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novamariestark · 2 months ago

Note

hey! i love your page, also equally in love with hank 😂

here me out: reader just starts at CPD and is super close with erin, maybe they knew each other before the reader gets the job. erin sets up the reader on a blind date because she’s been trying to get over her toxic ex and it’s not working out too great. olinsky sets up hank on a blind date at the same spot the reader is going to. both of their dates don’t show up and so the two think they are there to meet each other. they hit it off and maybe later that night erin has to stop by hank’s place to get some paperwork. he doesn’t answer the door so erin lets herself in and walks in on the reader and hank

Give Your Heart A Break - H.V.

Loved this idea so much. I hope I haven't butchered it 🤣😭

Might make a part 2 for the part where she (aka you) joins CPD

Summary: You were set up on a blind date. So was Hank. But what happens when your best friend catches you having sex with her foster dad. (hey you didn't know)

Warnings: bad smut, age gap, oral (f receiving), piv (protected) proofread but I'm still certain that a ghost edits it after I post it 🤣

Word count: 4463

Fandom: Chicago PD

Pairing: Hank Voight x Reader

“Come on, girl, you have to get back out there,” you friend of 10 year tells you. Yeah, maybe you did, but you sure as hell didn’t feel confident enough to do so.

Not after him.

Your ex wasn’t just toxic, he was the kind of poison that seeped into every part of your life. He made you second-guess everything—what you wore, how you laughed, even how you felt about yourself. It took you too long to realize that his “love” came with a price: your self-worth. And even now, 11 months after leaving him, you still felt the weight of his voice in the back of your mind, telling you no one else would want you.

Maybe they wouldn’t. Sometimes you stare into the mirror and just think that maybe he was right.

You tug at the sleeve of your jacket, fidgeting with the worn fabric like it might somehow make your nerves chill the fuck out. The mirror is still in front of you, the reflection of your own lifeless eyes staring back. You hate what you see. The way your shoulders seem to slump a little lower than they used to, the way your eyes don’t light up the way they used to when you laughed. If you even laugh anymore. It’s like you’ve been trying to fit into a mold he made, and now there’s just this empty version of yourself left behind.

But Erin... Erin wasn’t going to let you disappear into yourself. She refused to let you wallow, even if that meant dragging you back into the dating world so suddenly. You were sure you heard her wrong when she said that she had set you up on a blind date.

“I don’t know, Erin,” you mutter, still fiddling with the sleeve. Your eyes flick to her reflection in the mirror, her expression soft but stubborn to get you out of your little comfort zone and back in the world of the living. The look that says she’s not giving up on you, no matter how hard you try to push her away.

Her hand finds your shoulder, squeezing gently. “What if he’s not like that?” she says, reading the fear in your silence. “What if he’s good for you? What if he makes you smile again?”

The words hit you hard, and not in the comforting way Erin probably meant. What if—you hate those words. Those two words are a double-edged sword. They offer hope but never any certainty. What if he’s just like the last one? What if you’re not ready? What if you’re never ready?

You take a deep breath, “And what if I’m not enough?” The words slip out before you can stop them. You feel exposed, vulnerable.

Erin frowns, stepping in front of you, her hands finding yours. “You are enough. More than enough. And you deserve more than what that asshole put you through. Way more.” She tilts her head, waiting for your eyes to meet hers. “But you’re never going to know until you start living again.”

She’s right, and you know it. But knowing it and believing it are two very different things.

“I guess…” you start, but your voice cracks slightly. “I guess I just don’t want to make the same mistake again.”

“I get that,” Erin replies, her voice softer now. “But staying stuck in the past isn’t going to fix anything. You’ve got to take the leap sometime, right?”

“Fine,” you say, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “I’ll go.”

Erin’s smile is immediate, like she knew you’d say yes all along. “You won’t regret this, I promise.” Like you could ever say no to her. She’s been your rock.

Every minute from that moment felt like an hour. You’re know staring into your closet, feeling like you’ve got nothing to wear. Everything you own seems to either scream “I’m still recovering” or “I’m so not ready for this.” Before you know it, you bed looks like a garage sale. You’ve tried on thirteen outfits already, and each one feels more wrong than the last.

“Are you still in there?” Erin’s voice calls from the other side of your bedroom door. “Do you need some help?”

You sigh, slumping onto the edge of your bed. “I’m not sure what to wear. Nothing feels right.”

The door swings open, and Erin steps in, her eyes scanning the mess of clothes, amusement dancing on her smile. “Let me see what you’ve got.”

You rise and let Erin sift through the chaos on your bed.. She always seems so effortlessly put together. You, on the other hand, feel like you were just stumbling your way through life.

“Okay, let’s start with this,” Erin says, pulling out a sleek, navy dress from the pile. “This is simple but elegant. It’s not too flashy, but it’s definitely date-worthy.”

You eye the dress sceptically. “Is it too much? I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”

Erin gives you a reassuring smile. “Trust me, it’s perfect. It’s all about how you feel in it. Confidence is key, and this dress will definitely help with that.” You take the dress from her and head to the bathroom to change. The moment you slip it on, for the first time today, you don’t feel like a total disaster. The dress skims your figure comfortably, and you can’t help but notice that it makes you look—dare you say it—almost radiant.

When you emerge, Erin’s eyes light up. “See? I told you it would look amazing.”

You spin around slightly with a little giggle slipping from your lips, feeling the soft fabric sway. “It does feel nice. Thanks for helping.”

“You look great. But let’s not forget the finishing touches.” She rummages through your jewellery box and selects a pair of simple, elegant earrings that match your dress.

After you put them on, she leads you to the mirror, “See, a beautiful Goddess and it’s quite rude to keep it to yourself” You laugh at her comment and glance at yourself in the mirror. For the first time in a long time, you actually like what you see. The dress, the earrings, the way your hair falls in perfect waves. You still have a bit of anxiety gnawing at you, but the reflection staring back at you reminded you of who you used to be, and not that hollow robot.

“Alright,” Erin says, giving you a final once-over. “You’re all set. You look amazing. Remember, tonight is just about having a good time. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself.”

You nod, taking a deep breath. “Thanks, Erin. I really appreciate all this.”

Erin gives you a hug, her support tangible. “Anytime. Now go out there and show him what you’re made of.”

When you showed up at the restaurant, a woman asked if you had a reservation and you gave her your name. She seats you at a table for two, and you wait.

And wait.

Your date didn’t show up. Classic. You should have known it would be a disaster. In fact. You did.

You sat there for what felt like an eternity, trying to look like you weren’t bothered. You kept checking your phone, hoping for a text or a call that never came. The couple at the table across from you seemed to mock your attempts to stay optimistic. You had just started mentally preparing yourself for the ride home when a guy approached your table.

“Sorry I’m late, they seemed to have seated me at the wrong table,” he chuckled nervously, “I thought you stood me up,”

You matched his nervous chuckle, “I thought you had done the same,”

It was a bit awkward at first—two strangers just being thrown together. But you quickly fell into conversation, and you began to relax. You talked about everything and the more you talked, the easier it became.

As you talked, you noticed how effortlessly he made you feel at ease. His stories about work and his mild self-deprecating humor were refreshing. It was like a breath of fresh air after being stuck in the toxic, stifling environment of your previous relationship. The way he listened, really listened, made you feel valued. You hadn’t realized how much you missed that.

You laughed more tonight than you had in months. And the more you laughed, the more you felt like yourself again. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

By the end of the night, when you were getting kicked out, you realised that you had literally talked the night away. Hank suggested you continue at his place. The offer was casual, and there was nothing overtly romantic about it—just a simple invitation to continue the conversation. You hesitated at first, but something about him made you feel safe. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, like he genuinely wanted to get to know you better. Or maybe it was the comfort you felt in his presence, something rare and precious.

You found yourself saying yes, almost against your better judgment. You felt a flutter of excitement—something else you haven’t felt in a while.

As you walked to his place, the cold air kissing your cheeks, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something. Something that could fill the emptiness that had been carved into your soul. And maybe, just maybe, something that could make you feel alive again.

Hank’s house was cozy and filled with the faint scent of pine, probably from his cologne. You took off your coat and he offered you a drink, which you accepted—a glass of wine to calm your nerves. You sat on the couch, the cushions sinking under your weight, and he sat next to you.

The conversation flowed easily as you sipped your wine. His eyes never left yours, and you found yourself leaning closer without even realizing it.

The TV played in the background, a dull hum of noise that was easy to ignore. You talked about everything from your favorite movies to your deepest fears. Hank spoke about his passion for his job, how it consumed him, but also gave him a sense of purpose. You spoke about your love for art, how it was your escape from the real world.

As the night grew late, the tension between you thickened like the air before a storm. You felt it in the way your leg brushed against his, in the way your fingers hovered just a little too long over his hand when you laughed at his jokes. You were aware of every inch of space that existed between you, and every part of you craved to fill it.

But did he feel the same?

You took a sip of your wine, the liquid warmth spreading through your chest and down to your fingertips. Hank’s hand reached out, brushing a stray hair from your face. His touch was gentle, tender, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You placed your hand over his, looking into his eyes, not really wanting his touch to leave.

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?” he said, his voice a soft rumble.

You let out a breathy laugh "It's been a long time since anyone's said that... well, apart from my best friend" you say referring to Erin. Hank's gaze remained on you, a soft smile playing on his lips. He leaned in closer, his hand still resting gently on yours.

"That's a damn crime," Hank murmured, his eyes searching yours. His thumb began to trace lazy circles on the back of your hand, sending a wave of heat through you. You hadn't felt this way in so long— seen, appreciated, desired. Your cheeks flushed, and you felt your heart begin to race, your palms soaked as though there was group of rivers flowing across them.

Hank leaned in closer, his breath a warm whisper against your skin. "Can I kiss you?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for consent. The question was so raw, so genuine, it melted away the last of your doubt. You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips met yours. It was a kiss filled with the promise of something more, a gentle reminder that you were still here, still feeling.

You felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and you melted into him. The kiss grew more urgent, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. It was like your bodies were trying to remember a dance they hadn't performed in a long time, but the rhythm came back so naturally.

His hands slid down your back, caressing your curves, and you gasped into his mouth as he deepened the kiss. You pull away for a moment, panting, looking into his eyes that are filled with a hunger that matches your own. "I...I need to tell you something," you manage to say between breaths.

"What is it?" Hank asks, his voice thick with need, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You take a deep breath, feeling a little embarrassed of what you were about to say, "It's been a while for me. And I'm a little... nervous."

Hank's expression softens, and he cups your face in his hands. "It's okay," he whispers, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "We don't have to if you don't -"

"I want to"

The words came out in a rush, surprising both of you. You hadn’t realized how badly you wanted this—how much you needed it. Hank’s eyes searched yours, looking for any sign that you were unsure.

"You're sure?" he asks, his voice hoarse. You nod, and the next moment his mouth is on yours again, more insistent than before. You feel the couch dip as he shifts closer, his body pressing against yours. His hands move to the zipper of your dress, and you let him, your own trembling hands working on the buttons of his shirt.

As the fabric falls away, you can feel the heat of his skin, and you realize that maybe—just maybe—this is what you’ve been waiting for. This connection, this raw, primal need that is so much more than just lust. It’s like he’s peeling back the layers of doubt and fear that you’ve wrapped around yourself, and you’re letting him in, even if it’s just for tonight.

Hank’s hands are sure, yet gentle, as he helps you out of the dress, his eyes never leaving yours. You stand before him in your underwear, feeling a mix of vulnerability and excitement. His gaze sweeps over you, and you can see the desire in his eyes. You remember what it’s like to be wanted, and it sends confidence soaring through you. Before your mind can talk you out of it, you straddle his lap, your knees pressing into the couch cushions on either side of him.

His hands glide up your thighs, sending a tingling sensation through your body. Your breath hitches as his fingers trace the edges of your underwear, and you lean in to kiss him again, deep and needy. His hands move to your back, unhooking your bra that surprises you. It falls away, and his hands cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. A moan escapes your lips, and he swallows it with his own.

The fabric of his pants is rough against the thin material of your panties as you rock your hips into him. His hands slide down to your ass, lifting you slightly so you can feel him pressing against you. The anticipation is unbearable, a sweet agony that makes you whimper. He kisses you harder, his tongue delving into your mouth as he rolls you onto your back on the couch. His body follows, covering yours, his weight pressing you into the cushions.

He kisses down your neck, nipping gently at your collarbone, making you arch your back. His hand slides under your panties, his thumb circling your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you. You grip his shoulders, your nails digging in as he teases you, bringing you closer to the edge.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, and you can feel his own arousal pressing against you, demanding more. You reach down and unbuckle his belt, pulling his zipper down. He shifts, standing to shed his pants, and you see his erection, full and thick. Your own need spikes, and you can’t help but reach out and touch him, your hand wrapping around his length. He groans, his eyes closing briefly in pleasure.

You kiss him again, your hips grinding against him, desperate for relief. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulls it down, leaving you bare to him. His eyes rove over your body, drinking in the sight of you. You feel exposed, but also powerful. He kisses his way down your body, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. When he reaches your core, he looks up, making eye contact as he runs his tongue along your folds. You gasp, your body jolting.

He tastes you, exploring you with a hunger that's both thrilling and terrifying. Your fingers reach down to rest on his head, guiding him closer as he teases your clit. Your fingers definitely didn’t make you feel this good. Your legs quiver, and you’re so close, so close to letting go. But then he stops, leaving you trembling on the edge.

Hank kisses his way back up your body, his eyes never leaving yours. “Ready?” he asks, his voice gruff with desire. You nod, unable to form words. He reaches into his nightstand and grabs a condom, ripping it open with his teeth. The simple action is so erotic that you can’t help but bite your bottom lip.

He rolls it on and then, finally, he’s inside you. You gasp as he fills you, the feeling of fullness and the stretch of his cock making you feel alive again. It’s been so long, and it hurts a bit, but you don’t care. You wrap your legs around him, urging him deeper, and he obliges, his strokes slow and steady, as if he’s savoring every moment.

You’re both panting, your breaths mingling in the stillness of his living room. The only sounds are the slap of skin on skin and the occasional groan that escapes your lips. His eyes never leave yours.

Hank’s movements become more urgent, his thrusts deeper. You can feel the tension building, a coil tightening in your stomach. You’re so close, so incredibly close. He must feel it too, because his strokes become more deliberate, his breathing more ragged. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he drives into you.

"What the hell?!" a voice yelled through the silence. The two of you stopped and looked to where the voice come from.

Your eyes widened when you saw your best friend standing there. You barely registered the words spilling out of your mouth as you screamed, "Oh my God, Erin, what are you doing here?" Every muscle in your body tensed, and instinctively, you grabbed the couch cushion, trying to cover yourself, but it was pointless.

You glanced at Hank, hoping for some kind of lifeline, but his expression mirrored yours: wide-eyed, frozen, and utterly shocked. Erin’s voice cut through the fog in your brain, sharp with anger and disbelief.

"I could ask you the same thing, Y/N," she spat. "What the fuck are you doing with him?"

The words felt like a slap, and you scrambled for some words, "You're the one who set the date up... you know, to bring me back to the world of the living?"

Then Erin said something that confused the shit out of you, "He's not the one I set you up with."

Wait, what? Confusion hit you like a truck. You could barely get the words out. "He's not?" Your voice cracked. You were suddenly hyper-aware of Hank hovering over you, both of you too stunned to move. He was staring at you for answers, but you had none. What is happening?

Then, Erin’s words sliced through the air: "She's my best friend, Hank." She glared at you, fury and disbelief simmering just beneath the surface. "And he is my foster dad."

The words hung in the air like a bomb, and your brain couldn’t process them fast enough. Her foster dad? Your stomach lurched, and you gulped, staring at Erin in shock. "Erin, I'm sorry," you stammered, barely able to get the words out. "I-I didn't know, we were both there for blind dates. I thought you'd set us up." You sounded pathetic, you felt pathetic. Your heart pounded in your chest as you silently begged for her to understand.

Erin’s focus shifted to Hank, who was just as lost as you. "You went on a blind date?" she asked him, her tone still simmering with disbelief.

"Alvin's idea," Hank muttered. His voice was soft now, he couldn’t believe the situation any more than you could, "Erin, I'm sorry."

You turned back to Erin, your stomach twisting painfully. "Please don't hate me," you begged. Erin was everything—your best friend, your anchor, the person who’d always been there for you through thick and thin. If you lost her over this... you don’t know what you’d do.

And then, in the most unexpected turn of events, Erin’s face softened. A small laugh bubbled out of her, and before you could understand what was happening, she was full-on laughing, wiping a tear from her eye.

Your jaw dropped as you stared at her, stunned. "What?" you whispered, your voice barely audible as you clung to the cushion for dear life.

Erin shook her head, still chuckling. "Oh my God, Y/N. I could never hate you." Her voice was lighter now, her anger gone. "I just... wasn’t expecting this. I’m going to have nightmares," she said, rubbing her temples.

Relief rushed through you, "You didn’t tell him about you-know-who, did you?" she asked, a hint of concern in her voice. Because she knew full well that Hank would track him down and give him a taste of his own medicine.

You quickly shook your head, "No," you answered quietly, praying Hank wouldn’t press for details.

Hank, still utterly confused, looked between the two of you. "You know who?" His brow furrowed, suspicion creeping into his voice.

You shot Erin a quick glance before turning back to Hank, forcing a tight smile. "No one," you said quickly, your heart hammering in your chest. Please let this be the end of it.

“Well… uh… I’m going to head out. Um, you two enjoy the rest of your night,” she said as she headed towards the door, “Hank, you better be good to her."

Hank straightened up slightly, "Erin, I would never—"

But Erin cut him off with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, well, just remember," she said, her voice turning playful but with a subtle threat lurking underneath, "I know where you live."

As soon as the door clicked shut, the silence in the room felt heavy, but not uncomfortable. You and Hank were alone again.

"I guess we should talk," Hank said finally, breaking the silence. You nodded, still trying to get your breathing under control. "But not now," he added, giving you a small, sexy smile, "Now, I think we should finish what we started."

Hank leaned down and captured your mouth in another deep kiss. You kissed him back with the same intensity, your arms wrapping around his neck, your legs locking around his waist.

The shock of Erin’s interruption had passed, and the heat between the two of you roared back to life. Hank began to move again, his hips rocking into yours. You moaned into his mouth as he pushed deeper inside you, filling you up so good, that it sent your thoughts spiraling out of control.

Your hands roamed his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he moved above you, his breath hot against your neck. His mouth found your ear, and he whispered, “You’re mine tonight, baby.” The possessiveness in his voice went straight to your core and you let out a moan. You could feel his smirk on your neck as he nipped and sucked at the soft flesh.

You arched your back, urging him deeper, and he responded with a groan, his pace quickening. The couch creaked under your weight, accompanied by your gasps and his grunts. You could feel your climax building, a pressure that grew more intense with every stroke.

“Harder,” you breathed, and Hank complied, his hands gripping your hips as he pounded into you, the sound of your flesh slapping together filling the room. You were lost in the sensation, the delicious friction of his cock rubbing against your g-spot driving you wild. You threw your head back as Hank's hand found your sensitive bundle of nerves and began to rub it in time with his thrusts, "fuck" you had not felt this good in a while.

And then it hit you. That sweet, powerful release that had been building. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, and you screamed. The pleasure was so intense that you couldn't contain it, and Hank groaned as he felt your walls tighten around him. He thrust into you one last time, his own climax following yours.

You both collapsed into the couch cushions, breathless and spent. Hank kissed the top of your head, before he got up to get a cloth to clean you up and some spare clothes. You both sat down to watch the tv. You snuggled up to him and before you knew it, you fell asleep in his arms.

Hank carries you to his bed and covers you up and as he starts to pull away, you whisper, "Stay," your voice thick with sleepiness.

He pauses, looking down at you with a soft smile. "You sure?" he asks.

You nod, feeling a sudden, desperate need for his warmth beside you. "Yeah," you murmur, your eyes already drifting shut.

Hank pulls back the covers and slides in beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against his chest. You fit perfectly, as though you were two puzzle pieces finally coming together. His heart beats a steady rhythm against your back, and you feel your own heart rate slow to match it. He kisses the nape of your neck, his breath warm and comforting. You snuggle closer, feeling safe in his arms.

Thought this song went well with this.

#female reader #reader insert #hank voight x reader #hank voight #chicago pd #hank voight x you

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ms-nesbit · 1 year ago

Text

Sweet home chicago (jason todd x afab!reader)

chapter one

Rating: 18+

Warnings: eventual smut, swearing, father figure dick grayson, skater tim drake, sad jason todd :(

Summary: dick and tim trick jason into taking a vacation in chicago. There, he meets someone he hopes to never forget.

Note: im sorry for dipping, yall. I really had some important things to take care of.

ao3

Amber and rose peeked through the hedge between the array of buildings on Michigan Avenue. Jason blended himself with the sea of tourists and chic aristocrats. He didn’t necessarily stick out like a sore thumb, as there were a few Chicagoans dressed casually like him; even in the late-November evening, he sported his signature red hoodie and straight fit jeans, tattered and dirty near the hem. No matter what, he wanted to appear mildly stressed, only mildly, so as to not draw more attention to himself than his six-foot-four frame already did.

He wondered how he got here. Was it the phone call from Dick, or the two dozen from Tim? Could it have been neither, and he perhaps wanted to rush the plane during the busiest season, nudged in a lousy middle seat between an obnoxious preteen and a middle-aged woman watching poorly edited, extremist conservative media? To be fair, Jason treated himself to Portillo’s once he left the airport - a well-earned reward for not lashing out at the self-absorbed individuals beside him.

He stepped briskly, moving in sync with the less-anxious of the crowd toward the shopping district notoriously named Magnificent Mile. On his left ear, he heard the excitement in the tune of indistinguishable conversations and the season’s final water taxis boarding; in his right, a wireless earbud, softly playing his childhood favorite, Diana Ross and the Supremes.

Once he reached the other end of the bridge, he strolled to the sidewalk in front of Tribune Tower, pulling his phone out and indiscreetly sending a message of his coordinates to-

A call. “As much as I love the smell of fish, garbage, and the crooked CPD, why did you and Tim want me here?” Jason was more curious than upset, but he’d rather not disclose his true feelings to his brothers.

“C’mon, Jay, it’s the Windy City! You ever been to Chicago?” Dick asked. “Beautiful everything here. Tim’s at the Van store up the street, and I’m grabbing a slice of pizza across from ya. You wanna come over and get a slice, grumpy? You get a little hangry sometimes.”

Jason sighed, and his stomach grumbled in response to the offer. “Alright, but I’m not goin’ outside. I sat next to some wackjob on the flight who sounded like she needed to be in the looney bin, and I’m not lookin’ to make friends.” As he spoke, he quickly turned his head before dashing across the busy street, waving off a car blaring its horn at him. “What’do’ey have?”

“How about you see?” Dick approached Jason, smiling mischievously. Jason ended the call, moving his eyes to Dick’s hands behind his back. “Guess what I got?”

“Dick, I’m not in the mood for games-”

“Ta-da!” Dick shifted in his coat, revealing a white box with a drawn pizza and the name Lou Malnati’s on it. Jason pretended like his mouth didn’t water at the smell of grease and garlic. “I had ‘em make a classic cheese with those square slices. How about we sit down on the riverfront and talk?”

And talk. No matter the temptation, be it a buttery, gooey pizza right under Jason’s nose, he still believed it wasn’t worth the compromise of having to make more than small talk with others. “Listen, Dickie, as much as I appreciate the offer, I don’t think I’m ready to talk about-”

“Dude, this isn’t about Artemis, if that’s what you’re about to say.” Dick shrugged in his beige peacoat, a piece of his thick, navy, knitted cardigan spilling from his waist. “I just want to, y’know, see if you want to go to this thing tonight.”

Jason cocked a brow in his theatrical manner. “So you and Tim badgered me, had me fly all the way to goddamn Chicago, all to just talk over some overpriced pizza?” Around him, he felt the glare of customers, but he doubled down, giving them knowing looks. “I’ve been here. Want a real place? Go to the goddamn place off Clark and Dickens. You’ll thank me later.”

Dick rolled his eyes, already tired by Jason’s heels in the sand. “Always gotta be a drama queen. Just…come with me. I’ll explain once we’re out of earshot.” His voice was hushed, signaling Jason to follow suit. They walked together to the riverwalk, sitting on the cold high-risen edging. Dick delicately opened the lid of the box, revealing the savory American delicacy and motioning for Jason to take the first slice.

Once Jason reached for the slice, taking his first bite and stretching the rosemary-seasoned cheese from its bed atop the crust, Dick began. “Tim and I were thinking that the three of us could use a break.” Jason grumbled indistinctly into his pizza slice, swirling the string of cheese around his tongue in a tight noose. “Bruce has been a handful lately - I mean, he always is - and I think it would be a good lesson for him to finally be on his own instead of taking us for granted, y’know?”

Jason nodded, rearranging his food to one side of his mouth so he could speak with the other. “You do know that Bruce is probably better off without me, right? Since I-” he swallowed the food, kissing the excess sauce and garlic from his teeth, “leave a ‘pretty big mess’, as he says.”

“You also help. Gang-related crime decreased about 37 percent when Red Hood regularly patrolled, and the Gotham Gazette did a poll, based on before and after Red: thanks to Red Hood, 6 out of 10 female Gothamites feel safe walking home at night, compared to the 3 out of 10 prior to Red Hood’s introduction.”

The statistic surprised Jason. He was used to the smearing from Justice League’s best, so it was nice to hear a compliment for a change. “And Timmy’s on board with this?” He didn’t hesitate to take a second slice, while Dick left the pizza untouched.

“He was the one who coined it.” Dick looked out at the river, mildly put off by Jason’s shameless eating habits. “We were patrolling one night and he just said it out of the blue. I get it, though.” He pursed his lips, staring wistfully. “I couldn’t tell you before because then you wouldn’t agree to it.”

Dick was right: when he’d offer to take Jason in after they reconciled, Jason refused. Though not Bruce’s blood son, Jason was comparably stubborn, sometimes surpassing the Dark Knight. “And where are we gonna stay?”

“That’s the best part.” Dick finally reached for a slice, folding it in half and dipping a chunk into his mouth to cut from the slice. “Tim hacked into Bruce’s business travel account and used some of his points to book a stay at some fancy place called Waldalf…lemme check.” Dick reached into his peacoat pocket and pulled out his phone, checking the reservation. He continued to chew, as did Jason, and Dick leaned over to show Jason the reservation email. “Astoria. It’s a couple of blocks here, I think. Worst case, we can just use a taxi or Uber there or something.”

“I’m banned from using Uber.” Jason said nonchalantly, squinting at the details on Dick’s pristine phone screen before looking the name up for himself. “I can walk as long as I can have another slice.”

Dick blinked at Jason blankly before glancing at the remnants of the pizza. “Take the small one right there.” Removing a wrinkled, discolored restaurant napkin from his back pocket, Jason snatched the slice with an asymmetrical, genuine smile, now holding a slice in each hand. Dick bit his tongue in his mouth to keep himself from laughing. If he hadn’t held a slice in his, he would have snapped a photo to send to the family group chat. “We’re already checked in, so just bring whatever luggage you have with you.”

Jason looked up from his slices like a deer in the headlights. “Sorry, I didn’t think to bring anything other than the usual.” With a slice, he vaguely gestured to his dirty clothes.

“I was…expecting that.” Dick chuckled lightly. “I brought you some clothes so you could go out and enjoy yourself for a change.” He spotted Jason’s eye roll. “You’re in your twenties, for crying out loud. Enjoy yourself! Make a friend. Would it kill you to just live?”

As Jason shook his head, a few strands of grey fell from his messily combed back hair and onto his forehead. “What, is coming back from the dead and seeking vengeance to blood-thirsty psychopaths not living?”

“No, it’s not.” a voice came from the other side of the riverwalk, by the bustling street: a lanky-built male, wearing a beige Santa Cruz sweatshirt and dark jeans, strolled on his skateboard toward the brothers. “And by the way, Jason, you look no different than the bourgeoisie skimming the racks at Urban Outfitters over there.” Jason’s frown dropped at Tim, already bugged by him. “Me and Dick were basically wanting you to, y’know, socialize like a normal human being. I know you’re an introvert, I get that, but you’ve gotta, y’know…converse.”

Jason stood from the platform, brushing the suggestion from his broad shoulders. “Jesus, and you wonder why I don’t want to hang out with you guys.” he made an excuse and walked back toward Michigan Ave, finishing his slices along the way.

“By the way, Dick.” Tim nudged Dick with his elbow, showing him a photo of zoomed-in Jason, a few minutes earlier, smiling goofily with his two slices of pizza pie.

Dick erupted into laughter, doubling over and nearly knocking over the box.

“You got the terrace suite?” Jason muttered in blustering shock. “Bruce is going to be so pissed.” His lips stretched into a wide smile.

He plopped onto the sleeper sofa, sprawling his limbs out to relax. Dick assigned Jason to the couch (“Finder’s keepers!”), while Dick and Tim each slept in their separate rooms. “We already received a warning about how you’re dressed, Jason, so if you could please promptly change into something more appropriate, I’m sure this stay would be more enjoyable for all of us.” Dick managed to remain calm while conveying, despite the fatherly-level of disappointment underneath his skin.

Heeding Dick’s advice, Jason made his way to Dick’s room, where he opened up the luggage Dick neatly packed for him: a pair of dress shoes, two pairs of socks and boxer briefs (all red, for continuity’s sake), along with a lightweight, tightly knitted sweater, t-shirt, long-sleeve undershirts, and two pairs of slacks (one beige, one black). Jason sighed halfheartedly, bummed by the array chosen for him. He knew, of course, it was his responsibility to select his own attire, but of course he’d forgotten it, lost in the chaos of his everyday life; Dick anticipated Jason’s reaction, and packed something nonetheless, and although grateful, Jason still hesitated to express it.

While Tim and Dick explored the depths of downtown, Jason immersed himself into the room, quietly exploring the channels that Astoria offered.

Knock, knock. “Housekeeping!”

Jason yelled back, “Come in.” while munching on a bag of corn chips on the couch, eyes lasered on the television screen.

The housekeeper, wearing a black and sky blue uniform, pushed his trolley in. “Are you enjoying your stay, Sir?”

Jason shrugged. “My ma was a housekeeper for a bit. Don’t worry about the ‘sir’ stuff, it’s all good.” The response was new to the employee, who stood for a moment before excusing himself to clean the bathroom and bedrooms.

“Sir,” the housekeeper returned, gripping the trolley behind him with a single hand. “Would you mind vacating the room while I clean, or should I return if you are…busy?”

Jason looked at the chip crumbs on his hoodie before looking back at the housekeeper. “I’ve no problem leaving. I’ve gotta change, so I’ll go the other room. Could you just lock the door when you leave?”

“Absolutely, Sir.” the housekeeper said before Jason shut the bathroom door, slacks and sweater in hand.

—

Stepping out from the courtyard of the hotel premises, Jason wandered down the corner, unable to prevent himself from making grotesque faces at the high-end stores nearby. The breeze chilled the skin on his face to the point where it eventually felt like he was kissed by needles, and he unlocked his phone to find a place to settle down and (hopefully) eat. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an approaching blotch of yellow and blue, to which he immediately hailed down. A taxi parked along the curb, and Jason hopped in. “Could you please take me away from here? Some place with some good food?”

The driver gave Jason a look of uncertainty, pondering before nodding and starting the meter.

Jason sat back and relaxed as giant metallic letters standing proudly on top of clear, godliness glass storefronts began to disappear, one by one, until they were replaced with bulletins and signs, and tented storefronts matched with painted, worn down brickwork.

He exhaled in relief. Despite living with Bruce and his luxurious lifestyle, the unspoken language of wealth was still foreign to Jason. He didn’t understand why the affluent would whisper, and why evil would poison their tongue and burn away at their heart once their financial wealth accrued.

After slipping the taxi driver a couple of hundred dollar bills, Jason abruptly left the vehicle, reading the name of the restaurant to himself. “Like the song…?” he asked the driver, who nodded.

“Different spelling, different things.”

Jason inhaled nasily, chest rising. “Alrighty, thanks, man.”

The driver nodded once again before waving and merging back into traffic. Jason entered the restaurant and was instantly greeted with sweet and savory notes, causing Jason’s stomach to cramp in pain. He walked up to the counter, so clean that he could almost make his reflection out, and waited for an employee to serve him. While he waited, he studied the menu: sandwiches, soups, and more appetizers to choose from. He chewed on his bottom lip, distressed when deciding between pasteles (mix of plantain mix and meat, wrapped in a banana leaf) or mofongo (stuffed plantain).

“When you’re ready, I can take you.” A voice notified him as he stood like a bronze statue before the menu.

He didn’t take his eyes off the photos above the counter. “Sorry about this, I’m a first timer - what are your pasteles filled with?”

“Usually pork or chicken, but we make them with cheese now since there are some vegetarians.”

“Could I have just pasteles, one with cheese filling and one with chicken?” Jason asked.

The clerk pressed a button on the register, which was a tablet with a brightly lit screen. “Sure thing. Anything else?”

“Yeah, and…pastellitos de guayaba? Can I have that, too? And water.”

The clerk pressed the screen a few times, noting down Jason’s order. “Of course. For here or to go?”

Jason finally tore his eyes from the menu to look at the clerk, and his mouth fell open at the sight of the clerk: hair was tightly curled, coiled from their roots; lips plump and glossy, appearing much more enticing to Jason than the food he ogled at.

“Here.” he stuttered, feeling heat rise up to his neck. The clerk smiled at him, and they placed their hand on their wide hip, bringing Jason’s eye to it.

“It’ll be ready in a bit. We’ll bring it to your seat, yeah? Sientate.” They motioned with their nose at the dining area, a selection of polished wooden chairs and tables to choose from.

Before he could ask for their name, the clerk rushed to the kitchen of the restaurant, repeating his order to the rest of the staff. Jason watched them walk away, their bottom half swaying in the leggings they wore, before he realized his leering and chose an empty seat and table near the colorful mural.

Thoughts rushed to the tall man’s head, some impure ones welcoming themselves for the first time since he and Artemis parted. Their relationship was, in short, complicated, and neither of them were fully transparent toward another, leading to the inevitable diffusion of the once-kindled fire; it didn’t break Jason’s heart, but rather disappointed him, and he felt that his fate of inescapable loneliness was encapsulated.

The clerk reappeared from the kitchen, holding two plates of food. They walked past Jason, ignoring whatever eye contact he attempted to make at them, and attended to the table diagonally from his. “Y te quedas a tu mama, ok?” They spoke warmly but sternly to the couple, before leaving with a grin. “And you,” they pointed at Jason, “your pastellios should be ready in one to two minutes, okay?”

Jason nodded frantically, popping an optimistic grin. “Can’t wait.”

“I know.” they winked at Jason before turning back around and walking through the revolving door leading to the kitchen. Jason felt something distant in his stomach. Perhaps hunger?

In a few minutes, the mysterious clerk returned, holding what Jason hoped was his food. When they arrived at his table, settling the plates down delicately before handing him cutlery and a glass, he beamed first at the food, then at the beautiful clerk. He didn’t know which he was more excited for. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem.” they returned his smile, eyes glistening at him. “Our chef is working on something else for you to carry out, free of charge. Can’t let you starve out on us, right, big guy?” their eyes briefly scanned Jason’s figure, which caused Jason’s cheeks to flush a bright pink.

They’re hitting on me, the fuck. “Thanks! I was hoping maybe I can come back, get your name?”

“Oooh, I like the sound of that.” their voice dipped an octave, and Jason swore he felt his pants tighten under the table. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “How about I save you the trouble and tell ya now, that way next time you can take me out for dessert?”

Jason smirked at them, slowly checking their figure out before focusing his attention back on their eyes. “Sure.”

“It’s y/n.” they purred, reaching their hand to rest on Jason’s bicep. Their skin was soft, yet calloused. “And you are…?”

“Jason.” he grinned. “Sorry, I’m new at this.”

“Don’t worry.” they assured. “I’m here if you need anything. And if you decide to take me on that offer, my number is in the check right there.” they pointed to the black checkbook beside the plates of food. Jason’s skin was burning under their touch, and when y/n had to leave, Jason felt a twinge of sadness when they retracted their hand.

Unraveling his cutlery from the napkin, Jason made sure to make an important phone call before his vacation ended.

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