LOOK LIKE AN ANGEL, KILL LIKE AN ANGEL, DEVIL IN DISGUISE
summary : meeting a vigilante wasnt on your hitwoman job bucketlist. except you had the information he needed.
genre : semi tension, fem reader, semi features given
pairing : jason todd / red hood x fem hitwoman
angels note : second part! yes! (lara raj mention)
previous
IT HAD BEEN A MONTH.
jason never dwelled much on women—his life left little room for intimacy, for weakness—but she had burned her presence into his mind. not just the way she moved, or the way the dim lighting had carved her features into something unforgettable. it wasn’t even just how the leather outfit had clung to her curves, her confidence making the night itself bow to her.
it was her.
the way she carried herself like she was untouchable.
and now here he was, hunting whispers of a group known as the angels of gotham.
angels in name, but devils in practice.
assassins, mercenaries, executioners of the city’s elite filth—depending on who you asked, they were either a vigilante dream or a nightmare dressed in silk and smoke.
jason pressed himself against the cold brick, listening.
soft music poured from the warehouse, a sultry rhythm that slipped through the cracks like a secret—glory box by portishead. the faint bass trembled in his chest, threaded with laughter and clinking glasses. he crept closer, boots silent against the ledge, until he found a broken window to peer through.
the scene below almost startled him.
a makeshift bar stood in the corner, bottles of expensive liquor lined haphazardly against crates. low couches sprawled across the centre, occupied by lounging figures. cigarette smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling, mingling with the glow of dim orange bulbs strung like stars overhead.
and there she was.
the girl from the rooftop.
she lay stretched across a couch, draped in decadence, a black lace bra hugging her chest, low-rise shorts accentuating the curve of her hips, her legs adorned by knee-high loose-heeled boots. A fur coat slipped carelessly around her shoulders, framing her like a queen of shadows. (outfit here)
a cigarette dangled between her lips as she exhaled, the smoke curling away from her face as her eyes stayed closed, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched the song.
jason’s throat tightened despite himself. yes, the outfit was revealing, but that wasn’t what struck him—it was how effortlessly she wore it.
as if the city bent for her.
as if she belonged to gotham’s darkness itself.
near her, two other girls completed the strange tableau. one, perched atop the bar counter in a shredded baby-pink dress and ripped stockings, her pastel hair a violent contrast to her vicious laugh. the other sat in a chair, grimacing faintly as a tattoo needle buzzed over her arm, the ink glistening dark against her skin.
jason’s eyes flicked between them, calculating, analysing. how many were here? how many angels prowled the city? from the snippets of their conversation, he caught only cruelty woven with purpose—discussing targets, men who had crossed lines, names that deserved bullets.
they were killers, yes. but killers with a cause.
and still, his gaze betrayed him—sliding back to her.
as if on cue, she exhaled another plume of smoke, lips parting slightly before she sighed. then her eyes opened, those lazy yet razor-sharp eyes—and locked directly onto him.
jason froze. his chest tightened. he was in shadow, hidden perfectly. but somehow, impossibly, she saw him.
a smirk tugged at her lips, and one eyebrow arched knowingly.
what the hell?
jason’s pulse quickened, the sound of his heartbeat drowning out the music for a moment. she shouldn’t have been able to spot him—not from here. not with the noise, the smoke, the chaos. but her gaze clung to him like a spotlight.
eventually, the others filtered out, one by one—the tattoo finished, laughter trailing into the night as the women scattered to their grim “schedules.” the warehouse grew quieter, shadows reclaiming the corners. she remained.
the cigarette burned down to its filter, and sat up, she dropped it to the ground. her heel pressed down on it with a soft crunch, snuffing it out.
“i know you’re there, hood,” she said, her voice a calm, sultry melody that echoed in the empty space.
jason exhaled sharply, knowing the game was up. with a heavy thud, he dropped from his vantage point, boots hitting the ground inside.
she didn’t flinch. didn’t even glance at him as she leaned lazily back against the couch, fur coat slipping further down her shoulders.
“you don’t strike me as the type to watch girls from the shadows, quite a pervy move no?” she murmured, her smirk lazy but cutting.
jason stepped forward, arms crossed, helmet hiding the flicker of heat in his eyes.
“you don’t strike me as the type to sit around in a fur coat, chain-smoking in abandoned warehouses.”
her laugh was soft, like a purr. “touché.”
she tilted her head, studying him with that same unnerving calm.
“so tell me, red hood… what are you really looking for? because you wouldn’t come sniffing around the angels if you didn’t need something.”
jason’s voice dropped low.
“maybe I’m looking for answers.”
Her smirk deepened. “or maybe you’re looking for me.”
jason stayed standing, arms crossed over his chestplate, looming above her. his helmet hid his expression, but the way his shoulders tensed gave him away. she lounged back on the couch like he wasn’t even there, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, her coat slipping dangerously off her shoulder.
her lips curved. “what’s the matter? cat got your tongue?”
jason’s voice came low, gravel rough.
“not much to say when I don’t know if you’re worth talking to.”
her eyes flicked up to him, lazy but sharp, catching the reflection of the dim orange bulbs overhead.
“careful. a line like that could almost hurt my feelings.”
he tilted his head slightly, the faintest glint off his helmet visor. “doubt you’ve got any to hurt.”
that earned him a soft chuckle, smoky and warm. she leaned forward now, elbows on her knees, her fur coat falling open to reveal the black lace beneath. Jason forced his eyes up to hers.
“yet you’re still watching me,” she said softly, matter-of-fact. “why?”
“because you shot the man i needed in the head right in front of me,” jason snapped back. “ and because you’re a threat now.”
her smirk widened. “and because you liked it.”
the silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. jason shifted his stance, grounding himself, trying not to let her words crawl under his skin. she knew exactly how to get to him—confident, deliberate, never breaking her rhythm.
finally, he broke it.
“tell me about the Angels.”
she tilted her head, considering, running her tongue briefly across her teeth before speaking. “the angels don’t talk to outsiders.”
“you talked to me once.”
“that was strictly business.”
jason stepped closer, boots crunching softly on scattered debris. the air between them grew taut, electric.
“so is this.”
she looked up at him through her lashes, slow and deliberate.
“you really think you can just… walk in, demand answers, and I’ll hand them over like some kind of informant?”
“I think you want me to keep coming back.”
that landed. for the first time, her smirk faltered—just a flicker—but it was enough. she leaned back again, cigarette box in hand, tapping one out before slipping it between her lips.
she lit it with a soft flare, inhaled, then exhaled a stream of smoke in his direction. “dangerous assumption, Hood.”
jason stayed silent, visor locked on her.
she let the smoke curl lazily before speaking again, her voice dropping into something softer, silkier.
“you think you’re hunting me. that’s cute. but deep down, you know it’s the other way around. you’re here because I let you be here.”
jason’s gloved hands curled into fists at his sides.
“don’t play dumb with me.”
“oh,” she murmured, eyes glinting as she exhaled another puff of smoke, “but it’s so much fun to.”
the music from the old stereo in the corner shifted into a soft beat, it was almost like it was matching the tension between them. jason finally moved, dropping into a crouch so he was at her level. his helmet was inches from her face, their proximity charged with unspoken challenge.
“you’re gonna tell me what I need to know,” he said, his voice low, dangerous.
she smirked, blowing smoke directly toward the visor.
“then make me.”
her fingers trailed up the front of his jacket, the soft drag of her touch deliberate, her smirk curling when she felt the rough texture of the leather.
“cute jacket,” she whispered, almost like a secret, before finally peeling her hand away.
jason didn’t move. he didn’t trust himself to.
she stood with a lazy elegance, the fur coat brushing down behind her knees as she sauntered over to the bar. her hips swayed in rhythm with the low hum of the stereo, smoke from her cigarette curling lazily behind her like a trail. she bent slightly, digging into the fridge, her voice floating casually over her shoulder.
“wanna drink?”
jason’s voice came low, controlled. “i'm fine.”
“suit yourself,” she sighed, pulling out a bottle but not opening it. she lingered there for a beat, deliberately not looking at him, as if making him wait was part of her game. then, without warning, she padded back across the warehouse floor, boots soft against the concrete.
jason shifted slightly, bracing himself—only for her to push him suddenly, firmly, down onto the couch. his back hit the cushions, the springs creaking under his weight. his hands hovered near his weapons out of instinct, but she was already leaning over him, cigarette glowing faintly between her lips.
“now…” she drawled, her tone almost sing-song,
“you said last time you needed information about the trafficking guy, right?”
jason didn’t answer right away. he just stared up at her, silent, visor glinting in the dim light.
her smirk faltered into a sigh. She pulled the cigarette from her mouth, tapped the ash to the floor, and turned away.
“quiet as always…” she muttered, almost to herself.
she crossed the room, her coat sliding off one shoulder as she bent over a stack of boxes. jason watched in silence, muscles tense, as she sifted through papers and folders with one hand while keeping the cigarette perched between her lips.
then, with a triumphant little gasp, she straightened.
“yay, I found it!”
she spun on her heel, clutching a file to her chest like it was treasure, and made her way back to him. her grin was almost girlish for a moment—before it turned sharp again.
without hesitation, she climbed into his lap, straddling him, her legs folding comfortably on either side of his thighs. the fur coat draped around them both as she flipped the file open, smoke curling past his visor.
“thomas walter…” she read aloud, her voice soft but edged with amusement. “trafficking man.” She flicked her eyes up at him, the corner of her mouth quirking. “charming title i gotta say.”
jason’s jaw tightened beneath the helmet, but he didn’t move her.
“he was a banker,” she continued, tapping the photo clipped inside with a manicured finger. “money laundering, offshore accounts, playing daddy’s golden boy while he got his hands dirty with other people’s misery.” She chuckled softly, smoke slipping past her lips.
“typical Gotham story, don’t you think?”
jason’s voice finally cut through, low and dangerous.
“why are you showing me this?”
she leaned closer, her forehead nearly touching his visor, her voice dropping to a whisper. “because, hood… sometimes the right monster needs to know what the other monsters are doing.”
the file rested against his chest, her weight pressing him into the couch. Her smirk softened into something almost thoughtful, though her eyes stayed sharp. “or maybe…” she teased, “I just like watching you squirm.”
she plucked one of the papers from the file—something that looked important, lined with numbers and names—and carefully folded it in half. her eyes never left his visor as she slid it into the inside of his jacket, fingers brushing his chest through the leather. she gave the spot a soft, deliberate pat.
“take care of it, kay?” she whispered, her breath warm against the edges of his helmet.
jason’s fists flexed at his sides, fighting the instinct to push her off, to break the spell she was weaving around him. but he stayed still, silent.
She reached over to the table, ground her cigarette into the ashtray with a lazy twist of her wrist, then turned back to him. Her arms slipped easily around his neck, pulling herself closer, the fur coat sliding open to reveal bare skin and lace.
“now, hood…” she whispered, her lips brushing the edge of his ear guard. “what are you going to do now? you have the information…” she shifted slightly in his lap, a deliberate press of her body against his. “…and an angel on your lap.” Her smirk deepened. “what are you going to do now?”
the tension snapped taut like a wire between them. jason’s sigh came out heavy through his modulator, the sound distorted, mechanical—almost like a growl.
his gloved hands finally moved, not to shove her off, but to settle firmly at her waist, holding her in place.
“you think this is a game?” he said, voice low, dangerous.
she tilted her head, eyes half-lidded with lazy amusement.
“everything’s a game, hood. the question is…” her nails grazed the back of his neck, sharp and teasing. “…are you playing, or are you just another piece on the board?”
jason leaned forward slightly, closing the space, the red of his helmet reflecting in her eyes.
“I don’t play well with others.”
“mm.” She smirked, lips curling like she was savouring the answer and moment. “good. neither do I.”
for a moment, silence. Just the faint hum of the stereo and the echo of distant Gotham outside. the tension between them wasn’t breaking—it was building, stacking higher with every heartbeat.
she pulled back just an inch, studying him, her voice soft and husky. “careful, hood. you linger too long with the angels…” she let her fingers toy with the edge of his collar, tracing the leather. “…and even devils start to look like saints.”
jason didn’t move. he couldn’t. every nerve in his body was coiled tight, but the helmet did its job well—concealing the flush creeping across his face, the way his jaw clenched at every whisper she left in his ear.
before he could think, she leaned over and plucked a sharpie off the table. with a mischievous little hum, she caught one of his gloved hands and tugged it toward her before sliding it off gently. his fingers twitched under her touch, but she held them steady, turning his palm upward.
she traced her eyes over the callouses and faint scars that told his story better than words ever could. “hm…” she breathed, almost admiring, before uncapping the sharpie and scrawling across the rough skin. mumbers. a string of them, bold and black against the pale lines of his hand.
“they’ll be back soon,” she murmured, capping the marker and tossing it back onto the table with a soft clatter. her gaze lifted to his visor, locking on. then she smirked, lips curling like she knew the effect she was having on him.
“so run now, little red riding hood.”
before he could answer, she leaned forward, pressing her lips against the cold curve of his helmet. a soft kiss. when she pulled back, a faint crimson print marked the glossy surface—a claim, a taunt, a reminder.
and then, just like that, she slid off his lap, the weight of her gone, the fur coat falling loosely back over her shoulders.
From down the hall came the murmur of voices, chatter, footsteps approaching. the angels were returning. jason’s instincts kicked in—he slipped away into the shadows without a sound, the warehouse swallowing him whole.
the moment the echo of his boots disappeared, her expression shifted. the smirk fell, her shoulders slumped, and she exhaled a long, weary sigh. she dropped back onto the couch, head falling against the cushion, cigarette box clattering softly to the floor.
alone now, she let the mask slip. the tough, teasing angel melted into something softer, lonelier. her eyes lingered on the kiss print she’d left on his helmet—now only a ghost of a memory.
“damn you, hood…” she whispered under her breath, before closing her eyes and sinking into the quiet, right as the laughter of her sisters drifted closer.
