.”
Jason’s jaw worked.
“I’m trying.”
“I know.” Your eyes held his. “And I’m here.”
For a second, he just looked at you.
Then he nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
The moment settled.
Not erased.
Not ignored.
Just acknowledged enough to breathe around.
You lifted the helmet slightly.
“So, mysterious man, where are you taking me?”
Jason hesitated.
Immediately, your eyes narrowed.
“Wait. Do you know where you’re taking me?”
“Yes.”
“That pause was suspicious.”
“I know where we’re going.”
“You are withholding details.”
“It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
You stared at him.
Jason stared back.
“Did Roy have anything to do with this?”
“No.”
“Thank God.”
His mouth curved slightly.
“That confident in him?”
“Roy’s idea of fine dining is anywhere the ketchup doesn’t come in one shared bottle chained to the table.”
Jason laughed.
Actually laughed.
Quiet and brief, but it made your chest swell with something embarrassingly soft.
You tilted your head.
“Was that a laugh?”
“No.”
“I heard it.”
“You heard nothing.”
You stepped closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially.
“I’m going to make you do that all night.”
Jason’s eyes darkened just slightly.
“That your plan?”
Your breath caught.
There.
That little shift.
That low voice.
The reminder that underneath all the awkward sweetness, Jason Todd could still flirt back when he remembered how.
You recovered with dignity.
Mostly.
“One of them.”
He stared for half a second longer.
Then cleared his throat and handed you the helmet fully.
“Put that on before I decide this date needs to happen upstairs.”
Your mouth fell open.
Jason seemed to realize what he had said only after it was too late.
His ears went faintly pink.
You grinned.
“Oh, you’re getting bolder already.”
“Helmet.”
“Bossy too. Very hot.”
“Princess.”
You froze.
He froze.
The nickname slipped between you, warm and unexpected.
Jason looked like he was deciding whether to walk directly into traffic.
Your smile softened instead.
“I like that one.”
His gaze flickered over your face.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Jason gave one small nod.
Then, quieter, “Good.”
You laughed.
“Back to good already? We were making progress.”
“Get on the bike.”
“Yes, sir.”
The look he gave you made you deeply pleased with yourself.
You put on the helmet, carefully working around your hair and making sure the bow sat correctly at the back. Jason stepped closer without asking and adjusted the strap beneath your chin, rough fingers brushing lightly along your jaw.
You went still.
So did he.
The city moved around you, cars passing, voices somewhere down the sidewalk, the building lobby doors sliding open and closed behind you.
But for a moment, there was only Jason’s hand beneath your chin and his eyes fixed on the buckle like it required his complete focus.
“You good?” he asked, voice low.
Your heart fluttered stupidly.
“Mhm.”
He looked up.
The helmet covered half your face, but you were fairly sure the smile was visible anyway.
“You?” you asked.
His thumb brushed once beneath the strap before he stepped back.
“Ask me later.”
You bit your lip inside the helmet.
Oh, this date was going to kill you.
Jason put his own helmet on, swung onto the bike, and started the engine.
The sound roared through the quiet curbside, familiar and thrilling.
You climbed on behind him, smoothing your dress down enough to preserve your dignity before wrapping both arms around his waist.
Jason went rigid for the smallest second.
Then his gloved hand covered yours where they rested against his stomach.
Just once.
A quiet squeeze.
Your cheek pressed lightly against his back.
“Ready?” he called over the engine.
You tightened your arms around him.
“Take me away, handsome.”
He shook his head, but you could feel the amusement in the movement.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender (Cartoon 2005)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Aang/Katara (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Aang & Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Zuko, Toph Beifong & Sokka, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Iroh (Avatar), Sokka/Suki (Avatar)
Characters: Sokka (Avatar), Aang (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar), Katara (Avatar), Toph Beifong, Suki (Avatar), Iroh (Avatar), Hakoda (Avatar), Earth King (Avatar), Long Feng (Avatar)
Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, POV Multiple, Fluff and Angst, Violence, War, Political Intrigue, Internalized Homophobia, minor sokka/oc, Character Death, Original Character(s), Alcohol, Drugs, hope i tagged it all, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, long journey, book 4 rewrite
Summary:
The Hundred Year War has finally ended, and with Fire Lord Ozai behind bars, the world can finally begin to heal. With Zuko as the new Fire Lord, the Fire Nation is on track to rejoin the other nations in restoring balance and harmony.
But the scars of the brutal, century long war have touched too many people, places, and cultures. Peace alone cannot undo a lifetime of hatred, loss, and suffering. While Fire Lord Zuko and the Gaang work to build a new era of peace, the Earth Kingdom begins to reshape in a way nobody could have foreseen.
And for the young people who spent their childhoods fighting the war, figuring out who they are now may prove just as difficult as figuring out what comes next.
I am in absolute shambles because I found your fic "Grease and Glitter." and it might be the best red hood fic I have ever read, I absolutely didn't binge read it in one day ( I did) PLSS I CAN ONLY HOPE YOU CHOOSE TO FINISH THIS SERIES I LOVE YOU AND YOUR WRITING THANK U SM FOR BESTOWING US WITH THIS MASTER PEICE PLS PLS update it, no pressure take ur precious sweet time (pls pls update it) ily, i wish greatness upon you and your life, may u be blessed with everything your heart desires MUWAH <33
⋆. 𐙚˚࿔𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐆𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫❀˚⋆
⋆˙⟡The Date Thing𑣲˙⋆
pairing: mechanic!jason todd x bimbo!reader
category: mechanic au, grumpy x sunshine, dc comics, romance, slice of life, slow burn, action, banter, soft tension, competent reader, strong female lead, foul language, unmatched rizz, incessant flirting
word count:
dividers: enchanthings
a/n: hi anon! I appreciate that very much and i hope you enjoy this newest chapter<3
Previous Chapter/Next Chapter
By the time closing rolled around, Jason had exactly zero answers and approximately seventeen new reasons to panic.
He had tried.
Technically.
In between repairs, customer calls, the arrival of a particularly stubborn transmission, and the constant distraction of you existing within twenty feet of him again, Jason had tried to come up with somewhere to take you.
Somewhere nice.
Somewhere you would like.
Somewhere that said, I wanted this. I thought about this. I am not asking you out solely because Roy and half my family publicly bullied me into emotional competence.
The problem was that every time he tried to think about the date, he ended up thinking about you instead.
You behind the front desk, your sunglasses finally gone, hair pinned back with one of those little glitter clips you claimed made paperwork less spiritually draining.
You leaning over the counter to help a customer, smiling sweetly as you convinced him that, yes, the cherry-scented air freshener was practically a safety measure.
You walking through the garage to hand Roy a receipt and brushing your fingers over Jason’s shoulder as you passed him, casual and quick and completely devastating.
You calling him handsome twice.
Baby once.
Not that he was counting.
He was absolutely counting.
Now the shop was settling into the quiet routine of closing, and Jason was no closer to having a plan than he had been when he blurted the invitation at you over sandwiches.
The last customer had left ten minutes ago. The bay doors were coming down one by one, metal groaning as Roy pulled the final chain. Jason wiped down the workbench while trying not to look at the clock every thirty seconds.
You stood behind the front desk, slipping papers into folders and humming along with the music still playing softly from the speakers.
Diva was curled beneath the counter, exhausted from an entire day of being admired.
Jason looked over before he could stop himself.
You had changed into a little cardigan at some point when the shop started getting cooler, soft pink and cropped at the waist. The sleeves were pulled halfway over your hands as you stacked the last of the invoices into one neat pile.
He had no idea what you were going to wear tonight.
That thought nearly made him drop the spray bottle in his hand.
Roy, from the other side of the garage, snorted.
Jason looked up sharply.
“What?”
Roy was coiling an extension cord, expression irritatingly innocent.
“Nothing.”
Jason glared.
Roy smiled wider.
Jason went back to the workbench before the temptation to strangle him became actionable.
A few moments later, you pushed back from the desk with a satisfied sigh.
“Okay,” you announced. “I have done everything I can do for this place without billing the two of you for emotional damages and interior restoration.”
Roy glanced toward the office. “You missed a receipt.”
Your head snapped toward him.
He grinned.
“Kidding.”
“You are so lucky I have plans tonight,” you said, reaching down to clip Diva’s leash back onto her collar.
Jason’s hand stopped over the rag.
You looked toward him.
A smile pulled softly at your mouth.
“Very exciting plans, actually.”
Roy’s gaze shot directly to Jason.
Jason ignored him with the skill of a man whose life depended on it.
“Yeah?” Jason asked, forcing his voice to stay even.
Your smile turned playful.
“Mhm. I’ve got a date.”
Jason felt his mouth twitch despite himself.
“He any good?”
You considered it.
“I’ll let you know after dinner.”
Roy made a delighted noise under his breath.
Jason took one step closer to the front counter.
“Sounds fair.”
You lifted your purse onto your shoulder and glanced between the two of them.
“Okay. I’m going home to get pretty.”
Roy scoffed. “What do you call this?”
You looked down at your outfit, then back up at him with a serious expression.
“Workplace appropriate modesty.”
Jason nearly choked.
Roy slapped a hand against the counter.
“God, I missed you.”
You smiled and bent briefly to kiss the top of Diva’s head before straightening.
Then you turned to Jason.
The energy shifted immediately.
Only slightly.
Enough.
Jason was aware of Roy still in the room. Still watching. Still probably narrating every second of this internally for the group chat.
He found himself not caring.
Much.
You stepped around the counter until you stood in front of him.
“I’m excited,” you said.
Jason blinked.
“For tonight,” you clarified, suddenly looking almost shy beneath the teasing. “For our date.”
His chest tightened.
There it was again.
The simple fact that you wanted this too.
That you were not just agreeing out of pity or curiosity or because he had made such a disaster of everything that you felt obligated to give him a chance.
You were excited.
For him.
For this.
Jason swallowed.
“Yeah?”
You nodded.
“Yeah.”
He wanted to kiss you.
He wanted to say something smooth enough to make you smile that dangerous little smile again.
Instead, because he was still himself, he said, “Good.”
Your brows rose.
“Good?”
Roy let out a long suffering sigh from behind the counter.
Jason’s jaw tightened.
“I’m excited too,” he added, lower this time.
Your expression softened.
“Better.”
You leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.
Not as quick as earlier.
Just long enough to make his fingers tighten around the rag in his hand.
When you pulled away, your eyes sparkled with a satisfaction he suspected meant you knew exactly what you were doing to him.
“Pick me up at eight?” you asked.
Eight.
Fine.
Plenty of time to figure out where the hell he was taking you.
“Yeah,” Jason said. “Eight.”
“Perfect.”
You gave him one last smile, then tugged gently on Diva’s leash.
“Come on, pretty girl. We need to go make bad financial choices about outfits.”
Diva stood happily.
Roy pointed toward her. “She doesn’t need an outfit.”
You were already walking toward the door.
“She has a pink bowtie she’s been dying to debut.”
“She told you that?”
“We communicate.”
The bell chimed as you opened the door.
Before you disappeared outside, you glanced over your shoulder at Jason.
“See you tonight, handsome.”
Jason stared after you.
The door swung shut.
Your heels clicked away across the sidewalk, Diva’s nails following beside you.
Then there was silence.
Approximately one second of it.
Roy rounded on him.
“Where are you taking her?”
Jason picked up the rag again.
“Working on it.”
Roy’s mouth fell open.
“Working on it?”
Jason wiped at a stain on the workbench that was no longer there.
“Yeah.”
“She just said she’s excited.”
“I heard her.”
“She went home to get pretty for you.”
“She was already—” Jason cut himself off.
Roy stared.
Jason’s mouth pressed into a line.
Slowly, Roy’s face melted into the most insufferably soft expression Jason had ever seen.
“She was already pretty?”
“Don’t.”
“Oh, that is precious.”
“Roy.”
“My little boy is in love.”
Jason threw the rag at his face.
Roy caught it, laughing.
“I was trying to figure something out all day,” Jason muttered, moving toward the tool cabinet to put the last few things away.
“And?”
“And I was busy.”
Roy followed him.
“You were distracted.”
“I said busy.”
“You tightened the same lug nut for five minutes after she called you handsome.”
Jason stopped.
Roy grinned.
“I saw it.”
“She kept walking through the garage.”
“Yeah. She works here.”
“Exactly.”
Roy blinked once, then laughed.
“Oh, buddy. You are so screwed.”
Jason shoved the cabinet closed.
“You helping or just enjoying this?”
“I can do both.” Roy slung the rag over his shoulder and leaned back against the tool chest. “Okay. First date. Classy. Romantic. Sets the standard.”
Jason eyed him warily.
Roy snapped his fingers.
“I got it. That burger place on Sixth.”
Jason stared.
“The one with the neon sign shaped like a hot dog?”
“It’s memorable.”
“It smells like fryer oil from the parking lot.”
“Ambiance.”
“No.”
“Fine. What about Big Rico’s? All-you-can-eat wings. Very sexy. Very intimate. You both get covered in sauce together.”
Jason slowly turned away.
Roy trailed after him.
“Wait. Wait. The bowling alley.”
“She’s wearing heels.”
“Even better. Character building.”
Jason yanked his jacket from the hook by the office door.
“Your ideas are shit.”
“I am offering a range of experiences.”
“You are listing places you go when you’re hungover.”
Roy’s grin flickered.
Barely.
Gone fast enough that Jason almost missed it.
Almost.
Then Roy recovered with a theatrical gasp.
“Wow. Judgment from a man who has no reservation, no plan, and under two hours before he has to pick up the hottest woman who has ever willingly looked at him twice.”
Jason narrowed his eyes.
Roy pointed at the door.
“Go.”
“What?”
“Go home. Shower. Wear something clean. Figure the rest out while you’re on the road.”
“We still have to finish locking up.”
“I can lock up.”
Jason glanced around the shop.
“Roy—”
“Oh my God, she has made you worse.” Roy marched toward him, planted both hands against his shoulders, and began physically pushing him toward the side door. “Go get ready for your date.”
Jason resisted just enough to be annoying.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You were bitching this morning about being left alone with me.”
“And now I would very much like to be left alone without you.” Roy gave him one final shove. “Go. Before you show up smelling like motor oil and panic.”
Jason looked at him.
Roy’s expression had settled back into something easy and teasing.
Still tired.
Still slightly worn around the edges.
But grinning.
“Don’t screw this up,” Roy said.
Jason huffed.
“Helpful.”
“It’s what I’m here for.”
Jason hesitated another second.
Then he grabbed his helmet and keys from the hook.
Roy gave him an enthusiastic little wave.
“Have fun getting dressed, Cinderella.”
Jason pushed open the side door.
“Fuck off.”
“Love you too!”
The door fell shut behind him before he could answer.
Outside, the evening air had softened, the day’s heat fading off the pavement in slow waves. Jason crossed the parking lot toward his bike, trying very hard not to think about how little time he had left before eight.
Or how you had said you were excited.
Or how you had looked when you said it.
He failed at all three.
༄˖°.❤︎.ೃ࿔*:･
The ride home did nothing to clear his head.
By the time he pulled into the lot outside the apartment he shared with Roy, Jason had gone through half a dozen possible date ideas and rejected every one of them.
Dinner somewhere casual?
Too low effort.
Somewhere nice?
Too stiff.
A movie?
Too easy to avoid actual conversation.
A bookstore?
Too much like he was trying to make the Pride and Prejudice thing a whole personality.
A drive?
You deserved more than being handed the pink helmet and told to hold on, even if he knew you liked riding with him.
Maybe Roy had been right.
Maybe he was screwed.
Jason took the stairs two at a time and unlocked the apartment door.
Purrsephone appeared from the hallway almost immediately, issuing a demanding meow that implied his entire romantic crisis was secondary to the fact that her food bowl was empty.
“Yeah, I see it,” he muttered.
He tossed his keys into the dish by the door, dropped his jacket on the back of the couch, and fed the cat before she could file a formal complaint.
Then he pulled out his phone.
Bad idea.
The Jason Todd Emotional Support Committee had not quieted down in his absence.
In fact, it had gotten worse.
He scrolled rapidly past a series of highly offensive messages.
Steph had sent an entire list titled THINGS JASON SHOULD NOT DO ON HIS FIRST DATE, including:
3. Do not answer romantic questions with a grunt.
5. Do not casually mention murder.
8. DO NOT ASK HER IF SHE WANTS TO SPLIT A PROTEIN BAR FOR DESSERT.
Duke had responded with:
why does number eight feel like it came from real concern
Damian had submitted a brutally written assessment of Jason’s conversational abilities.
Kate had sent a poll asking whether you would prefer her instead.
Roy had apparently responded with a photo of Jason staring at you during lunch, captioned:
he looks like this every time she breathes near him btw
Jason made a mental note to kill him later.
He was about to lock the phone when he saw Dick’s name in his private messages again.
There were three new texts waiting.
The first had arrived shortly after you left the shop.
Dick
Roy says she said yes.
Proud of you.
Do you have somewhere in mind?
Jason stared at the final question.
Then typed back before he could consider ignoring it.
Jason
No.
Dick
You asked her out without a plan?
Jason
You sound like Roy.
Dick
That bad, huh?
Jason
He suggested a wing place.
Dick
Okay. I apologize for the comparison.
Jason
Still figuring it out.
Dick
What kind of date do you want it to be?
Jason
One she likes.
Dick
That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever texted me.
Jason
Delete it.
Dick
Already emotionally framed it.
Jason rolled his eyes, but his mouth betrayed him with the smallest pull at one corner.
Purrsephone jumped onto the couch beside him, circling once before sitting directly on the edge of his discarded jacket.
Jason typed again.
Jason
I don’t know what she expects.
Dick
Probably you.
Jason
Not helpful.
Dick
I’m serious. She already likes you.
Jason
Yeah.
Dick
But I get it. You want to make an effort.
Dick
There’s a restaurant in Bristol I’ve taken Kori to a couple times. Nice place. Great food. Private enough that you won’t feel like everyone is staring at you.
Jason
Sounds expensive.
Dick
It is a little.
Jason
Not my scene.
Dick
Maybe not. But it might be hers.
Dick
She seems like someone who’d like getting dressed up and being taken somewhere special.
Dick
And after everything, Jay… she deserves to know you’re willing to try.
Jason
I am trying.
Dick
I know.
That’s why I’m suggesting it.
Jason leaned back against the couch.
His thumb hovered over the phone.
The apartment was quiet except for Purrsephone’s low purr and the faint rumble of traffic from outside.
He knew Dick was not trying to make him feel like shit.
That was the irritating part.
Dick was trying to help.
And maybe he was right.
You liked pretty things.
You liked getting dressed up.
You had said you were going home to get pretty for him, even though you had already walked into the shop that morning looking like every bad decision Jason had ever wanted to make wrapped in pink.
Maybe taking you somewhere nice was not pretending.
Maybe it was effort.
Maybe it was what a man did when the woman he wanted agreed to give him an evening that actually meant something.
Jason looked down at his stained shirt, his work pants, the smear of grease still crossing one wrist.
Maybe he had been thinking too much about where he would feel comfortable.
Not enough about what you deserved.
He sighed.
Jason
Fine.
Send me the place.
Dick
Really?
Jason
Before I change my mind.
Dick
Sending now.
You’ll like it once you’re there.
Jason
Doubtful.
Dick
She will.
Jason
That’s the point.
A link appeared on the screen.
Jason clicked it.
The restaurant homepage loaded with an image of white tablecloths, low candlelight, tall windows, and plates with portions small enough to qualify as personal insults.
Jason grimaced.
Purrsephone looked at him.
“Don’t start.”
Another message arrived.
Not from Dick.
Not from the family group chat.
In the same private thread.
Jason frowned.
Tim
Reservation confirmed for two at 8:30 p.m. under Jason Todd.
Jason
What the fuck.
How are you in this chat?
Tim
Technically, I am not.
I gained temporary visibility for logistical purposes.
Jason
You hacked my messages?
Tim
That is such an emotionally charged way to phrase basic administrative support.
Dick
Tim.
Tim
What? You were going to call and waste time negotiating availability. Their online reservation security is embarrassing.
Jason
Get out of my phone.
Tim
You’re welcome.
Dick
He means well.
Jason
I’m changing all my passwords.
Tim
Please do. Several are statistically concerning.
Jason
I hate this family.
Dick
Reservation is at 8:30. You’re picking her up at eight, right?
Jason
Yeah.
Dick
Then you should probably stop arguing with Tim and get ready.
Jason
I have time.
Dick
Jay.
You already left her waiting long enough.
Don’t be late for the part where you finally get to show her you want this.
Jason stared at the final message.
There it was again.
Not accusation exactly.
Not meant to hurt.
But it found the bruise anyway.
He saw you in your apartment again.
Pink hoodie.
Puffy eyes.
The bouquet clutched to your chest like you were afraid it would disappear if you held it too loosely.
He saw you that afternoon, standing in the shop, smiling as you told him you were excited.
Jason checked the time.
Six-forty.
“Shit.”
Purrsephone blinked lazily at him.
Jason pushed up from the couch in one abrupt movement, nearly dislodging her in the process.
She issued an offended sound.
“Sorry,” he muttered, already heading toward his room.
He had to shower.
Find clean clothes.
Figure out what the hell a man wore to a place where dinner came with cloth napkins and probably six forks.
Make sure the reservation Tim had committed cybercrime to acquire did not go to waste.
And pick you up at eight.
On time.
No.
Earlier than on time.
Jason stopped in the hallway and looked down at the phone still in his hand.
The restaurant homepage was still open.
He still had the sinking suspicion that this was not his style.
