Hello everyone! I hope you enjoy the stories I've written for you all! Please leave requests and I will try to get to it as soon as possible!
Taglist form
House of The Dragon
-Jacaerys Velaryon
-Rhaenyra Targaryen
-Aemond Targaryen
DC
-Jason Todd
-Dick Grayson
-Tim Drake
-Damian Wayne
-Bruce Wayne
Lord of The Rings
-Legolas Greenleaf
-Aragorn
-Frodo Baggins
-Samwise Gamgee
-Arwen
-Eowyn
The Hobbit
-Legolas (again I know but he's different in these movies)
-Tauriel
-Thorin
-Kili
-Fili
The Witcher
-Geralt
-Jaskier
-Yennefer
-Cirilla aka Ciri
Gravity Falls
-Dipper Pines
-Mabel Pines
-Stanford Pines
Pirates of The Carribean
-Will Turner
-Elizabeth Swann
-Jack Sparrow
The X-Files
-Fox Mulder
-Dana Scully
Avatar
-Jake Sully
-Neytiri
-Neteyam
-Lo'ak
-Kiri
-Tsireya
Mandalorian
-Din Djarin (aka THE Mandalorian)
Stranger Things
-Steve Harrington
-Robin Buckley
The Walking Dead
-Daryl Dixon (mainly Daryl hes my babe)
-Carl Grimes
The Really Loud House
-Lynn Loud Jr.
Anne with an E
-Jerry Baynard
-Gilbert Blythe
If there is anyone not on this list you would like me to write for please ask and I will be happy to do so! (Especially if its Owen Teague 😈)
This list is subject to change. Keep in mind that I may have to rewatch some of the shows or movies to make it accurate. If you don't like what I write that is up to you to decide just please don't leave hate. If you do then that's not very cash money of you. I won't be very formal when making random posts or just in my authors notes because I'm not a very formal person.
Things I WILL NOT write
Character x Character
Adult x Child (Ew)
Incest (unless it's in hotd because it's normal there)
Things I WILL write
Fluff ☁️
Smut 🔥
Angst ❄
Oneshots
Imagines
Multiple part stories if requested
Any pronoun stories or gender neutral
I am all inclusive here if there is any hate on a person's gender or sexuality you will be blocked or whatever I have to do to get you away from my page as a female bisexual writer I WILL NOT tolerate any hate on the Lgbtqia+ community or on anyone for the matter!
hello all <3 not my usual post on here and i never wanted to ever make this post on a blog i've only had for five months. unfortunately, my fics have been stolen and posted as ai prompts on the app, character ai.
i've explicitly placed in my pinned post and in my masterlist that i would not like reposts of my work to be done across platforms. fanfic is something i write for free and for fun, and seeing it used without my consent is really disheartening.
i’ve already reached out to the creator to ask for the bots to be taken down, but since they’ve been active and haven’t responded, i wanted to make a public note here.
their user is @/reallymarenyearly, aka lilo, on both tumblr and character ai.
UPDATE: she’s changed her username on character ai to @/lilolilo2013 and deactivated her tumblr.
UPDATE 2: she’s changed her username again to @\lilofromrio
below the cut, i have placed screenshots comparing my fics with her bots and other notable information writers and readers alike should know (including other bots she's made, fandoms they're in).
as seen in the screenshots below, they've both copy and pasted, and slightly skewed writing of mine for their bots without my permission. i'd like to add that they write for multiple fandoms which i will list below so...
IF YOU WRITE FOR THESE FANDOMS, I TRULY ADVISE YOU GO THROUGH THEIR BOTS TO SEE IF YOURS WERE ALSO TAKEN!
DC UNIVERSE: clark kent, adrian chase
MARVEL UNIVERSE: bob reynolds (sentry), bucky barnes, matthew murdock
HARRY POTTER UNIVERSE: regulus black, remus lupin, sirius black, james potter, sebastian sallow
THE LAST OF US: ellie williams, joel miller
(edit: also just learned she’s charging money for bots so please be wary of that because she could be taking other author’s works!)
please don’t interact with or use any ai bots or prompts based on my writing. if you ever see my work reposted anywhere, please let me know.
if you’d like to help, you can also report their bots and account directly on character ai. i’m not encouraging harassment – just helping make sure fanfic writers’ work stays protected and respected.
I DO NOT IN ANY WAY CONDONE HATE! SO PLEASE DON'T SEND HATE TO THIS USER.
thank you all for understanding and for always supporting me and my writing <3 it’s truly so, so appreciated and i’m so happy to share it with you.
Basically this is the same message as the previous video I shared by this creator. But it’s just an older TikTok. Like they have mentioned, it seems like this argument keeps cycling around every few months. It’s not hard to understand. If you don’t support and encourage writers, then they’re going to give up and quit writing. Simple as that. The community side of fanfic and AO3 has died off. Writers are leaving. AI writing, puritans and the “fandom police” are taking over. Please, just support those of us that are left.
A/N: Hey guys I know it's been like forever but I figured I should probably write something so here it is. A couple of you wanted a part 2 to my last Jason one so that's what I did. I've also been switching around my format because I'm trying to find a style that I like so just watch out idk. GUYS I'M UNCREATIVE I'M SORRY I FOUND THE BANNER ON PINTEREST :(
Also it would make me super duper happy if you checked out my other stories! What really encourages me is seeing how many people like my writing! You do you though no pressure it would just make my day!
Summary: It had been almost a year and a half, and Jason had yet to accept any of your date proposals. You couldn't wait any longer. So, you decided to show him that you were serious, the only way you knew how.
Part 1 (part 1 is lowkey bad but it's whatever)
Warnings: None, fluffy, impeccable humor because I'm hilarious, swearing, a little kissy kissy
Time had flown by, and before you knew it, it had been almost 18 months since you joined Batman. Which also meant that it had been a little over a year of you flirting with Jason Todd.
Sadly, no matter what pick-up line you used, you could never leave the flirty best friend zone.
You never thought it would happen, but Jason Todd had exhausted all of your other resources and left you no other choice. There was no way you were going to let the man who was practically carved from marble slip through your fingers.
There was only one thing left to do.
Create a PowerPoint on why you would be an amazing girlfriend, and beg on your knees to let you take him on a date.
It was the only logical thing to do. And you had the perfect plan.
It took you almost two hours to make the presentation perfect. Nothing could go wrong tonight if your plan was to work, so you had to follow specific steps.
First, you told Tim and Steph the plan and asked them to take your patrol that night. They laughed at you for some strange reason, but agreed as long as you took some of their shifts, a necessary sacrifice.
Second, you cleaned your house and made it look romantic. You lit candles, bought flowers, the whole nine yards.
Then, you ordered his favorite food. You got all of his favorite snacks and drinks to make sure that he would not go hungry. He was a growing boy, of course, he needed his sustenance.
Lastly, you invited him over to hang out. You had to sound casual so as to not let him grow suspicious of your plans. So you sent him a text that a friend would normally send to another friend.
You: Hey hotstuff come over. I yearn for your presence.
#needthat (Jason): Holy shit alright. omw
Good. Everything is now in motion. With your great PowerPoint skills, there is no way you wouldn't be able to woo him.
A knock on your door had startled you from your preparation. With a deep breath, you turned the handle of your front door with a big smile.
And there he was. The hottest man you had ever seen in your life. You took him in from head to toe, admiring his beauty. He was wearing his black t-shirt with gray sweatpants. A zip up sweatshirt brought the whole outfit together. You dont think you've ever been so turned on by an outfit before, or so offended. You were jealous that those clothes were touching every inch of his skin and you weren't. What you wouldn't give to just be in those sweatpants place for 5 minutes.
Alas, now was not the time for that. You must focus. There is too much on the line.
"Hey handsome! Come on in I have something to show you!" You grabbed his hand and dragged him into your living room where the food was on the coffee table and the Powerpoint was projected onto the tv.
"Oh wow." Jason was stunned. He had expected some sort of flirty comments or obvious innuendo, but not something as over the top as this.
"You really spared no expense huh?" He was slowly looking around the room. Admiring all the hard work you put in.
You scoffed, "Well of course you're like super amazing and awesome and like one of the most important people in the world to me." You shrugged as if it was nothing, and Jason thought he might start crying then and there.
No one had ever put this much effort, for this long, to make him happy. To make it known that they cared so deeply for him.
"Now come sit down this is very important." You sat him down then grabbed your computer and stood in front of the tv.
"I bet you are wondering why I brought you here today."
Jason crossed his arms and huffed. "You tell me you yearn for my presence every day."
You rolled your eyes and gestured to him. "Well, can you blame me when you look like that? Exactly, now as I was saying-"
You clicked a button on your computer and changed the slide to a bright red one with bold letters that read 'why you should let me marry you'. Jason looked at the screen in shock with a wide smile on his face.
"This is what you brought me here for?"
"Yes, this is very important now, shush!" You clicked another button on your computer, and it slowly faded to the next slide.
"Holy shit, there's transitions and everything." His shoulders shake with the deep, gentle tone of his laugh. You stare at him in awe, completely struck by the beauty of his laugh.
"You are so beautiful, now stop, otherwise I'll keep getting distracted by your perfectness." A gentle blush appeared on his cheeks, and his smile softened. You may not have ever seen it, but he was enamored with you. He thought about you day and night. You never left his mind. Sadly, unlike you, he wasn't sure how to express these emotions. Jason feared that if he said something, he would just fuck the whole thing up.
He could not let that happen.
He would not lose you.
So, he stayed quiet. Through the first meeting, through the nightly patrols. He let you ramble through your poorly made presentation that took you almost two hours. He let you shower him with compliments about his physique and his hair. He let you list off reasons that he had already thought about on why you were perfect for each other.
He let himself take in how beautiful you were. He let himself admire your humor and your brilliant mind. He let himself fall in love with you, and he let you fall in love with him.
Because no matter how many times he told himself he didn't deserve it, you reminded him that you would never leave. That no matter what he saw when he looked in the mirror, he would always be the most beautiful thing you will ever see.
So when you finally made it to the last slide titled: 'Reason #38 On Why We Should Get Married', he stood from his spot on the couch and slowly made his way to you.
He gently grabbed the computer from your hands and set it beside him on the coffee table.
You looked at him with confused eyes as he grabbed it. "What are you doing? Didn't you like it? If you didn't, I can do something else! I bought your favorite food; I can go grab it! Just-"
He held your face with tender hands and forced your eyes onto his.
"I loved your presentation. I love all that you did for me today."
He softly stroked your cheeks as you held his wrists. You couldn't break away from his captivating gaze.
"And I love you. More than you could ever know. I plan to make up for all the time that I've missed just because I couldn't figure out how to tell you."
You smiled at him. "At least you never turned me down. I could never be upset at you either because I think you're perfect so you got lucky there."
He huffed a laugh before glancing at your lips. Jason could hardly hold himself back any longer. He pressed his lips to yours with the utmost sincerity.
You could hardly believe it.
He kissed you.
He kissed you.
After all this time of you pining over him and telling him the stupidest pick-up lines, he finally reciprocated.
Granted, you'll never know that every compliment, every line, every profession of love had him bright red in the face and falling deeper and deeper in love with you.
The kiss was full of love and passion and yearning. You wished that you didn't have to stop, but the burning in your lungs won.
You pulled away and looked into his eyes, overflowing with love. "You're a really good kisser." He laughed with a smile as he pressed his forehead to yours.
You balled his jacket in your fists and pulled him back into you. He grabbed your waist and gripped you tightly, not bearing to let you go. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held him to you. Your lips moved together feverishly, in hopes of making up for lost time.
He finally tore himself away from you. "Thank you for not giving up on me. Now, how about we take advantage of all the things you prepared today?"
Jason grabbed your hand and stepped back to the couch. He sat down and dragged you to sit next to him. You curled up into his side, and he wrapped his arms around you after grabbing the food you had bought.
The rest of the night was filled with talking, kissing, and spending time with one another. Jason finally allowed himself to have you, and there was no chance you were ever letting him go.
A/N: Thank you for reading my story! If you liked it then I encourage you to leave a like or check out some of my other stories it would mean the world to me! Again I got both of the borders from pinterest.
word count: 11.3k
warnings: ANGST, pining, enemies to lovers, violence, violence against reader, arguments/fighting, alcohol, murder
When you first meet Jason Todd he seems to be nothing more than an entitled asshole, but as the seasons change, you begin to realise maybe you were wrong about him. (Loosely inspired by the book/film Pride & Prejudice)
Winter
“Honestly, I can’t wait for you to meet him, I can’t believe you haven’t already.”
More often than not, it was endearing to hear Babs talk about her boyfriend. You would think that Dick Grayson had hung the stars in the sky the way she sang his praises. It almost made you sick, the way her eyes would get moony as she practically recited poetry about his charms, his kindness, and occasionally, his body.
She was right though; you and Babs had been friends for as long as you could remember, it was absurd that you were yet to meet her long-term boyfriend. Phone calls and photos hadn’t really been enough to capture a true image of him, who he was and what he stood for. Babs meant the world to you, however, and you were determined to meet the man who had crashed into it so suddenly.
‘Suddenly’, you’d believed, until she’d informed you that he did in fact used to be the Robin to her Batgirl. You’d barked out a laugh at the time, there was nothing sudden about the relationship in that case – Babs had been pining over him for as far back as your mind would stretch.
It had been a rocky few years for your relationship, your time at Gotham University had separated the pair of you, forcing you to become little more than a library recluse, drowning in books on any given day. Babs had been equally as busy, rebranding herself as Oracle and working so diligently with the Bats most days until the sun came up. It was never anything less than an honour that Babs had trusted you with her identity, the identities of most of them – she’d claimed it couldn’t hurt to have someone like you, a journalist, on the inside if needs be. Deep down, you knew she just wanted to have someone to talk to about it who didn’t dance around every evening in a spandex suit.
Degree finished and countless more hours on your hands, Babs had welcomed you back with open arms, your relationship immediately rekindling to a mirror image of what it had been in your youth. Even Jim had been ecstatic to see you, pulling you into a bear hug when you’d appeared on the doorstep.
This is how you ended up where you are now – nursing a drink in some shitty Gotham dive bar as Babs practically vibrates beside you, anticipating the arrival of her beloved. As hard as it is to resist the urge to wallow in the dingy, depressing lighting, it’s difficult to remain glum with your best friend so excited at the mere prospect of her two favourite people finally meeting. You’d resolved to try and make a good impression, working your utmost to disregard of any animosity you held for excruciating small talk.
“Oh, there he is! Dick!” Babs calls, waving a hand out enthusiastically. Dick saunters over to the table with a million-dollar smile plastered across his cheeks. The images hadn’t done him justice and you can’t help but feel proud of her as he materialises in front of you. He was, admittedly, hot. Jet black hair swooped almost too perfectly against a seamless California tan, defined muscle decorating any visible parts of his physique. Peppy, is the word that comes to mind, and instantly you can see how a man like Dick Grayson would have enraptured your friend so.
“Nightwing,” you whisper, all tongue in cheek as he settles at the table, “Nice to finally see the face behind the mask.”
So much for a good first impression.
You don’t miss the way Dick’s smile falters for just a second or how his body seems to go rigid – or the soft slap Babs throws against your shoulder. It’s amusing to watch, as Dick and Babs eyes flicker in silent communication, Babs offering him a delicate smile to let him know that you were trustworthy.
Clearly, otherwise you wouldn’t know in the first place.
Babs, out of nothing other than good manners, repeats your name to Dick as soon as it becomes apparent you aren’t going to offer it up out of goodwill any time soon. She throws a teasing smile in your direction before adding, “She’s always like this, it’s been a blessing and a curse over the years.”
In spite of your brashness, Dick extends his hand politely, flashing you a stark white grin and a bemused look, “It’s nice to finally meet you. You may as well of been hiding behind a mask too up until this point, ya’ know?”
Begrudgingly, you shake it. It’s frustrating, how difficult it is to remain prickly against all of his oozing charisma. Disarming is what it is, with how quickly his demeanour seems to be crumbling your defences – you can imagine Dick Grayson is a man used to being adored.
Ice broken, the conversation begins to flow smoothly, allowing you to slowly loosen up with every passing phrase. Dick politely asks about your time as a student, making it clear he’s listened diligently to the scraps of information Babs had no doubt given him, and you give him the same courtesy of asking about his day job as opposed to his night one. As your eyes travel between the couple in front of you, you can’t smother the flicker of warmth that makes its home in the pit of your stomach; they look good together, and anyone with a working pair of eyes could see they were absolutely smitten.
“Oh, Babs, I hope you don’t mind, I invited Jason. He’s been a bit down in the dumps recently. Thought a bit of socialisation might do him some good.”
Instantly, you throw Babs a scrutinizing glare, trying to assess if this has all been some ruse to set you up with some random her boyfriend has decided would be a good fit for you. Instead, all you see on her face is genuine surprise, if not a smidge of happiness.
“Of course, Dick, Jason is always welcome – I’ve tried to tell him the same.”
As if on cue, the bar door slams open, ricochetting against the wall behind it. A man who could only be Jason, based on the way Dick and Babs’ faces light up, seems to practically storm in, stopping sharply on his heel to survey the room before his eyes finally land on you.
Naturally, the first thing there is to notice about him is his sheer size, towering over you, your companions and likely everyone else in the bar as well. But its more than that, the way he seems to fill the space, not just with the throes of muscle that seem to be a constant cycle of tensing and relaxing down his neck, arms, jaw – but through an aura, glowering, almost dark. The hair on his head is such a shadowy black it’s striking even in the dim light of the bar, but what’s even more noticeable is the tendril of white that curls its way forward to rest on his brow. His features, you think, wouldn’t be amiss on some kind of Greek statue, distinct and severe. What catches your attention the most, however, is the deep frown etched into his brow, matching seamlessly with a similar snarl of disgust on his lip – you’d think he’d stepped into a sewer with the repulsion that seems to emanate off him.
Without even an acknowledgement, Jason simply marches over to the booth and plants himself in the only empty space directly beside you.
“Jason! I’m happy to see you, in person anyway. How you feeling?” There’s an impossible degree of kindness in Babs’ voice, you think, for a man seemingly so vehement at even being here in the first place. Your impression isn’t helped by the curtness of his response.
“Fine.”
“Jay, you want a drink from the bar? I was just going to –”
“No, I’m not planning on staying long.”
You have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from admonishing the man for his sheer rudeness, his nerve to come blazing into your evening and sap every smidgeon of happiness out of the room without a care in the world. Concern is written plainly across Dick and Babs’ faces, but you can’t pretend to share the same sympathies. To you, Jason seemed to be nothing more than a dickhead with an attitude problem.
“Jason, this is an old friend of mine,” Babs offers him a smile, “I think the two of you would get along pretty well.”
“Oh great, a friend,” Jason’s words are practically lethal, “How on Earth should we celebrate such a momentous occasion?”
“I’m guessing it’s not one you get to celebrate much,” the words spill out of your lips before you can stop them, nothing more than a quiet mumble, but Jason’s head snaps to the side in an instant. There’s a fire that rims his greenish eyes, and there’s not much more that you can see in them other than downright murder. His fingers begin to lighten from his chokehold grip on the table in front of you.
“Who are you and why are you talking?” Jason bites, eyes quickly returning to the chip in the wood you wouldn’t be half surprised if he created with the intensity of his stare.
“Oh, you know, nobody you should care about. By all means, take centre stage. You’ve practically done it anyway.”
Dick’s voice comes out nervously, a hand scratching the back of his head, “Easy, guys.”
“I’ve sat down and said fuck-all,” Jason spits, “I’m not the one making bitchy comments about guys I don’t even know.”
“Bitchy? What is this 1813?” You turn your body to face him directly, edging on shouting. You try to ignore the flutter of regret in your stomach when he does the same, his figure casting a shadow across the entirety of, well, you.
“Well, I like to think of myself as a pretty modern guy but if the shoe fits.”
“That’s enough,” Babs’ voice is swift and severe when it rises, and Jason must be familiar enough with her to know to snap his mouth shut as you do, the pair of you shuffling back to how you’d been seated before. “We’re trying to have a nice evening, not start a war. Jason, why don’t you go get a drink at the bar?”
“I said I don’t want a fucking –”
Babs sends him a particularly pointed look, at which Jason seems to huff and hoist himself out of the booth. Dick is quick to follow, sliding out and trailing in the footsteps of his counterpart.
As soon as they’re out of earshot, you practically lurch forward to Babs, “Who the fuck is he and why –”
“You need to calm down,” Babs’ voice is as stern as it had been only seconds before, and you’re fairly certain you can feel your jaw drop.
“I need to calm down? I need to calm down? Babs he –”
“He’s my friend. Whether you like him or not,” her voice softens ever so slightly, and she reaches across the table to grasp your hands, “I understand he can be difficult, but so can you. He wasn’t being any worse than you were.”
You can’t muster the words to form an answer, instead opting to slump down into your seat with a few breathless grumblings. You cast your eyes over to the boys at the bar, and based on the way Jason’s shoulders are hunched forward, you can imagine he’s getting a similar tirade from Dick. That thought comforts you at least.
When they return, Dick slots himself next to you with a bubbly smile, Jason collapsing opposite him next to Barbara. There’s an awkward silence that seems to engulf the table, until Dick’s eyes begin to shine as he starts on the story of some thug he’d arrested the other day and the chaos that followed. It’s almost manageable like that, Dick happily chittering away as Babs listens intently, leaving you and Jason to glower in silence.
It’s brief, but for just a second, your eyes meet Jason’s. It’s only as you look up from the table that you realise, he’s staring, and you can’t help but feel a little burned by his gaze. If anything, you would say its apologetic, and ever so slightly longing. You watch as his lips part, almost as though he’s about to say something, but instead he just reclines back in the seat, crossing his arms over his chest and ripping his eyes away to stare at the poker table across the room.
The rest of the evening continues in that stead, and as time ticks over you find it easier to edge yourself back into the conversation, offering up small stories or observations of your own. To your surprise, even Jason pipes up every half an hour or so, mostly to offer some snide remark that sends Dick and Babs into a fit of giggles.
The four of you stay until the bar closes, a worker coming to awkwardly rush you out onto the street into the smoggy Gotham night. Babs and Dick turn to chatter to each other hurriedly, no doubt trying to orchestrate where they would be staying this evening, leaving you and Jason to stand awkwardly to the side swinging on your heels like petulant children.
Eventually, Babs sighs and turns to the pair of you, a stern look in her eye, “I need to go home with Dick to check out a case he’s been working on, I promised him I would a few days ago.” She pauses before turning sharply to Jason, “Can I trust you to walk her back home without starting a fight?”
“I don’t want him to know where I live!” You throw your arms up in exasperation, “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Wow,” Jason’s chuckle is bone-chillingly dark, “Charming. I’m charmed. Truly.”
“You’re not walking on your own,” Babs snips, before tempering, “I’m sorry. I forgot about this, but it’s important. Please can you do me a favour and just go with him.”
“Do I get any say in this?” Jason quips, back half turned to the conversation.
“No, you don’t,” Babs replies firmly.
It’s not long after that Dick and Babs depart, Babs offering you what seems to be a look of both sympathy and warning as the car pulls away from the sidewalk, leaving you and Jason alone in the silent early morning air, refusing to even cast a glance in each other’s direction.
The only word to describe the walk back is painful.
It’s completely silent, bar for your mingled breathing, and the occasional call of directions on your part. Not a glance is shared, the pair of you pacing side by side without any acknowledgement of the other. You have to pretty much jog to keep up with Jason, who if he notices, does not seem to care.
Time seems to drag impossibly slowly until you reach the door of your apartment building, and you swallow your pride as you turn to face him. He seems to recoil slightly as you meet his eye, clearly not expecting such a direct confrontation.
“Uhm, thank you,” you sigh, almost defeatedly, “I wouldn’t really have wanted to walk back on my own. And,” you pause, scrubbing a hand over your face, “I’m sorry, for how I acted in the bar.”
Just as before, you watch as his lips part ever so slightly, like there are words bubbling on his tongue attempting to fight their way forward. His eyes almost seem frantic as they flitter up and down over you with a confused kind of scrutiny.
Then he turns and walks away.
You don’t stop watching him until he disappears around the corner at the end of the street, not once turning to check if you’re still stood gaping like a fish behind him. The rage that burns through your veins is hot and fast, and you nearly slam the door off its hinges as you make your way into the building.
Never before have you met such an arrogant, entitled, rude caricature of a man. Not one who would so shamelessly put on the performance Jason had this evening. It was foolish of you, you think, to believe that the two of you could have come to some kind of level-footing.
As you climb into bed, attempting to quieten the anger that seems to course through every limb, there is only one desire that twists in your stomach.
To never see Jason again.
Spring
It was only so long, really, until you got invited to a Wayne gala.
Babs had requested you come as her plus one, seeing as Dick was (naturally) invited regardless. It had taken no shortage of begging on her part, pleading and harassing you with various different threats and promises until eventually you’d lapsed and agreed. To most, you can imagine, it would be a great honour – but you can only seem to focus on the way your toes seem to be splintering against the heels that had been dashed away into the back of your closet until exactly three hours ago.
The beauty of Wayne Manor cannot be understated, with its grand archways, decadent furniture and collection of gargoyles crooning mercilessly overhead. It reeks of an almost sterile air of perfection, not a single decoration out of place, every member of staff working diligently and only answering with a set of perfectly rehearsed responses that you were certain had been tailored to every possible whim. It’s a battle with your more inquisitive nature to venture beyond the contained room in which the party takes place, longing to explore the vast halls and the secrets that must be embedded within them.
Bruce Wayne does moonlight as a bat, after all.
Babs had been by your side for the first hour or so, pleasantly making your introductions to the wealthy of Gotham, many of whom you’re sure could skyrocket your career forward with nothing more than a click of their fingers. You try your best to be pleasant and accommodating, laughing at their jokes and basking their minor achievements in glowing praise. It’s deceptively easy, at this point, to slip into your professional persona, the voice echoing from your throat one that you can barely recognise as your own.
You can see Babs becoming impatient at your side, longing to go and mingle with a few others across the room who you could hazard a guess were some of her more super friends based on the way they lingered around Dick Grayson. You’d been assured that Dick was typically the life of an event of this calibre, enrapturing guests with his charms, but instead he had been left fairly stationary by a leg break in two places, wincing from his spot in the corner as his cast pokes out the bottom of his suit trousers.
“Go,” you’d huffed with a giggle, “Go see them. I’m going to get a drink anyway.”
“I won’t be long,” she assured before barrelling away. It was sweet, the way Dick’s eyes seemed to light up when he saw her approach.
Without Babs at your side, however, it seems impossible to mix with the elites. To them, you are nobody, and without an ‘in’ into their conversations, you may as well be dressed as one of the wait staff. You opt instead to haunt the walls, trapsing round the shadows of the hall with a flute of champagne in hand that seems to empty itself far too quickly.
“I can show you where they keep the bottle, if you like,” a gruff voice calls out from beside you, and your stomach twists when you realise that it’s Jason, slotting himself between you and the wall. He looks, well, good. His suit is clearly tailored, as you would imagine it would have to be for a man of his stature, and there’s a loose red tie knotted somewhat haphazardly around his neck. In any other context, it would scream of laziness, but somehow, he seems to make the whole affair work for him.
“That’s oddly generous of you, you feelin’ okay?” You keep it curt, barely sparing him a glance and instead keeping your eye fixed on the couples swaying about the dance floor.
“That’s oddly presumptuous for someone who doesn’t actually know me at all,” Jason’s words lack the bitterness they had the evening at the bar, instead dripping out like smooth velvet, and seemingly somewhat amused.
“I think I know enough to make a judgement on your character,” you quip, downing the last of your champagne and placing it politely on the tray of the closest waiter with a quiet ‘thank you’.
“Is that so?”
“It is, I’m afraid.”
“Dance with me.” It throws you for a loop when he says it, offering a hand out at your side. He looks somewhat amused as you must stare at him like he’s grown a second head, but still waves his fingers insistently.
Speechless, and albeit a tad shaken, you take his hand as he guides you to the dance floor. It’s swift as he spins you to face him, a hand settling loosely on your waist. You swallow a gulp before bringing your own to settle on his shoulders, and as the music starts up again the pair of you begin to sway in tandem. You’re certain he must be able to feel how tense you are beneath his palms, but if he does, he doesn’t mention it.
“I’m…” he starts, clicking his head to the side in frustration, “I’m sorry. For my behaviour that night. It was… rude.”
“It was,” you agree, not faltering at the sharp look he sends your way.
It takes him a few seconds to find the words, and you almost feel pity for the way he seems to struggle. Eventually he lands on, “I’m not known for my first impressions.”
You bark out a laugh at that, startling some of the other guests beside you. Jason’s eyes seem to widen in shock, but when they settle there’s no contempt in them.
“You can say that again,” you pause before adding, “But I appreciate your apology.”
He does little more than grunt in response, as the pair of you continue to rock back and forth. You would have expected it to be awkward, given your previous encounter, but you can feel yourself beginning to relax into his hold. He still appears tense, and you can feel his fingertips biting ever so slightly into your side, but there’s nothing about him that would suggest any kind of animosity.
“No offense,” you hum, just quiet enough for only him to hear, “What are you doing here? This doesn’t exactly scream of your scene.”
He chuckles lowly, spinning you in sync with the rest of the crowd, “No, it’s not. I usually avoid these things like the plague. I’m doing it to keep the old man off my back.”
“The old man?” You question, throwing Jason a quizzical glance. He too, looks confused at your admission.
“My old man. Bruce Wayne.”
You pretty much stutter to a stop on the dance floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. You’re not sure how it hadn’t clicked into place until this very moment, what with Nightwing being the one to introduce the pair of you – but you had never for a second considered that this Jason could be that Jason.
“You’re Jason Todd?” It comes out as an exhale, and Jason casts an obvious glance in your direction.
“Aren’t you meant to be a journalist? I thought you’d figured that out already.”
“No, I’d heard the news that you were…” you falter, watching as he seems to brace for the words that follow, “back from your, ah, imprisonment. That was what they said in the papers, correct?”
The look he throws in your direction is a grateful one, despite the shared knowledge that you both know what really happened to him. Babs had told you the bare bones of the story. It was enough to know that the man in front of you had travelled all the way from the grave to be here tonight.
“Me and Bruce have our differences,” Jason offers, and it’s the bluntest you’ve heard him all evening. A warning, not to press any further. You decide that it wouldn’t be the smartest idea to divulge your knowledge that this revelation would also make the man in front of you Gotham’s infamous Red Hood.
The two of you continue to dance for the next few songs, making casual but polite conversation amongst the crowds. Scarily, you begin to feel that his company might not be so deplorable after all when he dares to crack the odd joke or two, developing a sneaking suspicion he may be genuinely sorry about what had happened at the bar.
“Okay,” you huff out, sinking forward into him ever so slightly, “I think I might have to call it quits on the dancing for this evening. My feet feel like they’re about to tear in half.”
He doesn’t reply but instead guides you towards the edge of the room on his arm with more poise than you’d have thought him capable of, allowing you to perch down on a chez-lounge and give your tired body a brief reprieve. You sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Jason lets out an awkward cough.
“Look, I have to go and talk to some people,” he almost cringes as he says it, and it’s near enough a look of abject horror on his face, “But… thank you, for the dance.”
“Thank you,” you reply earnestly, meeting his eyes with as tender a look you can muster. Under your glance, he seems to mellow, the corner of his lip even quirking up ever so slightly.
“I’ll… I’ll catch you around,” He bumbles, “Maybe even see you later.”
“I would like that.”
And with that he’s gone.
You feel the loss of his presence almost instantly, and the emptiness that accompanies it is what surprises you most of all. You decide to stay put for the time being, most of the socialites so drunk at this point that they couldn’t object to your own lack of decorum without blatantly highlighting their own.
You remain perched for at least half an hour, grateful for yet another glass of champagne that gets thrust in your direction. You’re fairly certain you can make out Babs across the room, Dick draped dramatically across her wheelchair with an exuberant smile. The time passes fairly quickly as you glance over the hall, people-watching with the ever so slight buzz of alcohol muddying your thoughts.
“You might have just taken the best spot in the room,” a deep timbre echoes out from beside you, and of every person in the world it could have belonged to, you weren’t anticipating it being Bruce Wayne.
“Mr. Wayne,” you shoot up instantly, cringing at the way your ankle rolls in your heel. He only lets out a deep chuckle before motioning for you to sit again, occupying the spot next to you with his looming presence.
“I must admit,” he begins, all smile, “I was unfamiliar with your work before you appeared on my guest list, but you are indeed, incredibly impressive.”
You can’t do much to fight the blush that rises on your cheeks, “Thank you, uh, sir. That’s very kind. I’m only just starting out really, but it’s an honour to know my work has been recognised.”
“You will come to me,” he places a warm hand on your shoulder, “that is, if you need anything. Any friend of Commissioner Gordon and his family is a friend of mine.”
“That’s very kind of you, thank you,” you confess, wishing you had been slightly more sparing with your alcohol consumption in the past few hours. That being said, there was no part of your evening plans that had involved chatting with Bruce Wayne himself.
You dare not mention his other career path, not to his face. Not when you couldn’t be sure if Babs had divulged such information or not. Not that she needed to, he probably knew anyway.
“I must confess,” Bruce sighs, a tired smile drawing on his features, “I do have other motivations for coming to speak to you.”
“Oh?”
“I couldn’t help but notice you were dancing with my son earlier,” Bruce begins with a tut, “I get so little from him. I figured I would inquire about his, ah, connection with you instead.”
“Oh, oh, no,” you burst out almost too eagerly, “Me and Jason? This is only the second time we’ve ever met.”
“Is that so?” Bruce questions, a curious quirk on his brow. It only makes it all the more sudden when a stormy disposition seems to cross over his features, “In that case, I suggest you keep it that way.”
There’s little you can do to mask the confusion on your face at his remark. Sure, Jason had been more than a little rude on your first encounter, but he’d been nothing other than pleasant to you this evening. You weren’t unfamiliar with the Red Hood and his methods, under no illusions regarding what Jason was or wasn’t capable of.
“May I ask why you say that Mr. Wayne?”
“Ever the journalist,” Bruce hums, “My son has turned himself into a man not to be trifled with, and in that effort has made himself an outcast to both me and my family. I am aware you know of my family’s activities, Miss, and as a result you no doubt know of his. However, it is not Jason’s choices that bother me most, it is the pain that he inflicts upon those around him.”
The question stutters out of your mouth before you can stop it, not even sure you wanted the answer, “What is it that he’s done? To your family, I mean.”
Bruce doesn’t open his mouth to answer but instead nods to Dick now tucked away in the corner of the hall, struggling to steady himself on his broken leg. To most, Dick’s smile would be enough to ensure them that he was okay, but your multiple encounters with him at this point are enough to let you glimpse the pain in his expression.
“Jason tends to be destructive, and as much as I try to guide him, I’m beginning to fear there isn’t much else he knows anymore. It isn’t the first time he’s done such damage, and it won’t be the last.”
It’s sickening, the way that the universe chooses that moment for you to lock eyes with Jason, leaned against the bar. Swiftly as a growing forest fire, his eyes are a quiet smoulder when they lock with yours, only to grow into a blaze at the image of Bruce sat next to you. You feel at an impasse, two sides of you being tugged in opposite directions.
You look away from Jason quickly. If what Bruce was telling you was true, you had no reason to spare him a glance. Hurting Dick meant hurting Babs. Hell, Dick was a friend, and you couldn’t stand for the idea of someone hurting him either. A spin on a dance floor and a few uptight compliments wouldn’t change that.
“My advice, if you would take it,” Bruce sighs, beginning to stand, “you seem like an intelligent young woman, and you have a bright future ahead of you. I would make an expressed effort to stay out of Jason’s sights in your shoes, I fear it is not a particularly safe place to be.”
Your conversation ends fairly abruptly after that, Bruce shaking your hand and slipping you a business card with a reminder that he would be keen to help with your career given the opportunity. It’s difficult not to trust him, with his warm smile and kind words – you find it almost impossible to believe that his speech couldn’t have been without some kind of merit.
“So, you finally met him?” Babs wheels next to you when Bruce is out of sight, pressing a teasing elbow into your side. Her face seems to drop when she scans across your own, your turmoil clear as day, “Hey, you okay? What did he say to you?”
“Oh, nothing too crazy,” you snap yourself out of it, “Just work, really.”
The look that Babs gives you is enough for you to know that she doesn’t quite believe what you’re telling her, but your saviour appears in the form of Dick Grayson, hobbling over to join you with sweat practically dripping from his brow.
“Congrats,” he slaps an arm around your shoulders, positively beaming, “You just survived your first Bat interrogation.”
The two of them continue to chatter for a few minutes, and you can’t help but scan the room for Jason himself. It’s an odd sensation, and you can’t pinpoint why exactly you care where he is, but you can’t seem to settle without setting your sights on him.
You rejoin the conversation just as Dick turns to face you, “…Anyway, we were thinking of heading back to mine to chill, we’ve done our bit. Bruce can’t complain. Obviously, you’re more than welcome, we just need to find Ja – ”
“Actually,” you plaster on the brightest smile you can concoct, “I’m really not feeling too good. Definitely had a bit too much champagne. I might call it a night, I have work tomorrow, you know.”
“That’s fine, I get it, I get it. We can drop you back home –”
“Honestly, it’s fine, I think I’m just going to call a cab. Thank you though, it’s been a wonderful evening.”
You can only hope that Dick and Babs will chalk your eagerness to escape up to the alcohol as you make your departure, rushing to collect your bag and coat as quickly as you can in stupid fucking heels. As soon as you’re out of the hall, you peel them off your feet and set off at a brisk pace to try and get out of Wayne Manor as quickly as possible.
Until you collide headfirst with what may as well have been a wall, with how stiff and unyielding it seemed to be.
Jason stares down at you with an emotion you can’t quite name, and you’re reminded of just how big he really is. How imposing it would be to see him, clad in a red mask, glaring down towards whoever might be his latest victim. You think about what Dick must’ve felt, as his own brother battered him so.
“One final dance for the road?” He questions with a quirk of his lips, but you can see the nervousness in his eyes. It transforms swiftly into something else when you respond.
“No, I don’t think I will, actually,” you snap, pulling yourself out his way and continuing your mission towards the end of the driveway.
You’re thankful for the silence, that he doesn’t attempt to chase you or catch you in some kind of confrontation. You make it halfway down the drive before he finally calls out.
“What did Bruce say to you?” It’s quiet, and you can barely hear it behind you from the ruckus of the party inside. There’s something about it that pangs in your chest, but you steel yourself and continue walking, without even a glance behind you.
It’s only when you hail the cab that you turn around to face him, and unlike last time, he’s still there. Alone. Stood outside the manor with nothing other than hurt radiating off him. It’s surprisingly easy to turn away, ripping the car door open and slipping inside.
You climb over to the other seat so you don’t have to watch him as you pull away.
Summer
If someone had told you 6 months ago that you would be sat on the roof of Nightwing’s apartment building, surrounded by all sorts of metahumans and vigilantes, having a barbeque – well, you probably would’ve laughed in their face.
It’s hard to believe, as you’re reclined on a sunbed, cocktail in hand, best friend at your side while her boyfriend flips burgers in his, quite frankly, egregious Kiss the Cook apron, that things could be going so well. Bludhaven hadn’t ever been on your list of top holiday destinations, but basking in the hazy summer sun is more than enough to make up for it. It’s raucous, as you would expect many young superheroes crammed into a small space trying to cook a banquet of food would be, but the grouch within you can’t even seem to care about the chaos.
It’s jarring how well life seems to be going. Babs and Dick had pushed you to contact Bruce about working with Wayne Industries on some insider reporting, and the man himself had accepted your proposal with open arms. He’d even doubled the amount you got paid for the pieces as a ‘tip’, a token of thanks for your time dedicated to the cause. As a result, your writing had been the talk of the town since, and you had every major paper scrambling to offer you an exclusive contract.
You and Babs are closer than ever, and to your surprise, you’d integrated fairly seamlessly into their wider friend group as a regular staple of their gatherings. Sure, you were much quieter in comparison to the Titans and other various young heroes, but they seemed to enjoy your presence, nonetheless. You’d even spent some time at Wayne Manor with Dick and Babs, finally meeting the other members of the family after hearing about them in excess.
You’d run into Jason a few times.
It never failed to be an awkward encounter, often comprised of curt greetings and nothing more. Jason showed no signs that your rebuff had scorned him but, as expected, any trace of the warmth he’d shown you that night at the gala seemed to have disappeared promptly. You were just as cold, often refusing to look him in the eye on the rare occasion he would enter a room that also contained you. It was baffling, that he still had a place beside Dick and Babs and the rest of them, given the only increasing rumours you’d heard once being integrated into the super-community about his mistreatment of those closest to him. You’d never brought the topic up to either of your friends, primarily out of fear that they would attempt to see beneath your distain for something deeper – you didn’t have to mention it, they were ever lenient on Jason’s behaviour and seemed to welcome him with open arms at every opportunity.
Which is why you’re unsurprised, later in the evening when most of the heroes have gone home or out on their various patrols, that Jason appears on the roof next to Dick overlooking the city, a quiet conversation muttering between the pair. Your eyes catch him, Jason, for just a second as he turns ever so briefly to watch you sprawled out with a book in hand. Your eyes meeting is enough to drive him away again, jaw grinding as he turns to look forward.
Good, you’re glad your presence is enough to piss him off.
You continue that way for the next hour or so, tearing through your book until the words begin to blur into a splodge of ink on the page. The steady cooling of the dusky air is a welcome reprieve from the blazing sun, and it doesn’t take you long to drift off, your last waking feeling being that of your book dropping onto your chest.
It’s significantly later when you blink yourself awake again, the moon settled comfortably against the Bludhaven skyline. You instantly take note of the blanket that’s been draped over your body, curled between your fingers, and take a second to scan around the rooftop in search for any other waking body.
To your chagrin, the only figure that comes into view is Jason, sat with his legs dangling over the side of the building and a cigarette clutched tightly within his fingers. It’s almost picturesque, watching him inhale and exhale with a stream of smoke, the plains of his face framed by the moonlight. It strikes you that he’s likely in his element, perched on a rooftop shrouded in the darkness of the night, and it pains you to admit just how beautiful he looks.
Without even a glance in your direction, he simply chuckles mockingly, holding the cigarette up plainly for you to see, “Been trying to quit for months now.”
“Maybe you should try harder,” it’s snide and a bit pathetic and you know it, but you can’t seem to mellow the bite in your words. He simply laughs and returns to taking slow drags, barely even acknowledging that you had said anything.
Quickly, you begin to gather your things together, pulling the blanket tightly around your body as you make your way to the door back inside, wishing to be out of this awkward situation and less than stellar company as fast as you can.
It’s Jason’s voice that stops you, “You never told me.”
“What?”
“You never told me what Bruce said to you.” There’s an odd resignation in his words, and his voice remains remarkably even, not giving away any hint of whatever emotion was hidden beneath his words.
“I’m sure you can guess,” you huff out, drawing your hand away from the door to turn and face him.
Wordlessly, Jason hoists himself up from the side of the building and starts to make his way towards you. He stops a comfortable distance away, not enough to be an imposing presence, but so close that you can see his fingers fidgeting in front of him.
“I just want to know if what he said to you is what changed your mind about me,” Jason bites, “or if it’s always just been how you felt.”
“Why do you care about how I feel, Jason?” It comes out far harsher than you intended. He only scrubs a hand over his face in response, and you’re not sure if it’s a laugh or a whimper that crawls its way out of his throat.
“Do you really not see what’s going on here?”
“No, Jason, if I knew what was going on –”
“I like you, okay? I’ve tried my best to make it obvious, I really have. And trust me, I don’t want to, but I do. You’re beautiful, you’re talented, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks because you know who you are. I like how opinionated you are, everyone else in my life fucking dances around me like I’m about to explode – but you don’t. I was rude at the bar because I wasn’t… I wasn’t expecting you, and I tried to make it up to you at the gala and then Bruce –”
“Bruce told me the truth, Jason.” The fumbling words are all that you can manage, your brain spinning at the revelation that Jason had just laid bare in front of you. Everything feels jilted, and surprisingly the only feeling whirring around your chest that you can articulate is anger.
“I don’t know what Bruce told you,” Jason’s practically pleading, “But I just wish you would judge me on me rather than what everyone else has to say.”
“Jason. You don’t know me,” your words are slow, but it does little to soften the viciousness tainting them, “you think you can – what? Just waltz in after months of being rude and judgy and – and after hurting my friends and act like all of it was okay because you like me? I haven’t been able to judge you on what you have to say because you never talk to me!”
The warm summer sun is long gone now, replaced with a chilling breeze and an ever so slight smattering of rain. The only word to describe Jason is speechless, but you don’t miss the way his fists curl at his sides. You practically leap sideways as he spins round with a number of cusses, pacing back and forth with what at a glance seems to be pure anguish.
“Hurt?” He spits out, all venom, “Who exactly have I hurt?”
“Well, Dick, for starters –”
“Dick? Oh, of course,” Jason lets out a bitter chuckle, “Of course, I hurt the golden boy.”
“He had a broken leg!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, and in an instant Jason is on you, so close you can smell his smoky cologne and the lingering touch of burnt leather.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” It’s nothing more than a ghost of a whisper, and he’s so close you can almost taste the words on his tongue.
“Real romantic by the way,” you refuse to back down, instead only edging closer and angling your chin to lock onto his eyes blazing down into your own, “I like you but I don’t want to. I didn’t realise I was just so deplorable.”
The rain is blinding now, hammering down around the pair of you, eliminating anything in your eyeline other than him. You’re both soaked to the bone, locked in a standoff neither one of you is willing to back down from. His hair is flattened to his forehead, and his shirt has plastered itself across his shoulders – you don’t dare to consider what you look like, clad in nothing other than a blanket and casual swimwear. It’s only then that you register the jittering of your entire body, and you can’t pinpoint whether it’s the cold or the sheer rage coursing through your veins as the source.
Both of your heads tear to the side at the soft call of your name, the silhouette of Babs highlighted from the doorway back into the apartment. Squinting through the rain, you can make out the shock and concern marring her features, and you instantly jump back from your stalemate. Jason takes a similar course of action, turning on his heel to march inside without a second thought.
He makes it halfway before he stops and turns to stare at you.
“You shouldn’t just listen to everything people tell you. I thought you were smarter than that. There are two sides to every story.”
And then he disappears inside.
Autumn
All the glee of summertime had been quick to disperse. Life seemed to pass by in a blur: work had slowed considerably as Gotham herself seemed to ready for hibernation, you had moved to a different apartment, nicer but nestled significantly further away from everything you’d become accustomed to. Babs had taken on a lot more work with Batman which seemed to consume the majority of her waking life, and with the loss of her constant company went Dick Grayson too. You still texted daily, but in person visits had become disappointingly scarce.
You’d be a downright liar if you said in every spare moment that your thoughts didn’t trapse back to your encounter with Jason. It reeled like film in the back of your mind whenever your eyelids fluttered shut, a constant rerun of every minute detail – the way his hands seemed to ring, the flexing and rolling of his shoulders as he paced, the hurt in his eyes as you’d unleashed a tirade onto him on what was supposed to be a relaxing summer evening.
It was nothing more than professional curiosity, you’d told yourself, your desire to know more. To glean some kind of insight into the other side of the story that Jason had preached. It was in your nature, journalism and the like. However, it was much easier to pretend that the world had alienated you from the answer, forcing you away from your work and friends, than it was to admit that you had run away because you were scared.
Which is why it took months for you to finally ask Babs to meet up for a coffee, rather than her asking you. The air had begun to bite as you lingered in the street, longing for a familiar face, even the nip of the cold bringing back persistent traces of that night. A sigh of relief materialises in a faint cloud of vapour as Babs appears round the corner, throwing her arms out for a hug as soon as she’s close enough. It’s uncharacteristically awkward as you settle down at a table, Babs doing little to hide her expectant stare as the barista places your drinks down in front of you.
“What did you want to –”
“Jason.” The slight curl of her lip at your mention of his name is enough to throw you, her knowing look pressing forward into what feels like every inch of your body.
“What do you want to know about Jason?” Babs offers, tracing her finger around the rim of her mug casually. If the display is supposed to make you feel less under pressure, it does nothing to alleviate the hammering of your pulse.
Your brain goes blank. “Uhm – how is he?”
Babs seems unable to stifle the laugh that barks out, bringing her coffee up to her lips, “You invited me out for coffee to ask how Jason is?”
You take a deep breath and muster all you can to steel yourself, allowing a smidgeon of your work persona to bleed in. “That night on the roof. He said some things and – and I never got any clarification. I just have some things I need to know.”
“How come you’re asking me and not him?”
“I don’t think Jason and I are in a place to be asking each other deep and thought-provoking personal questions,” you wince as the words tangle themselves on your tongue, and you can’t subdue the simmering feeling of disappointment that seems to accompany them.
Babs’ pauses for a second, as if weighing in her options, before eventually letting out a soft sigh and offering you a tender look, “Go on, what is it you want to know.”
“At the gala,” you begin far too quickly, grimacing at your own eagerness, “Bruce told me that Jason was dangerous. I’d already figured out that he was, you know, but the way Bruce painted this picture. It was like Jason was a monster, like he chose to hurt everyone close to him. He told me that he broke Dick’s leg.”
“Jason did break Dick’s leg,” Babs states plainly, and you can feel yourself deflate, “Jason broke Dick’s leg to save him. Dick was trapped in rubble, and he was losing oxygen fast. He was, he would’ve, died if Jason hadn’t gotten there before any of the rest of us could. The only options were to break Dick’s leg – who was unconscious by the way – to get him out or leave him to suffocate.”
You’re practically speechless. Never before has your mind stuttered so suddenly to a halt. All you can seem to do is gape at Babs as her jaw seems to clench; anger wasn’t a familiar emotion in your relationship, but you had seen it enough to recognise it.
“Bruce and Jason have a fractious relationship at the best of times, and they were certainly not going steady back then. Bruce showed up and saw Jason manhandling Dick out of a collapsed building with a broken limb and assumed the worst. God, it was awful, only Tim could stop them fighting and eventually Jason just disappeared. The first time any of us saw Jason after that was the Gala, and that was only because he promised Alfred.”
“Did Bruce ever find out the truth?” You’re practically reeling as all of the puzzle pieces begin to fall into place, Jason’s distance from his family at the Gala, his hurt at your insinuations about him. You’d treated him atrociously and this whole time he was the one that had been hurt.
“We told him straight away. We told him as it happened. But Jason and Bruce have this blindness when it comes to each other, they can only see what they want to see. Bruce refused to hear anything other than that Jason had brought the building down and Dick with it.” There’s a rawness in Babs’ voice, and a pearly ring of wetness dampening her eyes.
“But I’ve heard so much about…” you pause, contemplating the weight of your words, “It’s not just Bruce. I’ve heard everyone talk about him and the things he does, like he’s some kind of sadist. Like he kills people for fun and –”
“Jason does kill, there’s no doubt about that,” Babs’ tone hitches slightly, shifting to something more resolute, “but it’s not just for fun or how he gets his kicks. He has an ethos, a system, the same way Bruce or Dick or any of us do. Agree with it or not, he’s trying to make things better in his own way.”
It’s a harrowing feeling, every synapse being excavated and laid bare, the devastating realisation that all was not as it had seemed. Jason had been right, you should’ve known better than to presume. “I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I?”
Babs wastes no time reaching over to take your hands in hers, some of the warmth returning to her gaze, “No, you haven’t. You acted on all the information that you had and that’s all we can do. But you can –”
“No,” your reply is instant, and Babs draws back in surprise, “I can’t. Not after all this. I’ve hurt him, I can’t imagine he wants me in his life. And I still don’t know him. I just –”
Babs calls your name softly as you begin to gather your belongings, hastily sipping down the last of your drink and scanning desperately for the nearest exit. She doesn’t attempt to say anything, just offers you an almost infuriatingly tender look. You quickly mutter your goodbyes, a small smile and a promise to text later, before rushing out into the Gotham traffic.
It had been easy to be so righteous, so comfortable in your position, but now every noise and sensation felt like a slap. A kick while you were down. It had been so simple to deny anything you had felt towards him, any kind of attraction, from your high horse; to look down and tell yourself that you had been wronged and anything you felt was out of nothing more than a lingering feeling of pity.
It’s overwhelming, the sensation of missing out on an opportunity, a friend, and maybe something more that made itself so scarce in your life to begin with. It’s shame, you think.
You can’t help but think that if you were Jason Todd, you would never want to see you again.
Winter
Gotham in the winter is a sight to behold: flickering lights casting a yellow haze over the murky skyline, the cold lick of the coast sneaking its way into the alleyways and street corners, an entire civilisation cloaked in a dreary blanket. It was much kinder from inside the warm glow of your apartment, staring out at the figures on the street below fighting against the elements.
Life had continued, as it always does. It had taken you some time to process what had happened with Jason, mourn the prospect of what could’ve been. Bruce had offered you a full-time position at Wayne Industries. You’d turned it down. Told him you wanted to ‘explore different avenues’ this early in your career, and in spite of the suspicious look he’d given you, he’d assured that there would always be a position for you if you desired.
Instead, you had taken a role at a local up-and-coming paper focussed on exposing corruption within Gotham’s elite. It was perfect, the hands-on kind of work you had favoured during your studies, and the success was already beginning to blossom. Babs and Dick had been nothing but supportive: you weren’t as involved with their ‘super-gatherings’ anymore, finding the whole group to be a tad overwhelming, but they still made time for you each and every week in the same dingy bar in which Babs had first introduced you to everyone.
Everything didn’t feel right yet, but it was getting there.
Being nestled in your apartment in the evenings alone didn’t feel so glum anymore, instead lighting a warm flicker in the bottom of your belly. You were working on a big piece, the biggest you’d written so far, scouring into the Falcone family and some of their more illegitimate dealings – papers sprawled across every available surface, a few stripes of ink now decorated your dining room table. You were certain you looked a wreck; sleep hadn’t come easy the past nights – you were in limbo. Until the article was published and in the public eye, there was little to protect you from anyone who had questions about what you were looking into. You’d even gone out and brought a gun. As a result, there was little that could drag you away from your laptop, a desperation to finish your work that felt somewhat like your life depended on it.
Which is why when there’s a hammering at your front door at 1am, it becomes difficult to breathe all of a sudden.
“Miss?” A gruff voice calls out, “Heard you had some interest in a friend of mine. I have some information that might be of use to you.”
As quietly as you can, you scramble for your keys. Dick had given you a small device, some kind of button, when you’d told him and Babs about your new job and its dealings – he’d assured you that as soon as you pressed it there would always be help on the way. It’s impossible to stifle the gasp of relief as you finally feel the tiny device roll between your fingers, pressing it down hard and watching as it illuminates your apartment in a soft blue.
“Miss? We know you’re in there,” the hammering gets much louder all of a sudden, and you dip down behind the couch, drawing yourself into a ball, “This can be much easier for you if you just let us in.”
From across the room, you can see your phone light up, and you thank the lord that you’d put it on silent – it’s Babs, you can see from the cheesy lockscreen of you draped across her lap after some raucous night out. The men, multiple of them now, continue to scuffle outside your front door as they no doubt contemplate the best method to enter and beat the shit out of you. You could make a run for the gun now, but if they came in you would be cornered in your bedroom, nowhere to escape to.
“Right, lady, you’re starting to piss me off,” A new voice calls out, “I’m giving you ten seconds to come out before we come in.”
Ten seconds is a long time for a vigilante, right? Normally, you’d pride yourself on your ability to think on your feet, but unfortunately the only course of action seems to be waiting out the storm. The idea of leaping out the window dances across your mind briefly, but with no fire escape and a 40ft drop it wasn’t the most thrilling concept. Quickly, you reach out and snatch your pen off the table – it was sturdy, metal, a gift from Jim Gordon when you’d graduated – it wasn’t sharp by any means, but with enough force it could definitely do some damage.
You grimace at the thought.
All at once, a barrage of sound erupts in your ears; the door swings open and groans as the hinges splinter bit by bit, the thundering of footsteps is instant, you can count one, two, three sets of steps against the creaking floorboards. It all happens far too quickly, one of them calling out a signal to the others that they’ve found you, and you’re hoisted to your feet, both arms held tightly by a brute on either one. You swing from side to side with as much force as you can muster, kicking out and screaming, relishing as you hear a deep groan from your right.
Nothing prepares you for the swing of a fist, though.
You’ve never been punched before, surprisingly, and it strikes you that maybe its one of the only things movies do justice. It’s less the impact itself, but more the way that your head wrenches to the side that sends you reeling. Before you can even recollect yourself there’s a hand clamped around your jaw, tugging your face back upwards. Most of the man’s face is covered, donned in all black, but there’s a cruelty in his eyes that collapses your chest. It’s disgusting, the way one of his fingers hooks around your teeth, keeping you trapped like a fish on a line. You contemplate spitting in his face, but as if out of instinct, you snap your teeth shut.
It makes you retch as he pulls back, the thick, hot metallic sheet that coats every surface of your mouth. Abject horror is the only phrase to describe the look of the man opposite you, clasping his mangled finger gingerly to his chest. Before you can revel in your small victory, another slap sends you clattering across the floor, wood splintering beneath your fingertips.
If a punch was a bee-sting, a kick to the ribs is a bomb going off.
“You fucking bitch!” The man hollers, drawing his foot back for another swift kick. His boots must be metal capped, you think.
“Haven’t you heard? Bitch is so 1800s.”
It’s a rough modulated voice that draws you from your stupor – it’s difficult to make out shapes through the tears that have spilled over, but if the shrill whimpers of the men around you are enough to go by, you’d say help has arrived. The pause gives you enough time to shuffle back against the wall, gradually shifting to something akin to a sitting position.
“Hood,” One of the goons whispers, and you’re not sure if its double vision or the man is actually trembling, “What – this isn’t your turf –”
“Don’t care. Goodbye.” The echo of a gunshot is so much louder up close, and you can’t help but slam a hand over your mouth as the giant of a man seems to crumple to the ground, brains splattered all over your bookshelf. One of the other goons attempts to make a run for it but is stopped by a gloved hand that shoots out and catches him by the throat. It’s a horrible wheezing sound that sneaks its way out of his windpipe, all while the Red Hood takes his time strapping his gun to his thigh, before bringing his other hand around languidly to snap the goons’ neck.
It’s all so quick, you think, not like the long-winded tit-for-tat action movie sequences where they trade blows, it’s just sheer overwhelming force. A black hole that’s come to consume anything that dare move in its presence.
It’s Jason.
Out of your peripheral you can make out the man, your main attacker, breaking from his stupor. You recognise the way his hands begin to curl in his pocket, a hand wrapping around an all too familiar shape that he begins to draw outwards painstakingly slowly. Before you can clamber to your feet, the gun is aimed straight for him, a clear shot, and Jason seems to realise just as you do that the man’s finger is contracting on the trigger.
You can’t even process your own movements, let alone pain, yet you feel your feet underneath you, pushing you forward. The cool feeling of the pen between your fingers feels so familiar yet so absurd, and with all the force you can muster you slam it round into the side of the man’s throat. It’s so much worse, watching death this way; Jason had the decency to make the others quick, but here you were watching a man bleed onto your rug as he stares at you with surprise and your engraved pen in his jugular.
It’s only seconds before he flops to the ground too.
Jason’s there before your knees can buckle, wrapping a solid arm around your waist and holding you up like a puppet on a string. As much as you try and move your tongue, it’s like lead in your mouth, and you can’t do much more than stand there gaping as Jason checks your injuries.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” You didn’t know a modulated voice could sound so tender, “I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time.”
“Jason, I –” It sounds so wet and broken, barely recognisable as your own voice.
“I know,” he coos, bringing a hand round to cradle your less injured cheek, “But you did so good, so good. You saved me.”
The tears begin to flow promptly after that, and you wonder if the Red Hood often has people sob into his chest, and if he ever lets them. Slowly, he lowers the pair of you to the ground, and as soon as you hit the floor it feels as though every drop of energy has been drained from your body.
“I’m so sorry,” you hiccup, “I’m sorry about what I said and –”
If you’re not mistaken, he laughs, and even through the robotic filter you can hear the hint of amusement, “You’re an idiot.”
“What?”
“You’ve just killed a man and you’re worried about apologising to me over an argument we had months ago.”
You let out a wet laugh, “Can’t help it. I don’t want to like you, but I think I do.”
“Maybe we should start again,” Jason hums, pulling off his helmet. You know deep down that he’s just trying to distract you from the weight of your evening, and you’re sure that it will hit you when the brain fog begins to wear off – but right now, you can’t seem to care. Clearly, a near death experience has changed your perspective.
You mumble your name quietly, offering your hand out to him, “I’m a journalist, I’m allergic to cats and I have a kill count of one.”
Jason only barks out a laugh, those mesmerising green eyes finally rimmed with mirth rather than rage, “I knew there was something I liked about you.”
Spring
You’d never thought that such a dingy, depressing bar tucked away in the veins of Gotham could feel so much like home – but the regulars at the poker table wave each time you step through the front door, the bartender smiles while she pours your regular and asks how your latest article is coming along. But your favourite part, without a doubt, is slumping in after a long day at work and seeing your closest companions huddled together at your booth in the corner looking up at you with beaming smiles.
You slide into the booth next to Jason without a word, and his arm drapes itself across your shoulders automatically. It’s still new, the pair of you sharing bashful smiles at every intimate moment, but there’s a love that burns in your chest brighter than any feeling you thought yourself capable of.
“You guys are disgusting, I hope you know,” Dick whinges, letting out a chuckle as Babs punches him hard in the arm.
“Be quiet, you,” Babs chuckles, “Our plan finally came to fruition.”
You narrow your eyes at her across the table, quirking your head to the side, “I knew it. You did want to set us up.”
“Well that was obvious from the get go, Princess,” Jason chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I like to think we gave them a challenge though.”
“I certainly didn’t think you would develop a body count on the way,” Babs brows go up and she sends a grin in your direction.
“That’s my girl,” Jason whispers, throwing a grin in your direction, “What a fearsome thing to behold.”
“God, I love it when you quote Pride & Prejudice to me.”
“I know you do, baby, I know.”
This has been a WIP for sooooo long, like since before I even started this account. I don’t know if it’s obvious but I really struggled to finish it, I had absolutely no idea how to leave it. But oh well 🤷♀️
also im SORRY for making Bruce the BAD GUY it was the only way i could make it work in my head 💔
If you liked it, well, like it - a reblog is always appreciated. If you don’t like it, leave me alone.
Also, do not walk close to walls. It will be easier for someone so walk past you and push you against it or corner you.
If your gut is telling you to cross the street or change your path, do it. Don’t risk it. Your body knows.
If you can, buy a large umbrella and walk holding it. Studies say that predators are less likely to attempt an attack on someone that could fight back. Keys around your knuckles is fine but you’ll need to get very close to do damage. Umbrellas are more precise.
Avoid wearing headphones if you are alone on an empty street. Look aware.
Again: Stay. Away. From. Walls.
Entering an uber alone? Call your father (or anyone you trust) and say “hey dad! Yep, I’m almost there, I’m sending you the route.” outloud. Then proceed to send them the route so they can follow the uber drive. This will most likely intimidate the predator.
If you see someone in an uncomfortable or possibly dangerous situation, walk up to them and say “Betty, oh my god, I haven’t seen you in so long!”. If she gets slightly confused, you can whisper and let her know you’re trying to help and that she should follow along. Walk together to another station or away from where you are. The man will most likely not follow. I have done this one 2 times and can be very helpful.
If you are unsure she needs help, you can pass her a note saying something like “hey, I noticed this man beside you is making you uncomfortable. If you’d like help, fake a sneeze right now and I will come up to you and pretend we are friends.” This is a long note, but its an example. Be discrete. If she follows along, proceed with the previous tip. This is helpful when you’re in a crowded train and you notice harassment.
Help your sisters. Trust them. Trust yourself. Be safe.
I made this google doc covering 14 different self defense tips and tricks. it was made on January 15th, 2020 so it was before I decided I’d come back to tumblr jhjshdbjfh.
I was as taught that if it’s a man and I’m able, kick them as hard as possible in the balls. Apparently it hurts badly enough to render them unable to move/attack for a bit, long enough to call for help or run or beat him up further so he genuinely can’t continue to attack you
Y’all I’m not a reblogger and I do NOT like heavy content on my account but this is something super important and it’s a big deal, I didn’t know a lot of this stuff and I’ve been educated on how to protect myself for a while, just proof how much reblogging this could save a life. Please keep passing it around.
And this is proof the patriarchy exists because in a society where it didn’t, we wouldn’t have to just teach women these lessons, or teach these lessons at all
will die on this hill. the dad best friend fanfics that go into detail about how they have known you since your were 4 are disgusting and borderline disturbing. like your talking about having sex with a girl you literally watched grow up. ew. it’s creepy. like… no.
I think it'd be funny if Damian kept up his formal speech patterns for the sole purpose of appearance. Originally, he would've learned to speak that way in the League, but I feel like Jason's informality and unseriousness would rub off on him eventually.
Alfred is gone for the week and Bruce is cooking for the bats
Bruce: "Alright guys, it's a little burnt, but it still might be good."
Tim, squinting his eyes at the plate: "B, it looks radioactive.."
Damian: "Father, I will not be consuming this horrible dish. It seems itself to be inedible, and I will not be poisoned by your lack of skill in the food department."
Later
Damian, on the phone with Jason: "It looked like shit! He served us all mystery meat, Todd. Bring me some decent food right now or I'm killing myself."
Jason: "Jeez, kid, take a chill pill or something. I'm on my way."
Damian: "There is no pill chill enough for me to take, Todd! I can't keep starving myself whenever Dad is put in charge. He's going to kill us all on accident!"
SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest."
AO3: yenwayne : CHARACTER ART OF MORGAN AND SPIDEY
'what's up danger?"
i. cat's out of the web
ii. spidey going solo
iii. a leap of faith
iv. sexiest vigilante
v. @ nightcrawler_updates
vi. the hunt
vii. crashout
viii. a little death (w mild smut)
ix. the fall and the cage
I'm gonna write this btw and maybe I'll continue it to where Jace lives and she saves him too idk we'll see! (I most definitely will because I'm too hot for him to let him die)
Yall I cant do this anymore so I had an idea let me know what you think. What if the reader was like Jacaerys' betrothed and like before Luke and Jace go on their little journey to gain allies she like prays for like a sign that everything is gonna be a-ok with them. And she like goes to bed and has a dream of like Luke dying so she wakes up and is like 'I'm not gonna let that happen'. Then she begs Rhaenyra to like go with him orlike escort him back and then shes like fine whatever. And then he doesnt die and it's ok and all that.
I'm not gonna say the whole idea because like spoilers duh but please give feedback and let me know if you guys want this written because I dont think I've seen this before. Kay thanks bye
Also this is probably gonna take a while because I gotta rewatch some episodes and make sure I'm getting it as accurate as possible for you guys so just let me cook. If you want I might post like teasers and stuff too. Also i can try and figure out a tag list in case you guys want to be notified when I post it!
You don't know how you allowed yourself to get manipulated into being a girlboss and moving out of your childhood home to live in your own apartment. While it was nice to have your own privacy and decorate your home however you liked, you realized just how many privileges you lost now that you weren't in the care of your parents.
There was no one there to make sure you woke up on time in the few cases where you slept through your alarm, no one that you could call on your way back from work to ask to switch on the water heater so you could take a steamy shower immediately.
You didn't have your mother's homecooked meals and you didn't have your father to pick you up snacks from the grocery store.
And one of the biggest thorns in your side was the reason you were dreading the entire day. Car maintenance. The auto shop was one of the most daunting places in your life as a girl who knew nothing about cars. Never once had you regretted not learning how to take care of your car or even the procedure required when you eventually take your car down to the auto shop.
But now standing in the hot and dusty garage, you were seriously rethinking your life choices. You should've scheduled these things for when your dad was visiting so you could ask him to take it instead. Or, even better, you should've gotten a boyfriend.
You were complaining in your head, dragging your feet about having to be here in the first place and whined about handing your car keys, with a bunch of adorable keychains attached to some rando.
But when Jason Todd, 6'2 man with biceps that were larger than your own head and a body that looked like he was shaped out of marble by Michelangelo himself walked out with a form for you to fill out, you were all too happy to be there.
Perhaps you'd be leaving here with a boyfriend after all.
"I have to admit, I don't really know much about cars so please don't scam me."
Jason chuckled, a deep, hoarse laugh that made you a little weak in the knees honestly and the boy-crazed fraction of your brain began to imagine how he would sound as soon as he woke up next to you, after a night of—
"A bit of advice, you probably don't want to let scammers know that you have no idea what they're talking about."
You giggled, scolding yourself mentally for finding that funny.
'Come on, (Y/N), pull yourself together it wasn't even that funny. His face is just great delivery.'
"Or I could keep coming here and have you check my car, since you're so trustworthy." You mused, sparing him a teasing smile.
Jason was completely picking up what you were putting down, giving you a coy smile of his own before responding, "Or perhaps this is just a tactic to get you to keep coming back."
You narrowed your eyes playfully, "Devious."
Looking back at his little clipboard, a thin metal rod of some kind tucked behind his ear instead of a pen, Jason asked, "When was the last time you got your car checked out? If your battery and brake pad was replaced recently, we could probably skip that and just do a routine check to make sure everything's running smoothly."
You winced, "I couldn't tell you, honestly. My dad usually handles this kinda stuff for me, I'm still kind of a new lamb when it comes to taking care of my car."
Jason raised his eyes from the clipboard for a second, "Your boyfriend can't do this kinda stuff for you instead?"
"I don't have a boyfriend."
He perked up immediately and you ducked your head to hide your smile, "I'm sure you probably have a record of it in your glovebox or something. Most places keep a little sticker with the date of your last service under the dash. I'll check it out for you, do you have somewhere to be, or do you have a couple minutes so I can make sure?"
You shook your head, shrugging your shoulders with a carefree smile, "It's my day off so I'm free as a bird."
He grinned, "Noted. Just give me a second."
You watched his back receding as he walked toward your car, shoulders looking like they could span the entire ocean and it was only when he was sat in the car and had turned on the engine did you whip out your phone at lightspeed.
"Ohmygosh Julie, I think I just met my future husband. Holy shit. He's so cute—gorgeous actually. He's working on my car right now and God, those arms, wow. And those eyes? God, I feel blessed just by looking at his face." The end of your message was interrupted by another mechanic running the engine.
You waited patiently for the sound of the engine to die before replaying the voice message so you could re-record the part that got cut off. Only you couldn't hear a thing.
Confused, you increased the volume, taking a sip from your coffee to soothe the inhumane squeal that you had let out while sending Julie the voice message. Once again you heard nothing.
You bit your lip at this, swiping down at the corner of your phone at access your control center and realizing the reason you couldn't hear anything was because it was connected to the Bluetooth on your car.
Wait.
THE CAR?!
You whipped around in horror only to find Jason smirking at you from the front seat of your car. If the world were fair, you'd be struck down with lightning right then and there. Or, since you were at an auto shop, a sentient car might run you over.
Alas, you continued to stand there in horror, completely unharmed no matter how badly you wished to be reduced to a puddle on the ground.
You called him your future husband. The ground should've swallowed you then and there. Instead, you just stood there in complete mortification and embarrassment while you stared at his amused expression.
Something startled him out of his gaze for a second and he pointed at your console, making a gesture like he was taking a call. Confused, you glanced at your phone.
'Incoming call: Julie'
Ah, saved by the bell.
*
"How much do I owe you?" You asked, quickly popping open your purse to fish out your credit card. You had stretched out the conversation with Julie as long as possible, begging her not to hang up and only interrupting her tangent when Jason finally came up to you, saying that your car was good to go.
"It's on the house." He gave you a charming grin, leaning an arm against the counter, "Can't have my future wife paying for anything, can I?"
Your cheeks flared red, still holding out your card for him to take, "O-Oh, I couldn't, really."
"If you insist, then you can always repay me with dinner. Today's your day off, right? Think you can pencil me in for 7?"
A shy smile grew on your face, your body so warm you had to resist fanning your burning cheeks, "Sounds like a plan."
out there they're afraid even of the killer's shadow, and here i reside in his heartbeat like a home
or; the big bad red hood has a soft spot only for you [3.4k]
jason todd x fem!reader; tiny bit of angst but mostly fluff; aggressive unwanted advances, implied roofie attempt, violence & blood, slut-shaming; Jason “my girl can wear whatever she wants I can fight” Todd; in da clerb, we all fam
⎯ based on this !
A humid, crowded, upscale club isn’t the most ideal way to spend your Friday night, and Jason knows this. Frankly, it’s not his either, but as the owner of the humid, crowded, upscale club, he had to make some appearances at his own business.
“It’s a night out,” he had said. “Let’s make the most of it.”
If you’re being honest, it’s also not the worst way to spend your Friday night. Not when Jason dressed up so deliciously, in a fitted t-shirt, jeans, and his leather jacket. Not when he took you to a booth in the corner of the club and had them bring over your favorite drinks and snacks with the order to keep them coming. Not when you got to wear that cute little black dress that’s been hanging in your closet for months with your favorite strappy heels, the ones with ribbons that wrapped around your ankle and tied into a bow in the back. Not when Jason sat you on his lap and settled a large hand on your thigh, where it stayed the whole night.
All in all, you would say you’re making the most of it.
You’re sipping on your drink, chatting about something or the other with your boyfriend. He’s half listening, half drawing circles on your thigh and pressing kisses to your shoulder when one of the employees finds you. She’s freaking out because one of the performers hasn’t shown up, and there’s no one else to go in her place.
Jason huffs. He lifts you off his lap and sets you down on the seat. “I’m sorry, baby, I just gotta take care of this. I’ll be right back.”
“It’s okay. I’ll be here.” You smile over the rim of your glass.
He looks around for a moment, then gestures to someone across the room. One of the bouncers make their way to you.
“Just keep an eye out,” he tells him. “I don’t trust these entitled country club fuckers.”
He gives a curt nod. Jason leans in close, smirking, and says, “Especially not when you look like that,” and gives you a quick kiss before disappearing into the crowd with the employee.
A couple minutes later, a crash snaps your attention towards the bar. A young, college-aged-looking man is berating a waitress while a mess of shot glasses litter the floor around them. The waitress looks about to cry.
“Jesus Christ,” the bouncer says to himself. Then to you, “Gimme a second.”
You move to the edge of the booth to watch as he goes over and tries to pacify the man, but that only seems to make him angrier. He shoves the bouncer, yelling about “shitty customer service.”
You don’t get to see what happens next, though, because your field of vision is obscured by an enormous, very shiny, and very douchey silver belt buckle. You look up for its owner, and a greasy-looking, white-haired man looks down at you.
“Hey there, sweetheart.” A fake gold tooth catches the flashing lights and it glints in your eye. Uninvited, he slides into the booth across from you. He places a drink on the table, sliding it towards you. “You look thirsty. Got this for you.”
“No, thanks. I’ve got one.” You hold your own glass up.
He rolls his eyes. “Pretty thing like you should be takin’ advantage of all the free drinks you could be gettin’.” His smile sends a chill down your spine.
“Again, I’m fine,” you say, a little harsher. “My boyfriend has brought me plenty of drinks already.”
He laughs. It’s a high-pitched, scratchy, wheezing sound. Like a kazoo. “I don’t see this boyfriend of yours anywhere. He should know better than to leave you alone. I’d treat you much better than him.” His eyes travel down your neck and stay there. You stand from the booth and take a big step back. It’s not entirely personal; no matter how much of a threat he may be, Jason is a worse one. And if he’s still in this neighborhood, never mind this building, you fear for this man’s safety much more than your own. But the man follows, bringing the cup with him. “Come on, honey, it’s a compliment. Show a little thanks. I don’t bite.”
You don’t have to be the world’s finest detective to know that is most definitely a lie. Or to know to avoid that cup at all costs.
You could just rebuff him, walk away. But you’re willing to bet he’d just move on to the next woman. One who’s probably a little less sober, and a little less aware of her surroundings. You feign a stumble and knock the drink out of his grip. It tips toward him, drenching him with its contents. He chokes out a shocked gasp.
“Oops,” you deadpan, not at all trying to hide your indifference.
“You bitch,” he snarls. He lunges forward, snatching your wrist. You try to pull it back, but his grip is iron and bruising. “I was doing you a favor. Do you see anyone else here looking at you?”
You’re suddenly grateful you didn’t put up much of a fight after Jason came home from patrolling one night insisting he show you some self-defense moves. Far be it from you to cause a scene, but this guy isn’t giving you much choice. You employ the cardinal rule of women’s self-defense: go for the crotch. You shift your weight to your non-dominant side and launch your dominant knee right into his groin. The sharp metal edge of his belt buckle slices the skin just above your knee, but it shocks him enough to release your wrist and double over. The same leg used in your attack plants itself on the ground, and you use the momentum to pistol your opposite fist forward. It collides with his nose in a bone-cracking cross. Your stacks of studded rings didn’t do him any favors, either. He cries out in pain. His hands fly up to cover his nose, and the cup falls from his grasp and shatters on the floor, garnering the attention of some surrounding patrons. Blood seeps between his fingers.
“You’re gonna fucking pay for that.” His tone drips with poison. He reaches into his coat pocket and brandishes a switchblade (because of course. You’re not surprised, though. It is Gotham). You look around in a panic, hoping to find Jason towering somewhere over the crowd. He’s not there. A few guys who work for him, though, have since taken notice of the commotion and are making their way towards you. You know they won’t make it in time. You weren’t scared a moment ago, but you definitely are now. Jason only briefly covered disarming techniques, and you didn’t have his practice to stay calm in situations like these. He steps closer, shoes crunching over the glass shards, and you step back. You’re backed into a corner, literally. Your back is pressed against the table. His eyes are glassy and void of color.
There is a resounding pop when the man’s knife-wielding hand is yanked to the side. Too fast for your brain to register, he thuds against the table next to you and the knife clatters to the ground. You look over and see Jason, one hand pressing his face into the table and the other twisting the man’s arm behind his back.
When his men finally reach you, Jason is seething. They look almost as afraid as the man, whose whimpers are muffled by the pressure with which he’s flattened against the table.
“Who the fuck let this happen,” Jason glowers. Uncomfortable glances are shared between the men, all sharing the same sentiment; we fucked up big time.
Jason’s livid gaze flits back and forth among them. His veins flex against his forearms, rippling with effort. It looks like he’s putting all his strength into incapacitating the man, but you know better. He’s putting all his strength into restraint. The look on his face is cold and steely, with hardened, venom-green eyes and a clenched jaw. This isn’t Jason, the sweet boyfriend, or Jason the easy-going yet respected club proprietor. This is Jason the crime lord. Jason the anti-hero. This is the Red Hood. Who makes his own rules and kills anyone who breaks them. It’s a bit off-putting for you to see him like this; he’s never like this with you. He’s always just…Jason. Your Jason.
One of his men speaks up. “We’re sorry, Boss, we were keepin’ an eye like you asked, but there was trouble up at the bar.”
Jason scowls. “Trouble that required all of you?”
At their silence, he rolls his eyes. “Idiots,” he says under his breath. He jerks the man up to stand, the hand that was pressing him to the table now gripping the back of his shirt collar. “Someone take care of this.” He shoves the man in their direction. Hard. One of them catches him. “And for fuck’s sake, check him for anything else.”
While they’re busy patting him down, Jason turns back to you. You get whiplash from how quick his demeanor changes. Though still tense, the rigidity of his expression is long gone, replaced with tender concern.
“Are you okay?” His wide eyes scan you up and down, searching for any signs of injury. You manage a nod, still a bit stunned by his apparent shape-shifting abilities. “I’m so sorry, honey, this is my fault. It’s my fault for leaving you alone.” He pulls you close for a hug and kisses the top of your head, murmuring further apologies into your hair.
You pull back and cup his face in your hands. “It’s okay, Jay, I’m fine. I promise.” You lean in to kiss him and feel his shoulders relax.
“Jesus, man, sorry! Wouldn’t’a come on so strong if I knew she was your whore. How much did ‘ya pay for her, anyway?” His voice rings from behind. Jason tenses up again. When he pulls back from you, he’s gone. He’s like Jekyll-turned-Hyde when the combatant that lay dormant inside him reassumes his body.
He turns around, but his large frame shields you from seeing the scene unfold. You place a hand on his arm, a silent message of support, and you can feel him vibrating with anger. His hand comes to rest over yours and gives a reassuring squeeze.
“You know what?” You can’t be sure who he’s speaking to, but you can hear the eerie smile in his tone. “I’ll take care of this.” He faces you. “Can you give me a minute? Is that okay?” His voice is calm.
You know he would stay if you asked him to. And you never would, but you know he would go outside and kill that guy if you asked him to. And maybe you’re feeling a tad vindictive after the whole ordeal, so you just say, “Okay.”
He kisses your forehead, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ll come find you,” he says, stepping away, and you nod.
“Ross,” he commands. “Take her to the office. Get her whatever she wants.” Jason then speaks to all of his men. His tone drips with disdain. “Tomorrow we’ll talk about who’s getting fired for this.” You catch some of his men flinch.
He grabs the man by the collar once again and stalks towards the exit, dragging him along.
You’ve met Ross once or twice, though never exchanged more than a few words. He smiles at you. It’s amiable, if not slightly nervous. You know where the office is, but you’re still grateful for the guide. The mesh of moving bodies under dim lights makes all four corners of the room look the same. With the adrenaline wearing off, your hands ache and you become acutely aware of the stinging shock that shoots up your knee when you walk on it but, persevering, you follow him to the back. He holds the door that reads ‘RESTRICTED - DO NOT ENTER’ open for you, and you smile in thanks.
Various employees, servers and performers alike, mill about in the back hallways. You know some of them, having met in passing during other visits to the club, and offer polite greetings as you walk by. When you arrive at Jason’s office, Ross unlocks the door for you and you step inside.
It’s a nice office, noticeably homier than it was when you and Jason met. The first time he brought you back here it was just a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet. You perched yourself on his desk while he sat in his chair and you teased him for not having a place for guests to sit, saying something about ‘men and their awful interior designing skills.’
“It’s not ‘bad skills,’ it’s cost-effective. ‘M runnin’ a business here, baby. If you need a place to sit that badly, you can sit right here.” He joked, patting his lap. And he said it with such conviction you believed him, but the next time you visited there was a brand new, plushy suede couch pushed against the wall.
You find a seat on said couch and try to get comfortable despite your protesting joints. From here you can spot a framed photo on Jason’s desk; the two of you smiling while bathing a shelter dog at the Wayne Animal Sanctuary. But while you smile at the camera, his gaze is trained on you.
Ross stands in the doorway, stoic as a bodyguard should be. “Do you need anything?” He asks you.
“No, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”
“‘Course. I’ll be outside. Just yell if you need anything.” He moves to exit, but pauses. “Look,” he says, “We’re all really sorry about what happened. It was our fault. You have every right to hate us.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “God knows the boss does.”
You purse your lips, unsure how to respond. Technically Jason did instruct them not to leave you alone. But really, the only person at fault is that horrible man, and he was currently getting what he deserved.
“It’s okay, Ross,” you say, and you mean it. “I don’t blame you. And Jason’s not gonna fire any of you, okay? I won’t let him.”
He exhales. “Okay, you—yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He loiters awkwardly in the doorway for a moment. “Listen, Todd’s always been a great boss. But it’s no joke when it comes to you. Don’t know exactly what happened, but after meeting you, he’s just…different. Not sure if I believe it, but after the first time you were here, one of the bartenders swears they heard him whistling. Anyway, just mean to say…we’re glad he has you.”
His sincerity warms your heart. You thank him, and he assumes his post outside, closing the door.
At last in decent lighting, you take the time to examine yourself. Your knee, knuckles, and wrist are splotchy with bruises. A small scrape rests just above your knee from you were scratched. There’s a splattering of blood on your knuckles and on the rings you’re wearing. You grimace, the reality of what just happened settling in. Someone pulled a knife on you. If Jason hadn’t been there…the thought leaves you cold.
There are voices on the other side of the door, then receding footsteps. After a few seconds, a knock.
“Baby? Can I come in?”
“Yes,” you call out. Jason enters, locking the door behind him. There are some smatterings of blood on his hands and face, and he’s holding a first aid kit. Your immediate instinct is that he’s the one who needs first aid.
“Are you okay?” You ask as he kneels on the floor in front of you. “Did he hurt you?”
Jason tilts his head like a confused puppy, eyebrow raised. Just like that, The Red Hood is gone. He’s Jason again. He speaks softly, with a hint of his usual boyish charm. “Should I be insulted by you asking me that?” He picks up your un-injured leg and places the foot on his thigh, beginning to unravel the ribbon wrapped around your ankle. He removes the shoe and places it to the side, then repeats with your other foot. But when he moves it, your knee twitches and you wince. He frowns but doesn’t say anything. He sees the way your eyes travel between all the spots of blood. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, none of it’s mine.”
You sigh in relief. “You didn’t…kill him, did you?”
He chuckles, lightly massaging your foot. “Nah…did you want me to? ‘Cause I can still—”
“No.”
He smirks at you, before leaning down to press a kiss to your bruised knee. It’s so gentle, so loving, it completely contradicts the bloodstains that adorn him. As his hands move up to your calf, your hand moves to his hair, fingers threading through the white streaks and pushing them back so you can get a better view of his eyes. They’re a silky teal, bordering on sea green. They remind you of lake trips in the summer, and ice skating during the holidays.
“How bad is he? Like, on a scale of ‘he can walk it off’ to ‘he needs to go to the hospital.’”
Jason pauses his movements, looking thoughtful for a moment.
“He…he’s walking himself to the hospital.”
There’s not much you can say to that. After all, you gave him to okay to go fuck that guy up.
From the first aid kit, he retrieves a box of Band-Aids. They’re the children’s ones, decorated with cartoons and various characters. A specific one catches your eye, and you pick it out of the carton.
“Robin? Really?”
Jason breathes out a small laugh. “One of my guys’ daughter loves him.” He unwraps the bandage and sticks it over the scratch. You admire the small red plaster. Jason traces a finger over the emblem in the center, a black and yellow ‘R’.
He moves from your leg to your hand, gingerly laying it in his palm. One by one he slides each of your rings off. They’re not particularly special, but you still like them and you try to protest when he tosses them in the trash. He’s quick to assuage you with promises to buy you new ones with, hopefully, less blood.
"Did you see how good I got him?" You suddenly feel shy asking such a question. Like a child seeking validation.
"I did see," Jason says. And there's not a hint of condescension in his tone. "I'm proud of you. You remembered what I taught you."
You beam under his pride.
He uses a sanitizing wipe to remove the droplets of blood from your knuckles, kissing each one along the way. He reaches your wrist last. There’s a purple hand-shaped mark that wraps around it, and he stares at it. You can see his thoughts race at sixty miles an hour, and you know he’s beating himself up about it.
“Hey.” The hand in his hair moves to stroke his cheek. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I promise. I love you.”
He leans forward to press his forehead to your wrist. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry.” He places gentle kisses on the purple skin. “I’m sorry. I love you.” He moves to the scratch above your knee, pressing more kisses, repeating the words like a prayer. Your hand is still enclosed in his hands, and his cool fingers soothe the throbbing swell. You pull his head up, holding his chin in your fingertips. His eyes close as he soaks in your warm touch.
You reach for another wipe and begin wiping the blood from his face. Some of it has dried, so you press the wipe a little harder, and blood rushes to his cheeks to give him an adorable flush. You repeat the process on his hands. Blood erased and wipes discarded, you pull him up to the couch to lie down with you. He stretches out, so large that his feet hang over the armrest. You snuggle up to his side and your head rests on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. It’s surreal, how utterly soft he is, and just for you. How no one else gets to see him like this. He goes out at night as a fighter, a crusader, a deadly threat. And then he comes home to sleep in your arms. In your bed.
You place your hand against his chest, right over his heart to feel it thrum beneath your palm. It beats simple and steady, and just for you.
am i the only one who likes the whole jason owning the iceberg lounge storyline (aside from the whole penguin prisoner thing but i only write according to canon that i like and leave out the things i don't! whoops🤷♀️);
the feminine urge to write more fics that take place within the universe of this one...
i need everyone reading this post to remember that writing is not "content." writing is art. you don't look at a painting of an ocean and say "eh, it's overdone." you look at it and think its beautiful, because it is, and y'all better start treating writing the same fucking way before you lose your favorite authors for good.
Art is not something to be capitalized on. Stop treating it like it is.
Also good to remember that people generally write what they like to read. An author who has written the 1000th coffee shop AU in a fandom has almost certainly read many of the previous 999 coffee shop AUs in that fandom because they simply love the setting and their chosen idiots falling in love in it over and over again in it. And conversely, many of the authors of the previous 999 coffee shop AUs are going to turn up and read the 1000th one. With coffee-flavored delight.
If you must think of us as a market, then it's a market where supply and demand are incredibly closely correlated. The authors self-recruit from the pool of people who can't get enough of this thing they love.
If you're a reader and you think there is too much of X, which you don't care about, but too little Y, which you love, go and write your own story. And also show some appreciation to people who wrote Y before you, because that's the best way to nudge them to write more.
If you're an author and worry about writing X because there's so much of it that people are getting bored of it for sure, no they aren't. There is so much X because people love X and want to see more of it.
Always show appreciation.
Never be afraid to write.
There is no such thing as an oversaturated fandom.
I see so many readers in the Jace tag complaining that there is too much smut or too much Targ! Reader. Some people just don't understand how much work goes into writing a 10k fic. This is a good reminder the next time someone demands less smut or complains that they feel like they're reading the same thing over and over.
Summary: Batman wants you to focus, but you're not sure you can with the absolute unit standing beside him.
A/N: Hey y'all all it's time for my annual post. I had this thought this morning and my friend said I should write it so. I know that there are some unoriginal ideas in here but I dont think I've seen anything exactly like this one but if there is let me know. Enjoy! I fucking hate this, honestly, but it's whatever
Part 2
You were newer. You were a bit reckless from time to time, but you didn't think that was a valid reason for Batman to 'secretly' supervise you. Maybe you punched a guy or two a little too hard, but in the moment, you thought they deserved it. Personally, you believe that maybe some of the higher drug lords should be the ones being supervised, but what do you know?
The streets of Gotham were dangerous. Batman's little stoplight sidekick can only do so much damage. A swift swipe with a knife brought you out of your thoughts. This mugger had clearly come prepared to get his ass beat.
"Why are you still even trying?" You let out a groan before sweeping his legs from under him. "We just went through this last week, you know how this is gonna end!"
"It was worth a shot. Ya gotta give me some credit for trying." He grunted as he got up and limped over to you. You turned him around and tied his hands behind his back before walking over to the young woman, clutching her purse in the corner.
"I am so sorry, ma'am, here's your wallet back. Would you like me to walk you home?" You gently grabbed her elbow to steady her as she pushed off the wall. She let out a breath and shook her head. "My house is just around the corner, I think I'll be fine."
You nodded before going to grab the mugger. "Alright, stay safe!" You smiled before dragging the mugger off to the police station. The rest of your patrol was easy, nothing other than an attempted robbery.
At the end of the night, you climbed onto the roof of your building to take one last look before heading to bed. Before you can leave, a shadow shifts in the corner of your vision. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
"Phantom." He steps forward with another shadow flanking him. "Batman. You got something you wanna say to me?"
"I've been concerned with some of your methods." You hear steps closing in behind you. A hulking shadow is all you see. "C'mon, Bats, I know I'm a little reckless, but it's nothing to arrest me for." You turn back to Batman with a nervous laugh between words.
"I'm not here to arrest you. I have an offer." The shadow from behind you comes around to stand next to the other, and you finally see that it's Red Hood and Nightwing.
"This doesn't seem like an offer type of situation. I mean, you've got two bodyguards and one of them is like an absolute uni,t I mean shit. I always knew Red Hood was big in the pictures, but you're like... big." You couldn't help but look him up and down with wide eyes. Your eyes intentionally involuntarily stopped at his thighs.
Nightwing held his arms out to hopefully calm you. "We mean no harm, Miss Phantom, we're only here as reinforcements." You turn to look at him with a chuckle, "Please, Miss Phantom was my mother."
A slight chuckle came from under Red Hood's helmet. You turn to him with an enchanted look on your face. "You have such a beautiful laugh. It's like a symphony crafted by the gods."
There didn't seem to be much of a reaction from Red Hood, but Nightwing was having a great time. He was nearly wiping tears from laughing. Batman... not so much.
"Phantom focus, this is serious." You continued to stare at the delicious-looking man less than 5 feet from you. You knew who he was. You weren't an idiot. Also, you've been like totally obsessed with the bat and his little minions since you were born. Kind of.
Your parents used to joke that Batman was your first word. Growing up, you did all the research possible on Batman and the Robins. Until you started to realize just how similar the scary bat was to a familiar multibillionaire.
That's when you started researching Bruce Wayne and all the little orphans that came with him. You also may or may not have had like a huge crush on Jason Todd, aka Robin, aka Red Hood.
Which is why you seem to be particularly entranced with the man. "Focus, Phantom, it is important that you listen." You glanced between Batman and Red Hood, trying to find something to focus on. "Right! Yes! I'm focused! I'm completely focused on youuuur son. Your son. He is the hottest mother fucker I've ever seen. Wow."
You take a moment to just admire Red Hood. He tilted his head to the side slightly, intrigued by you. "He is not my father." You snort and wave him off. "Don't lie to me, hot stuff, yes, he is! Well, adopted father technically, but the point still stands."
"What do you mean by that Phantom?" Nightwing squints his eye at your statement. "I mean that Batman is Bruce Wayne and you're all his adopted children. Simple as that."
"Well, that was fast." Red Hood chuckles as he puts his hands on his hips. You're pretty sure you're drooling as you look at him. "I'm not surprised." Batman then clears his throat after he answers to gain everyone's attention back.
"I want you to work with us. You are reckless and violent, but I will not deny that crime rates have gone down significantly since you've been on the streets. If you join us, you must follow my rules. No killing. Ever. You will keep one of our comms with you at all times to make sure you are always reachable. Do you accept this offer?"
"Yes. I accept." You shook Batman's hand before stepping back, looking at Red Hood. "Do I get to see this fine piece of ass all the time?"
Nightwing practically keeled over laughing while Batman turned to leave. "We'll contact you when we need you." With a swift jump off the roof, he was gone. Nightwing and Red Hood soon followed.
The next few days went by as normal. Wake up, get ready, go to work, come home, patrol. One thing was different. This time, when you went out onto your fire escape to leave, Red Hood was waiting for you.
"Shit! Why would you do that?" You clutched your chest, calming your breath before turning back to him, your eyes yet again trailing his body. "B wants me to give this to you. He wants me to patrol with you tonight, get you used to working with a team."
You grab the earpiece he held out with a scoff. "I know how to work on a team. But thanks anyway, gorgeous." He chuckled as he pushed off the railing to leave with you.
"That's a new one." You laughed as you both jumped off the fire escape to patrol the city. This arrangement became a regular thing. He would meet you at your window then you'd patrol the city together.
You're not really complaining though. Not when you get to ogle his perfect tits while you work. What you wouldn't do just for one date with him. Hell, maybe even five minutes. One night, you finally had enough.
"Hey I have a question for you."
"Shoot"
"You wanna go out with me? I'll take you to dinner treat you real nice." You lightly balanced on the side of a building as he walked next to you looking up at you. "And why would you wanna go out with me exactly? As far as you know I don't know anything about you."
You rolled your eyes with a laugh. "Yeah right you're Red Hood and you're Jason todd you probably know everything about me at this point. Besides we've been working together for a while. You learn things along the way." You shrugged before hopping off the edge and swinging off a pipe to the next building.
He joined you before standing in front of you and stopping. "I may know who you are and what you're like as phantom, but I don't know what you're like as you." He gently tapped your chest with his pointer finger.
You shrugged with a small smile. "I suppose not, but even more reason to go out. I can learn about the real you, and you can learn about the real me." You grabbed the chin of his helmet and gently shook it side to side, then patted his chest, and continued on with your patrol.
As you walked away you yelled over your shoulder, "Besides, now I can see just how pretty you are under that helmet in person." You jumped off the roof leaving nothing but what looked to be, a calm, Jason Todd behind.
Little did you know that under that helmet, Jason is the most flustered he's ever been. And he's been that way since the moment you met. Right then and there, he promised himself that he would repay your compliments and admiration tenfold.
A/N: Let me know if you guys want a part 2 because I really enjoyed writing this! Also, let me know if you would like to be added to a taglist for any of the characters I write for! Both of the banners I found on Pinterest!
