(just putting this at the beginning bc itâs a bit more than my usual)
my october fanart for fanfic is from:
Hand of Salvation by @strawhattery
this is such a cool answer to the Who Will Pick Up Law? question!! this fic has got everything: law in a situation, law suffering, law mentally torturing himself, law yearning for knowledge, law considering a deal w/ the devil â the works!
it strikes an uncanny balance between the usual one piece fare and something⊠more forebodingâŠ
(aaaaand please remember to leave comments and kudos for the author!)
A/n - I just started up Gachiakuta and couldn't put it down so thats how we got here. Honestly I'm not complaining its so good.
Not proof read
MDNI
Prob OOC
1,200+ words
Enjin x Plus size Reader
starting out?
shithead didn't even explicitly say you were dating
you caught his eye one day in the cleaners HQ and he just started acting like y'all were together
little off handed remarks calling you "pretty" and shit
complementing your outfit
never called you by your name, some sort of ridiculous nickname to get a reaction from you
saying he "liked what you did there⊠looks good" while raising a single painted digit at his own hair when you changed up a style
and yeah you did something new but the fact this dude pointed it out just annoys you
just the nonchalant way he did it makes your jaw clench
you haven't even had a real conversation and its getting on your nerves
moments at odd hours where the both of you were the only ones in the same room
it was oddly comforting, not being alone and having another warm body near you
smirks you caught out of the corner of your eye
you just assumed he was some weirdo before being formally introduced by Arkha
it all seemed to click in that moment
oh⊠he's the big shot here
that makes sense
yeah you were going to stay as far as you could from him
but that didn't last long
you were sent out with his crew and that's when you noticed
he was oddly⊠nice to them
not that cocky ass you assumed
it was oddly charming, like he was actually a caring person
they were seemingly in on it after a while when they realized how his demeanor seemed to change when he was around you
like he wasn't exactly keeping on that leader mask
Riyo, Rudo, and Zanaka became wingmen of sorts
leaving an empty seat next to Enjin at chow time
the three of them suddenly needing to go somewhere, leaving the two of you alone
a mission that went wrong was the only reason you started dating officially
it went sideways, almost leaving you a greasy spot on the ground
and it set him off, running his mouth about how you needed to be more careful
you snapped
"what the hell is your deal? you act like you care?"
he would hesitate for once, his calm look cracking, sucking in a cheek
you would notice, how he seemed to pause
"don't do that again, my heart cant take that shit," is all he would say, his hands still at his sides, tilting his head, "you get it now?"
"oh."
dating him?
he has the spirit
one of those like fiercely protective
not out loud though
someone bothering you?
he casually walks over, draping an arm over your shoulder or a thick arm around your waist
doesn't even have to say anything, just a flat gaze
"you done here?"
they leave pretty quick
always putting you first
we know damn well with his leader tendencies
that doesn't inherently mean he doesn't trust you
no he pushes you to be your best
even if it doesn't come out with soft words, he needs to make you know your capable without you needing constant encouragement
not in a mean way but in a self identifying way
one of those guys who insists on driving
no matter how much you complain about how he's a shit driver
the most you can do is force gas money into his hand with him begrudgingly taking it
it usually takes three times of back and fourth until he finally gives in
lives for you telling him off
someone has to be the one humbling him
gets one of those little shithead grins as soon as you catch him doing something stupid or just when you raise your voice
don't worry he's right where he wants to be
blows his cigarette smoke into your face just to get you angry
it takes everything in him to not fold over with laughter when you snap at him
quality time isn't dinner dates
its just being in each others company
your jobs aren't something to take lightly
one bad expedition and you're gone
quality time is maintaining your vital instruments while having small talk
including each other in the quiet comfortable moments, just existing
a romantic gesture is remembering the off handed comments you say
You mentioned liking a specific food?
its left in a thick brown paper bag on your desk a few days later with a claim of "i bought too many don't want to let them go to waste."
sitting next to each other?
he's moving your legs to rest over his lap, not saying anything, and just mindlessly tracing on your shin with his fingers
letting you continue anything you're preoccupied with
crashes in your room at HQ more often than not
he claims the walk back to his own bed is too far
it's a fib and you know it, he uses it too often
its a good excuse to stay longer, to spend the night
he's all muscle and sharp angles, claiming the mattress is uncomfortable in his room
your extra chub is comfortable
something warm and soft
waking up tangled in your blankets, one tattooed arm slipped under your sleepshirt pressed into your stomach pulling you close, and his head tucked into your neck is something he is hooked on
and he isn't too keen on letting it go
genuinely, he won't let go
you try to get up to use the bathroom and he's mumbling some morning voice bullshit about "no. stay. warm." in your ear while you're fighting for you're life trying to slip away.
NSFW
we already know he's into curves
a whore for hips and an ass
it don't matter if its a little booty or a big one, booty is booty
bro is starving and dinner is sitting right there
a whistle
"look at you, trying to get me in trouble? gonna be the death of me babe."
body worship king
hands all over you
a large hand on your hip, slightly digging into your flesh as he leans over you, pulling you into him
"got me over here all worked up yeah?"
he's a strong guy, what's the point of being all toned and ripped if not to throw around some weight
certified munch
won't leave until your practically pushing his head off of your pussy, overly sensitive
his chin glistening, hair sweaty and fallen from its gel, face red and hot and blushing, a finger still curled inside your folds
yeah its a pretty sight
get used to it babes, you lucky bitch
often he'll just eat you out for his own pleasure
in it for the love of the game
loves face sitting
gets mad when you just hover
he's below you pulling you down onto him, fingers hooked around your plush thighs
"i'm not gonna break, and hell if that's how i go i'll be a happy man."
loves it when you're on top, his back propped up against the bedframe, watching with half lidded eyes
his hands are on you, kneading your figure, not intentionally leaving bruises but he can't help it
you're just so plush, and warm, and sopping wet
"just⊠fuck, use what you need outta me"
not exactly a submissive man, but he loves not needing to think for once, letting you do whatever you need to do to get yourself off
thats enough for him to go over the edge
he's there to help, loves being of service to you
doesn't mean that he wont flip you over and finish it off, pounding into you while your legs press around his waist, nails scratching into his shoulders
not the biggest in dirty talk
very big in other areas ;)
including those shuddered breaths against your ear, his jaw clenched attempting to hide his grunts
aftercare? kisses pressed to your jawline and face, an arm pulling you close, mumbling about just how "sweet" you are
part two to this. jason todd x afab!reader (no pronouns). smut 18+ only! sex pollen, desperate repressed guilty jason (shock! surprise!), size kink, dacryphilia, handcuffs, hyperspermia, unprotected sex. jason's sick! of course you have to help him.... :)
****
"Jason?"
You take a careful step forward. Jason's hunched over in front of his couch. Slowly, you close the door behind you and set the container of soup on the doorside table. You wrack your brain for next steps: if Jason's injured, you have to figure out where and how severely. Your heart leaps to your throat. Is it a bullet? Does Jason need immediate medical attention?
You take another step forward.
"Don't." Jason's voice is ragged. He stands straight, spine rolling up one vertebrae at a time. "Don't come closer, please."
You try to find his gaze, but Jason covers his face. That's when you see the wet spot at the crotch of his tac pants. He's also hard if the bulge behind the stain suggests anything.
"Couldn't stop it," he says miserably. "Tried everything. Ignored it all day. Please go. Fuck, 'm so sorry, sucha fuckin' creepâ"
"Jason," you say, hushed and kind. "It's okay. Hey, it's fine. Pollen?"
He nods, and he looks quite pathetic, standing there with his arms uselessly at his sides, huge cock heavy in his jeans, the zipper stretching from the weight of it. It's always been a passing thought, how much bigger Jason is than you. You have to look up to meet his gaze, and he can move you around easily. Not that he ever touches you; if he does, it's only in an emergency.
It's a little frustrating actually, the way Jason has to complicate everything. This could be so simple if he let it. Let you.
Jason would run for the hills if you pulled down your underwear and rubbed your wet folds against his crotch, like a cat in heat. But his skittish behavior hasn't stopped you from thinking about getting bent over the arm of his couch, one thick forearm wrapped around your belly as Jason pushes into you, hot mouth on your neck. You'd love nothing more.
But this isn't about you or what you want. This is about Jason and how he's, yes, technically sick. His eyes are bright with fever, a flush traveling down his neck and probably spreading across his chest. You know he was working last nightâhas he been pollened for a day? Pushing through it, ignoring every sign that something was wrong?
"Can I touch you?" you ask, keeping your voice quiet and light, like you're approaching a wild animal.
Jason shakes his head. "No. 'F you do, I'llâI'm gonnaâ"
Cum. The realization is like a bolt of lightning to your brain. That's what happened not five minutes ago: you felt Jason's forehead for fever, and he's so desperate, body taut like a too-tight violin string, that the slightest touch tipped his body over the edge. And it wasn't enough. Jason came and stayed hard. He's probably been leaking all day, his cock and balls painfully swollen, demanding he tend to his base urges.
You've never seen Jason physically intimate with anyone; you canât even imagine him jacking off, though you know he must do it. Under the covers, maybe. Noâin the shower. Where he could wash it all away as quickly as possible. Your brain goes fuzzy thinking about Jason's huge palm wrapped around his dick, desperately stroking himself until he comes, catching himself with a hand against the shower tiles. Does he have to do it twice for relief? Three times? Does the pleasure overtake him, make him stupid and noisy?
You could do that. Jason's a hair-trigger away from creaming his jeans again. You imagine doing it over and over until his hair is a mess, cheeks blotchy and red, and he's whining, unable to form words.
"I can help," you say gently, like you're being a charitable friend.
Not the truth, which is that this is making you easy and wet, and if Jason wanted to push into you, it'd be like pressing a thumb to the skin of an overripe peach. He'd find little resistance, and you'd gush around him, tight and pulsing. Jason would feel your heartbeat in your cunt as you grew wetter and softer around him, messily sucking him in. And when he came, it'd spill out of you, preparing you for when he'd inevitably have to go again.
"No," Jason says againâthe only word he knows. "I can'tâ's wrong, don't wanna make you uncomfortable." He sounds wrecked, pleasure and guilt overwhelming him. He wants you, you know that, and he's angry at himself for wanting you like this. No shield to his desires, no self-control. But Jason has only ever been self-controlled. And you've been wishing for months for a crack in that control.
"Jason," you say, lilting and melodious, like a siren song. "Oh, honey, it's okay. Really. I want to. You're sick. You can't fix it alone. Let me help."
"I dunno if I can control myself." He looks at you finally, fear-stricken. "I don't wanna be out of control. You gotta have the upper hand."
You frown. "Jay, sweetie, I trust you. Honestly, I think it'll be okayâ"
He shakes his head violently. "No. No, donât. 'S wrong, all of this is wrong. Just go. I'll wait it out." He grits his teeth, like he can defeat his body out of sheer willpower.
But even more than your desire is your inability to see Jason hurt. Especially if you can fix it. Most of the time, you can't do anything. You aren't strong or skilled enough to go out at night with him, and you arenât much of a nurse. All you do is bring him food, call him and tell him you were thinking about him, rub your clit and dream about his weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock emptying into you.
This time, you can do something.
You lick your lips, choosing your next sentence carefully. "Maybe there's something that'll make you feel safer. What if I stay on top? Or you keep your hands behind you? Orâ"
"Cuff me." The direction is a rasp. "There's some in my bag."
You hesitate. "Jason, you can touch me. I really don't mâ"
"Please." His chest heaves. "'S the only way I'll feel okay 'bout this. 'F I know I can't touch you, that this won't happen the way I planned, and you won't get hurt, I can do it."
You press your lips together, debating. You can't work through Jason's guilt and repression in an evening. And the pollen is burning through him; you suspect that it won't release until he cums inside of you.
"Okay," you say. "Do you want to go to your room?"
"No." He sits on the floor against the couch. "Here's fine. 'S what I..."
What I deserve, he doesn't say. You don't comment, instead going to his duffel bag to fetch the cuffs. They're at the bottom and you take them out.
"Key's on the side."
You take the little key out and set it on the coffee table. Then you pause, the open cuffs in your hand. Jason licks his lips and slides down, so he's lying on the floor. His hands go up to the leg of the couch. You understand immediately and fit the cuffs around his wrists, locking them so he's secured around the couch leg.
Your fingers graze the inside of his wrist and he whimpers.
"Too tight?" you ask.
"No, fine," he says breathlessly. He shifts, biceps on full display at this angle. "Don't unlock me till the pollen's gone. Even if I beg, d-don't."
Whatever thread of control Jason still has will disappear once you seriously make the effort to cycle the pollen out of his system. You know how it works; Jason's warned you against it a million times. Yet it's him that's here now, powerless and needy.
You pet his cheek. He grunts.
"Please," he whispers, and you nod.
"I know, Jay. I know, honey."
You pull off your shirt. He squirms, hips bucking.
"Sorry," he says, ashamed.
He looks away as you fully undress, tossing your clothes aside. You're naked and unselfconscious as you crawl onto him. You work on his jeans zipper and pop the button. Jason lifts his hips so you can pull his jeans down. His gray briefs are even darker than his jeansâJason's presumably either came or leaked pre-cum for hours.
You thumb the bulge, which is a little cruel, but the sound Jason makes is worth it. He keens like a dog, trying to arch and move away from your hand simultaneously, like it's too much and not enough. The cuffs rattle against the couch leg.
"Oh God, fuck," he says, and cums again. You feel the warmth bloom under your fingers, the sticky patch getting stickier. His erection doesn't flag a bit; it's like nothing happened.
If you were meaner, you might work him to insanity this way. The curiosity of how many times Jason can cum without getting soft burns in you, but you know that he's being extremely vulnerable, and you don't want to take advantage.
Still, the urge lingers...
"Sorry, baby," you say, and kiss the corner of his mouth. A little more cum gushes from his cock from that. You feel yourself getting wetter. "I'll get to it now. One second."
Your tits rest against his chest as you wiggle his briefs off. And there's his cock, the product of nearly twelve straight hours of arousal. It's dark red, almost purple, the veins plump. His hair is matted with cum, balls drooping heavily at the base.
He'd be so good for breeding, comes the unbidden thought. It's like everything else Jason does is a distraction; why does he run around Gotham, using his body to fight, to take a beating, to protect, when it should be against yours, pumping you with his cum?
"You're so full, huh?" you say, letting his cock drag against the front of your pussy. The head catches on your clit and you both whine. "Fat, leaky dick with a full load. Do you get like this thinking about me?"
Maybe you're meaner than you thought. You're gluttonous, eyes lasered in on Jason's reaction. His face screws up, embarrassed but helpless to how his cock tightens in warning at the question. Why are you asking? Don't you understand that he's tried so hard not to let you see him like this? Jason's a soldier first, a weapon, a tank. His body is good for bruises, not bites.
"Jason," you say in the voice that can make him do anything. "Tell me, honey."
"Y-yeah, yes," he says, the corners of his eyes wet. "But I control it. 'S not a lot, I swear. I can control it."
"Oh, yeah, I know you can," you say, soothing like a balm. "You're so good. I like you so much, Jay. I've been waiting for ages for you to do something about it. You treat me so well. Why didn't you tell me sooner? Poor baby, so hard you're crying."
He shakes his head weakly. "N-not, not crâ"
You swipe a thumb under his eye, collecting a stray tear. You suck it clean, salt hitting your tongue. "No? I can taste it. That's okay, pretty. Pretty boy, just wanna grab at you every time you stop by. You're so strong, so capable. It's okay now, Jay. I'll help."
You look behind you so you can take his cock in hand, positioning it so he slides home. Jason wails as he lands inside of you, and he thrusts as soon as he's deep enough. He doesn't stop, and you watch his thighs flex, sinewy muscle and fat cushioning you as he fucks you.
"That's it, baby, there you go," you say, cunt tightening around him.
You can't resist it either. Jason's cock fills you so well, almost too much, but in a good way. You feel him in your belly, and you crook your knee up so you get him even deeper. Now his thrusts alight the muscles in your hips, your legs, your stomach with pleasure.
You ruck his shirt up so you can grope his stomach, digging your nails into the fat and pressing until you feel muscle.
"Oh, fuck, fuck," Jason says, back arching from the floor. "Fuck, oh my God, I can't stop, I can'tâ"
"Don't stop," you order, holding him by his shoulders. You lean in, so your nipple is in front of his mouth. "Will sucking my tits help? Make you cum faster?"
Jason has his mouth on you as a reply, latching onto your breast and sucking. He bites down gently and you moan, grabbing your tit and squeezing so he can get more of it in his mouth. His tongue laves the flesh, hips never stuttering in their rhythm.
Hot cum fills your pussy, almost immediately dripping down your thighs, it's so much. But Jason doesn't stop. He doesn't soften either.
"Oh my God," you say in awe, looking at where your bodies are joined, where Jason's cock slides in and out of you rapidly. "Fuck, baby, you're gonna knock me up. You can't help it. I saw your dick months ago. Just for a moment, saw it swinging, with your huge balls. Couldn't stop thinking about it after that. Touched myself thinking about you mounting me like a dog, big and stupid, fucking me till it stuck. And now it's gonna stick, whether you want it to or not."
Jason cries out, pulling against the cuffs so hard the couch moves and squeaks against the floor. A mix of apprehension and excitement strikes youâcan Jason break the cuffs? Probably not... but what if he did? What if he proved just how much at his mercy you really are? What if no amount of reassurances or restraints could stop him in this state? If Jason wants to grab you, pick you up and fuck you with your face to the floor, hand on the back of your neck, maybe there's nothing you can do to stop it.
Your eyes flutter at the thought. You hardly need to put in effort to ride himâJason's fucking you just fine even without his hands. You kiss his neck, biting down hard, and Jason moans, loud and long.
"Oh fuck, 'm sorry," he says, slurring his words. "I'll finish soon, I swear. Sorry, sorryâ"
You rub your clit while he babbles apologies. You're close, and you want to cum before Jason finally gets soft. You ignore his sloppy thrusts and the way the cuffs clink.
"I'm gonna cum," you say, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest. "Stop apologizing so I can fucking cum, Jay."
"'Kay," he says, nodding fervently. "Yeah, please cum, want you t'feel goodâ"
Your pleasure peaks, clawing up your back. Your nipples are so hard they ache, and your whole body pulses as you orgasm, your pussy gripping Jason like a lifeline.
He instantly follows you, and this time, he cums for much longer, filling you almost uncomfortably so. It leaks out of you, spilling onto Jason's thighs and the floor beneath. He's frozen while he cums, eyes clenched tight as his body finds the relief it's needed for hours.
"Oh," he says, blinking through more tears. The sudden change between animalistic hunger and cool, controlled relief must be whiplash.
Jason swallows hard and looks at you. You curl up against him, letting his softened cock fall out of you. Absently, you rub his still-clothed chest with your knuckles.
"See?" you say, not looking at him. "Was that so hard?"
Summary: One year after you crashed your Christmas work party with the Red Hood, you seem to be caught up with yet another evil CEO: Tim Drake. You and Hood are on the case. But why does it feel like you're missing something?
Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!readerÂ
Word count: 11.6k
Warnings/tags: christmas/holiday special! anxious reader (but she's in therapy! huzzah!), sweet jason who acts like a crow with a crush, more silly vigilante antics, a healthy suspicion of tim drake, romance, fluff, galas.
happy new year!! first fic of 2026 :)
the divider
âDo you know how to make salt dough?â
You look up from your computer. Jessie is in front of your desk, somehow in a chair even though you have no spares. She has Pinterest pulled up on her phone.
âHuh?â is all you can say.
Sheâs scrolling through what looks like Christmas crafts. âMy nephew Ben is three and I want to do crafts with him but I have to make sure theyâre toddler-safe. He puts everything in his mouth.â
âWhy donât you make cookies?â You type some code and test it. Fail. You curse and delete the section, then retype.Â
âThatâs what I said! But apparently her MIL is a total bitch.â She says MIL like âmill.â âSheâs making gingerbread with him, so if I also make cookies with Ben, she will somehow know and give my sister shit for it. How crazy is that?âÂ
You nod, eyes glued to the screen. âPretty crazy.âÂ
Jessie sighs. âI told her to marry an orphan. In-laws are almost never worth it. Now look where we are.â
Jessie Bromlin is a marketing analyst who works on your floor. Sheâs the second friend you made at Wayne Enterprises since you started working here almost a year ago. Sheâs pleasant, chatty, and has been here long enough to show you the ropes.
She also is almost never at her desk. You have no idea how she gets her own work done.Â
Fail! says your computer. You frown. âThat shouldâve worked.â
âWhat shouldâve?â Jessie asks.Â
âJust some code. I donât know why itâs not working.â
âYou should take a break. Letâs go to Pennyâs. Theyâre doing special roast sandwiches for Christmas. Ooh! Are you going to the gala in two weeks?â
âThereâs a gala?â
âOf course! Itâs Bruce Wayne. All the WE employees get in free. Itâs a lot of fun. Good food and music. And alcohol.â
You grimace. âI donât really do Christmas work parties.â
âNo, trust me, this one rocks. Youâll have fun. Oh my God! We need a Santa. I have to go find one. You wouldnât happen to know a Santa, would you?â
You smile, glancing up from your screen for a second to look at Jessie. âNo, sorry.â
âWhatâs so funny?â she asks.
âNothing. Iâll catch up with you at Pennyâs.â
ââKay. Peace.â
You try the code again. This time, thereâs an error message youâve never seen before and the monitor flickers. Weird. You google the error message, but thereâs no results. You send it to the IT group chat.
You: hey, anyone know what this means?
[img_5.png]
Sasha: doesnât look familiar
Toby: did you google?
Mikey: idk. run it again with a different input and see if you get the same msg
You ignore Toby, because Toby never has anything helpful to contribute, only the glaring obvious. Youâre new to back-end work; at Emerson Corp, you mostly did front-end design stuff concerning the user interface. But this position at WE has given you a chance to practice more back-end work, and you work extra long and hard on projects as a result, trying to prove yourself. You do Mikeyâs suggestion and run the test again with a different input. This time, the program automatically quits, the window closing. You smack your desk in frustration.
Maybe Jessieâs right. You need a break. So you turn off your screen and grab your wallet and coat, heading to the elevator. You pull out your phone.
Unknown Number
You: hi. can you meet tonight? after work
?: Whatâs up?
You hesitate. This is probably just your paranoia from last yearâs situation with Emerson. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You scroll; the last message you sent is from five months ago, when there was a news report about a fire by the docks, caused by Black Mask.Â
[August 24th, 2025]
You: oh my god I just saw the news are you okay??
[August 25th, 2025]
?: Hey. Iâm okay.
You start to type I think thereâs something weird happening with the work computers when you see shoes in your peripheral vision. You freeze and barely avoid colliding with a security guard. He turns around and smiles. You smile back.
âHi, Peter,â you say, pocketing your phone.
âHey,â he says. âYâokay? Did I swipe ya?â
You shake your head. âAll good. I havenât seen you in so long!â
Peter adjusts his shades, grimacing. Youâve never seen him without his nondescript, red baseball cap or his shades. Theyâre black. You canât even see if his eyes are light or dark.Â
âYeah, been on the late night shift more often than not,â he says. âHowâs it goinâ?â
Peter is tall, and big. Youâve only seen him a few times with his sleeves rolled up, but you can tell heâs muscular. Which makes sense, considering heâs a security guard, but youâve never seen one who looks like they bench press cars on their lunch break. Peter was your first friendâfirst anything, reallyâat Wayne Enterprises, when you started in January. Heâd carried your box of stuff to your new desk and had shown you where the restrooms and vending machines were, all without you asking. Itâs like heâd sensed your anxiety. When he first approached you, you feared the worst, wondering if maybe youâd brought in a gun without knowing. But heâd merely introduced himself, and asked if he could help you get to the floor you needed to go.Â
Peterâs not always around, because the security assignment changes, according to him. But somehow you bump into each other when heâs on your floor.Â
âItâs okay.â You sound mopey to your ears. You know Peter will pick up on it.
âRough day?âÂ
You shrug. âJust some code I was fiddling with. Itâs been giving me a hard time. Almost like itâsââ
You stop, catching yourself. You like Peter, but this isnât a conversation for him. You donât trust him like that.Â
âLikeâŠ?â he prompts.
âNothing. Anyway, do you know about some Christmas gala? Jessie was telling me about it, but I havenât heard anything about it.â
Peter leans against the wall, sending a waft of his cologne in your direction. You canât place where youâve smelled it before, but itâs nice. Spicy and woody. He smells like a man, and if you werenât such a nailbiter, youâd probably shoot your shot. As it is, you donât want the reason you leave this job to be because you had a falling out with a security guard.Â
âSure. Pretty spectacular, if youâre into that. The big boss and his kids attend. Thereâs food, drink, dancing. He doesnât spare any expense.â Peter snorts. âNot when it comes to work, anyway.â
Your eyes widen. Peter has, for the most part, never had a bad thing to say about the company, or Bruce Wayne, who youâve only seen once at work.Â
âIs that derision I hear?â you ask.Â
Peter smiles a little. âMaybe. I just hate parties. Bruce makes such a to-do out of âem.â
You nod. âI hear you. Jessie said it would be fun, but Iâm not so sure. I think Iâd rather stay home. Too much excitement for me.â
âWell, no one would fault yâfor it, if you did. This isnât that kinda company.â
You blink, surprised. âOh. Good to know.â
He looks at his watch. âYou should eat something. âS way past lunchtime.â
You roll your eyes. âYouâre worse than Jessie. Iâm going, alright? She said thereâs Christmas special roast sandwiches at Pennyâs. Want me to bring you one?â
He smiles. âNah, thatâs okay. I ate. Thanks, though.â
âWe should eat lunch together sometime,â you say, pulling out your phone and opening your messages. You start to type again. I think someone is hacking the⊠but you delete it. You have no idea if any hacking is going on. You can hear his voice in your head. Gotta ease those nerves.
You look up, realizing how rude youâre being. âSorry. Did you say something?â
âI said sure,â Peter says. âYâseem glued to your phone today. Got a hot date?â
You make a face. âNot at all. Sorry. Work is distracting me. Iâll catch up with you later?â
He nods. âCount on it.â
You continue your trek to Pennyâs, stepping onto the elevator. Employees get a monthly lunch allowance, which can be used at the company cafeteria or at neighboring restaurants. Youâve never worked for a company that cares so much for its workers. Wayne Enterprises provides full healthcare coverage, including mental health services that you donât have to pay a dime for. Emerson barely provided healthcare and dental. He couldnât have cared less about his employees.
Why heâs in jail, you think, putting your coat on and bracing yourself against the cold air as you sweep through the revolving doors and onto the pavement. Gray slushy snow is clustered around the curb, and you sidestep it neatly as you cross the street to Pennyâs, a local cafe. You open the door, the bell overhead ringing. Pennyâs has been around for decades, according to the locals. It mostly attracts nearby workers at lunchtime, and plenty of WE employees can be found here throughout the day. You wait on line, scanning the cafe for Jessie. Sheâs sitting with some people from her department. You still arenât keen on sitting with people you donât know at work. Itâs part of every job, but at Emerson Corp, you would alternate between eating at your desk or on a bench across the street when it was warm.Â
The little sign that says Christmas Sandwich Special has an empty row behind it. The woman in front of you asks about the sandwiches.Â
âSorry, no more today,â the chef says. âWeâll have more tomorrow. We didnât know thereâd be such a high demand.â
So you order a tuna fish sandwich instead and a cinnamon roll. Sweet treats are an important part of your work day. You wonder if Peter likes cinnamon rolls. You purchase another, on impulse, to bring him.Â
âHey!â Jessie waves at you, calling your name. âCome sit with us!â
Well. Here you go.Â
You sit next to Jessie, who scoots over to make room for you. She goes around the table and introduces you to the five other people. Three work in Marketing, one works in Finance, and one works in PR for the company, Marisol. You say hi and keep your coat on due to how often the door opens and heat rushes out.Â
âMarisol was just telling us about the conference she covered with Tim Drake last week,â Jessie says.Â
You raise your eyebrows. âWow. Tim Drake. Howâs he?â
âNot bad, actually,â Marisol says. âAnd Iâve worked with a lot of CEOs. Youâd think heâd be unbearable because he grew up with Jack Drake and then immediately was invited to the Wayne fortune, but heâs actually decent. He never misses a Xanax dose, which helps.â
Dennis, one of the Marketing people, nods soberly. âSometimes my anti-depressants are the only thing that gets me through the day.â
âMarisol soft-launched Tim and his boyfriend last year,â Jessie says proudly. âBest press Iâve ever seen.â
âWe were worried about that one,â Marisol admits. âNot everyoneâs as forward thinking, even in Gotham. But, umâŠâ She leans in, and gestures for you all to do the same. âOkay, you obviously canât tell anyone. Itâll probably come out soon, but I donât want it to come from here. I⊠I think Tim might be cheating.â
Jessie, a great lover of theatrics, gasps. âNo!â
âIâm not surprised,â says Bianca, the finance worker. âHeâs lived with Bruce Wayne since he was fifteen. What do you suppose a boy learns being around him all the time? No morals, thatâs for sure. Iâm sure all of his kids are screwed up in some way or another.â
Marisol rolls her eyes. âBruce Wayne would have to be in a relationship longer than a day to get a chance to cheat.â
âI still think all his flings are a cover for his long-term relationship with Batman,â says Dennis.
âNo one wants to hear your crackpot theories, Denny,â Bianca says. âAnyone with eyes can see that Batmanâs with Catwoman.â
âMy throuple theory! Batman, the cold, stern lover. Bruce, theââ
Bianca holds up a hand. âPlease, spare me.â
âAnyway,â Marisol says, and delicately sips her ginger ale. âBack to my gossip. Tim Drake disappeared from his hotel like five times. He wouldnât tell anyone where he went. In my experience, thatâs classic affair behavior. And heâs been doing this for about three months, you know, dipping from meetings, working later, having long lunches and not putting them on the company credit card so no one can see what restaurant he was at. Itâs definitely suspicious.â
âI hope heâs not cheating,â Jessie says. âTheyâre such a cute couple. And when they settle down and have kids? Adorable! Although, I donât agree with nepotism. I support class consciousness.â
âIf you caught him, are you sworn to secrecy?â you ask.
Marisol shrugs. âProbably. I mean, he wouldnât want an Instagram post about it, thatâs for sure. My own morals aside, this is the job, you know? It sucks but it is what it is.â
You shiver, biting your sandwich. You wouldnât want to be on either side of that. Secrets stress you out. Doubly so if youâre keeping them for someone else.Â
A glob of tuna suddenly plops onto your coat collar. Another lands on a button. A third on a pocket.Â
âShit,â you say, putting the sandwich down with too much force. Jessie instantly passes you a wad of napkins, and you try to dab the mess up as best as you can. But you can already tell your coat will smell like tuna, onions, and pickles for the rest of the day.
âPoorly constructed sandwich if you ask me,â Marisol says.
âWell, at least tomorrowâs laundry day.â You shrug off your coat. You abandon your sandwich for the cinnamon roll. Jessie pats your shoulder consolingly.Â
âDonât worry,â she says. âIâm sure no one on the train will notice the smell. It already smells so bad!â
You snort. âThanks, Jessie.â
****
Thereâs no way the train will mask the smell.Â
You stare at your coat, debating. It was a mistake to keep it under your desk; youâre pretty sure the heat from the computer has made the smell a hundred times worse. A janitor was kind enough to give you a recycling bag for it so no one rioted over the smell. But still. Youâre hesitant to take it out of the bag now. You donât know if you can handle dirty looks for a forty-minute train ride. And you donât want your other clothes to smell.Â
Whatâs worse? Peter left early, so you canât give him his cinnamon roll.Â
You go outside. Itâs cold, especially now that it gets dark at practically noon. But if you walk fast, itâll be fine, right? You pull your scarf tighter around your neck.Â
âWhat are you wearing?â
You spin around, clutching your chest. Red Hood is leaning against a streetlamp, arms crossed. Half of him is shrouded in shadows, which would freak you the fuck out if you werenât more irritated than anything.Â
âDonât do that!â you say. âJesus Christ.â
âWhat did I say about that Lexapro, huh?â
You roll your eyes. âYou said Xanax. And Iâm in therapy, okay? She wants me to try this before committing to meds. Have a little faith in me.â
âOh, Iâve always had faith in ya. Except now, âcause youâre not wearing a coat when itâs fuckinâ thirty-three degrees out.â
âI spilled tuna on it. Tuna, onions, pickles⊠the tuna essence has seeped in.â
âTuna essence is better than pneumonia.â
âNag,â you mumble.Â
âWhat was that?â
You look up wearily. âNothing. I didn't know you were coming. I never texted you back.âÂ
Hood takes off his brown bomber jacket and takes your coat bag and purse. He puts his jacket on you, holding it steady while you dazedly stick your arms through the sleeves. Then he zips it up to your chin. What the fuck.
âTell me now,â he says.
âHood, youâre cold!â
âTalk fast.â
âDude.â
âOh, you donât have anything to tell me? Alright, then Iâll just head out.â
âWait!â You shimmy your hands through his ginormous sleeves. âOkay. I think something shadyâs happening at work.â
Hood crosses his arms. Youâd think that heâd look less intimidating with your yellow purse over his shoulder and a recycling bag with your coat in his opposite hand but, unsurprisingly, he doesnât. His gray tac suit is skin-tight, outlining every curve of muscle and fat. His pecs look obscene.Â
Oh no. No, donât look at that. Think of something else. Tobyâs hyena laugh. Tuna juice smell. Santa Claus⊠Hood as Santa Clâno! Nope.Â
Hood seems to take your silence as anxiety. âOkay, I know weâre gettinâ close to when the stuff happened with Emerson last year, butââ
âCome on,â you say exasperatedly. âDo you think Iâd want to ruin such a great job?â
âNo, but I think the mindâs a funny thing and you get nervy sometimes.â
âThis isnât that. Can I tell you my evidence?â
He holds a hand out. âGo âhead.â
âOkay, so Iâve been working on this piece of code for, like, months, and it wonât let me finish this program. And Iâve worked on difficult code before, so thatâs not the problem, but itâs like now thereâs a firewall installed thatâs preventing me from accessing stuff. And it only happens when I work on the security part of it, but no one else is experiencing this problem. Today, I tried again and it closed me out of the program! Just shut off! Thatâs not normal.â
Hood sighs. âLookââ
âWait! Another thing is that when I returned to my computer after lunch and tried to work on the program again, I saw that Tim Drake had edited some of my code. The CEO, Hood! Thatâs totally weird. AndâŠâ You take a deep breath. âThis woman from PR told me about how Tim keeps disappearing from meetings and stuff and how she thinks heâs cheating, but what if itâs something more nefarious? What if heâs messing with the companyâs security system?â
âIf Tim Drake was doing some shit like that, thereâs no way Bruce wouldnât know about it,â Hood says.
âHow do you know? Bruce Wayne doesnât really seem all there.â You point to your head.Â
Hood snorts. âLooks can be really deceiving, trust me. I checked him out. Heâd know.â
âButââ
âHey,â he says softly. âI think itâs fantastic youâre so alert about this stuff, but everythingâs fine. I wouldnât have suggested you work here if it was dirty.â
âYou arenât listening to me!â you say, balling your fists. âHood, I really think thereâs something happening. Why donât you trust me?â
âI do trust you.â
âThen why wonât you even poke around? You love to poke.â And shoot, but you hope he wonât go there.Â
âIâm not gonna break into Wayneâs company just âcause of some weird code. Thatâs not enough. And maybe Timbo really is cheating. Thatâs a moral failing but itâs not a crime.â He rubs the chin of his helmet. ââCourse, his boyfriend would kick his ass if he knewâŠâ
You scowl. âIt isnât a coincidence. Thereâs no such thing as coincidences.â
âYou sound like me.â
âSomeone has to!â you say, throwing your hands up. âApparently, Red Hood no longer operates on a reasonable amount of suspicion and paranoia.â
âAlright, alright. How âbout this: weâll do a stakeout tomorrow night. Iâll set up cameras and everything. But if nothingâs out of the ordinary, you drop it. Capisce?âÂ
âYes,â you say, spirits lifting. âYes, that's very good. Thank you.â
âYeah, sure. Howâs work, besides that?â
âItâs good.â You smile, thinking of Peter. âSecurityâs nice.â
âOh, yeah?â
You look up, remembering yourself. You and Hood do not have that kind of relationship. Youâre not sure what relationship you have, but itâs not that.Â
âYeah. A-anyway⊠do you like cinnamon rolls?â
If you could see Hoodâs face, you imagine heâd be raising an eyebrow. âHuh?â
âCinnamon rolls,â you repeat, going to your purse, which is still over Hoodâs shoulder. He obediently holds it while you take out the box from Pennyâs. You hold it out to him.Â
âWhatâre youââ
âIt was for my friend, Peter,â you say. âBut he left early, I guess. He didnât tell me he would, I donât know why he wouldnât butâŠâ You shake your head. âAnyway. Do you want it?â
âYou have it,â Hood says gently.Â
âI already had one. It was my reward for enduring tuna essence. Please take it, Hood, I want you to have it.â
So he takes it. You smile.Â
âTheyâre best warm. You have an oven, right?â
He snorts. âWhat, yâthink Iâm some miscreant who squats in abandoned warehouses?â
âNo! No, I just⊠I donât know anything about you. I donât know if you cook. Most guys your age donât.â
âI cook,â Hood says. âQuite a bit, actually. I make a mean lasagna.â
You grin. âReally?â
âSure. Peer-reviewed. Iâll make ya one sometime.â
That flusters you, and you clear your throat, fidgeting to take your purse from Hood. He takes it off and puts it over your shoulder.Â
âI should go,â you say. âUm⊠oh! Your jacketââ
ââS a long walk to the train,â he says, backing up, holding your coat. âJust keep it. You can give it to me when we meet for the stakeout.â
âHood, Iâm not gonna take your jacket,â you say, beginning to take it off.Â
âSeriously. âM fine. I got Pit water in me. Helps insulate.â
You try to hand it back, but Hoodâs faster. He dodges you, darting away before you can throw his jacket at him.Â
âSee ya tomorrow!â he says, and disappears around the corner. With your coat.Â
âYou have my coat, man!â
Nothing. You huff, shoving your arms back through the sleeves. Vigilantes. Thereâs no reasoning with them.
âŠHis jacket really is warm. You wonder what the lining is made of. Itâs so soft.Â
****
âWhereâd you get that jacket?â
Jessie is already at your desk when you walk in. You look up, frightened. Your heartbeat slows as you realize Jessieâs genuinely curious. She slides around your cubicle and touches your sleeve. The leather is taken care of. You donât know much about clothing thatâs not made of cotton or polyester blend, but from what you understand, real leather jackets require upkeep. Itâs clear that Hood does that. Itâs obviously wornâaside from the fact that it smells like man cologne, there are scratches and patches from God knows what. Probably bullets and knives. But itâs soft, warm. Well-loved.Â
âI think this is real leather!â Jessie says, impressed. âWhatâs it lined with? Wow. I didnât know you wore that. Pri-cey.â
âI donât,â you say quickly. âItâs from myââ What? It belongs to a crime lord youâre sort of friends with? You grimace. âUh, I found it thrifting.â
âOh, I love thrifting!â Jessie gushes. âDo you think Ben would like thrifting?â
You unravel your scarf. âI donât think three-year-olds care much about clothes. Like, at all.â
âTrue. Ugh! I have no ideas on what to do with him. Theyâre coming this weekend.â She rubs her temples. âAnd her husband has, like, very high expectations. High expectations? Fuck him! Did he push Ben out of his fucking vaââ
âJessie,â you say, widening your eyes. âWhy donât you take Ben to the community theaterâs showing of A Charlie Brown Christmas?â
She claps her hands, pointing at you. âYouâre a genius. Thatâs why they pay you the big bucks!â
You watch her sprint away, presumably to do anything but her work. You glance behind you, where Toby and another coworker is trying to see how much balled up paper they can land in the wastebasket. You roll your eyes.
Well. You can do your job.
You type your login and wait for it to load. You take off yourâHoodâsâjacket. This is terrible. Where could he have possibly taken your coat?Â
You pull out your phone. Youâve considered changing his contact name, but it feels weird having Red Hood as a contact. My close, personal friend Red Hood. You donât want to call him Todd, because thatâs probably not his name. And anyway, itâs too normie for a guy who wears a helmet and shoots people on the daily.Â
Maybe not on the daily. Weekly, at most.Â
You: can i have my coat back today?
?: I would never hold your coat hostage. :)
You: couldâve fooled me. donât be surprised if yours has tuna juice on it.
?: Ho-ho, ha-ha, comedy! Your coat isnât warm enough for this weather anyway. Be grateful.
You wonât win that argument, so you donât try.
You: sooo grateful. are we watching pineapple tonight?
?: Tf is pineapple?
You: thatâs you know whoâs code name⊠arenât u supposed to be a super experienced vigilante?
?: Pineapple is a terrible code word. Youâre supposed to replace the whole action, like âIâm taking out the trash.â
You: okay man whatever. are we taking out the TRASH tonight?
?: Yes. 7pm. Parking garage across the street. Iâll call you.Â
You put your phone in your bag, exhaling. This isnât even that good of a jacket. Yes, itâs warm, and soft, and smells good but⊠your coat has character! And not the ballistics kind. Youâre pretty sure that the mended hole on Hoodâs jacket sleeve isnât because he snagged it on a fence.
You open the program youâve been working on for months. The screen freezes, the code glitching. The cursor moves on its own, flicking around the screen. Your eyes bug out of your head. You perform an emergency override, something you were taught when you first started working for Emerson. When you work with sensitive information, being able to pull the plug is crucial.
You force-quit the program. The screen goes dark.Â
Well. Shit.Â
****
âHave a good weekend!â Jessie calls after you. You flinch, not realizing anyone was behind you.
You tuck your scarf tighter, smiling. âYou too.â
âI got the tickets for Charlie Brown,â she says happily. âI dare that prickly mother-in-law to top that!â
âYouâll be his favorite aunt for sure.â
Jessie reaches to give you a half-hug. âThanks. Have you given any more thought to the gala? You can bring a plus-one for free!â
Like you have anyone to bring. âWellâŠâ
âWe can go together. The party favors are so good, too.â
âMaybe,â you say. âI⊠Iâll think about it.â
Jessie shrugs. âOkay. See you Monday!â
She heads off in the direction of the company parking lot. You wait until sheâs out of sight before you cross the street. Your phone rings. You answer.
âFourth floor,â comes Hoodâs voice. âLeft side. Black Jeep.â
âIsnât a black Jeep kind of an obvious stakeout car?â you ask, following his directions. You step onto the elevator and press four. âIsnât that what the FBI drive?â
âYou watch a couple of cop movies and suddenly youâre an expert, huh?â
The elevator doors open. You walk down the parking lot. Youâd be terrified if you werenât on the phone with Hood. âThere must be some truth to those, right?â
âHa, not really. âCept the fact that they make cops a lot smarter in the movies than they really are.â
âThe police are stupid in Die Hard,â you say, opening the passenger-side door of the black Jeep. There are no other cars on this floor.
Hood hangs up, watching you as you get in and close the door. Heâs wearing a black leather jacket. âDie Hard is unrealistic for other reasons. Who could take out twelve guys barefoot?â
You could, you donât say. You decide not to mention that John McClane was also shirtless and barefoot for the last third of the movie, making his kill count extra impressive. Hood could probably take out thirty men barefoot and shirtless. HmmâŠ
âYour coatâs back there,â he says, pointing to the backseat. âHad it dry-cleaned.â
âOh.â You blink. âIt doesnât need to be.â
âHelps it last longer,â Hood says. âPreserves the insulation.â He tilts his head, presumably eyeing his jacket on you. âYâdonât have another coat? Yours is wearinâ thin.â
âWhatâs next? Eating steak five times a week? I donât have money for two coats, Mr. Moneybags.â
He hums, resting one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the back of your seat. He lifts his hips to sit more comfortably. You look straight, focusing on a lit window across the street. Your cheeks are hot.Â
âIâll getcha another coat for Christmas,â he says casually, and it wouldnât fluster you so much if you didnât think he actually meant it.Â
âYou donât have tââ
He holds up his hand on the steering wheel. âCanât let my best informant freeze.â
âIâm your informant?â
Hood looks at you, helmet eyes glowing. âNo.â He pauses. âYouâre my⊠I dunno what.â He clears his throat. âThe cinnamon roll was good.â
You smile. âYeah? It was from Pennyâs.â
He hums. âNever been. Iâll have to try. You cold?â
You shake your head. âIâm fine.â
âSure?â
âIâm sure. Your jacket is really warm. My friend Jessie asked what it was lined with.â
âAlpaca. I got it on a job in the Andes.â
âWith Roy?â
âWow, you remember that. Yeah, actually, with Roy. He was the friend I had to break out of prison.â
âDoes he also doâŠâ You gesture. âThis?â
âHe does more international jobs these days, but yeah. Great guy. Better than me.â
âI think youâre good,â you say quietly.Â
âMm. Most people wouldnât agree.â
âThen most people would be wrong.â
Hood doesnât say anything. He reaches behind him and pulls out a set of binoculars. He gives them to you.
âYouâre in charge of those, âkay?â
âOkay.â You put them to your eyes, finding the WE building. Some of the windows are lit, which isnât weird. Some floors work later than you. âWhen I was working on the program today, I couldnât even get on. It crashed and logged me out.â
Hoodâs quiet. You pull the binoculars away and look at him.
âWhat?â you ask.
âThatâs strange, I gotta admit.â
You perk up. âSo something could be going on?â
âDonât get excited. Letâs just see.â
You wiggle in your seat. âVindication!â
ââF I didnât know better, Iâd think you want a corrupt CEO.â
âItâs our Christmas tradition,â you say, grinning.Â
Hood laughs. âJesus, I hope not.â
You put the binoculars back to your eyes. You pan up, up to the thirtieth floor, andâŠ
âHood!â You put down the binoculars. âThe light is on in Tim Drakeâs office. I saw him leave! And I asked his receptionist if he was available to make sure, and he said Tim had a business dinner.â You unlock your door.
âYou did all that?â Hood asks. âHey, hang on!â
âItâs smart, right?â you say excitedly, happy that your suspicions seem to be confirmed. âIâm terrible at lying, though. When his receptionist asked me why I wanted to speak to Tim, I got so flustered I blurted out that I had a personal surgery for him to green-light.â You thump your head. âStupid.â
âTakes practice, lyinâ on your feet,â says Hood. âTry exhaling as you say the lie. Your voice levels, your breathing regulates.â
You smile. âIâll keep that in mind. Sometimes I think, âwhat would Hood do?â And I knew you wouldâve questioned the receptionist first.â
âI dunno if I should be flattered or worried that youâre thinkinâ âbout what Iâd do.â
âWhat do you mean? You have good advice sometimes.â
You wait for him to get out. Hood closes his door and locks it.Â
âJust sometimes?â he asks.Â
âOther times, your advice is scary. And illegal.â
He shrugs. âFair enough.âÂ
You start to walk to the exit.Â
âHey, slow your roll,â Hood says, catching up to you. âWhat exactly are you gonna do?â
âIf Timâs up there after hours and he lied about leaving, then surely heâs doing sketchy stuff, right?â
He sighs, glancing at the WE building, then at you. âI want you tâbe careful. I mean it.â
âIâm always careful, Hood. More than you, remember?â
âWell, lately, youâre like a fuckinâ Black Widow, so I feel like yâneed a reminder.â
âHave you met a Black Widow?â
Hood nods. âOnce. Nice lady. Scary as hell. And she was careful.â
You preen at the comparison. If she scared Hood, she must be one hell of a woman.
Reluctantly, Hood leads you out of the garage. He makes you stay three steps behind him the whole time. You enter Wayne Enterprises through the back entrance with your key card. Hood promises that heâll erase the log, at your insistence. You take the elevator to the twenty-ninth floor, then walk up the extra flight to the thirtieth, so that the elevator sound wonât alert Tim Drake. Thatâs your idea. Hood is impressed.Â
You sneak to the hallway of offices. Sure enough, light peeks out underneath the door. But what can you do? Itâs not like you can just kick the door down.Â
âLetâs get closer,â you whisper.
âLetâs not,â Hood says, holding you back by the collar of his jacket. âStakeouts take patience. You gotta wait for an opportunity.â
The door opens, light spilling out into the hallway. Tim walks out, away from you and Hood. You run. You donât think about it. If you did, youâd probably better digest what a fantastically dumb idea it is to run into Tim Drakeâs office alone.Â
âWait!â Hood hisses. âStop! Son of aââ
You quietly open desk drawers, flick through files, anything you can. Nothing. Timâs desk is unusually clean. And then it hits you. Duh. A CEO in their twenties is going to be digital. So you move the mouse and override Timâs login. You go straight to the program youâve been struggling with for months, and sure enough, youâre able to get on. The edit history shows that Tim was indeed the one who removed your and othersâ access to the program.Â
Your phone buzzes.Â
?: Hide.
Your fingers fly over the keyboard as you log out and turn off the screen. Frantically, you search for a place to hide. Thereâs only the tiny closet. You run in, pulling the door shut. A coat in a plastic dry cleaning cover hangs on the end, and you have to bend your head to stand without bumping your head. The door has Venetian blinds cut into the wood, and you peer through the slats. Tim walks in, followed by two men. One you recognize as state senator Brian Osborne, whoâs trying to run for governor this year. His face is plastered all over the conservative towns in New Jersey. Heâs in his thirties, and housewives of right-wing voters adore him. You donât trust anyone with perfectly white teeth. Or someone whoâs too orange. The other man seems to be a bodyguard, which is smart. Why doesnât Tim Drake have a bodyguard?
âPlease sit,â Tim says. He looks perfect even though itâs nearly nine oâclock at night. Youâve never seen him not look perfect and put-together. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear.Â
Your chest hurts.
âI have to say, I didnât expect your call,â Osborne says, sitting across Timâs desk. âConsidering who your father is.â
âBruce doesnât represent me,â Tim says coolly. âAnyway, I know a good deal when I see one.â
âFantastic. So where will the exchange happen?â
âWayne Enterprises is having a Christmas gala next week, at the Gotham Gallery. I have a private collection room where no one will bother us.â
You shift, your shoulders stiff with pain from how youâre hunched over. Your movement causes the coat on the hanger to rattle. Shit.
Osborne turns his head, looking at the doorway. âIs someone else here on the floor?â
Tim Drake looks in your direction, and you swear he locks eyes with you through the slats in the door. Your heart stops.Â
Something clatters down the hallway, much louder than you were. Tim gets up, following Osborne out the door. âThere shouldnât be anyone else. I checked.â
They leave his office and you listen for their fading footsteps before you slip out of the closet. Your hands are clammy with adrenaline. Blindly, you go the same way you came, eyes peeled for Hoodâs helmet. Someone grabs your wrist and you open your mouth to yell. Itâs quickly covered by a gloved hand. You thrash, but another hand pats your waist, and you relax, relief nearly making your knees buckle.Â
âUn-fuckinâ-believable,â Hood hisses in your ear. âWas I speakinâ in tongues when I told you to wait?â
He drags you backwards, pushing the stairwell door open. He lets go of you when the door clicks behind you, and you turn around.
âThat was so scary,â you say, breathless.
âOh, yeah? I couldnât tell with the way you charged in like a bull! What the hell has gotten into you?â
âI knew youâd cover me,â you say.
âDonât ever do that again. Iâm so fuckinâ serious. That couldâve gone so wrong andââ
âHeâs working with Brian Osborne!â you blurt.
That blessedly makes Hood stop ranting about your safety.Â
âAre you sure?â
You scoff. âNo, Hood, it was some other orange conservative freak with sink porcelain teeth. I thought you said you trusted me!â
âI do, I do, âs justâŠâ He groans. âShit. What else did ya find out?â
âTheyâre going to meet and do the final exchange at the Wayne gala next week. Something about security technology, Iâm not really sure. That must be why I couldnât log on today!â Your mouth forms an O, gears in your mind turning. âHood! You have to come to the gala. Then you can take down Tim Drake and Osborne in one go. Itâs perfect!â
âOh, is it? Iâm so glad you got my Friday night plans all set. Wayneâs gala is extremely high-profile. âS not like Emersonâs Christmas party. I canât sneak in as Santa this time.â
âI can be your eyes,â you say. âAnd youâll just stay in the shadows until you can catch them in the act.â
He puts his hands on his hips. âI donât like the idea of you gettinâ so close to them. Tonight almost went to shit. Osborneâs no joke. His PR is so good âcause heâs so damn bad. Heâs been on my list for a long time.â
âWell, this is your chance to get him,â you say. âAnd itâs not like Iâd gun him down. As soon as I find out when he and Tim are meeting, I'll text you, and youâll do the rest.â
âYou get a new job and all of a sudden youâre Butch Cassidy,â Hood mutters.
âIsnât this the best way to take down Osborne? Catching him in the act?â
âYes.â He sighs. âYeah, it is, butâŠâ
âBut what?â
Hood shakes his head. âNothinâ. Youâre right. If youâre really sure about this, then fine, weâll do it. Or⊠I could go alone.â
âI can do it, Hood, honestly. My anxiety is a lot better.â
He hums. ââS not what I meant, sweet. I know yâcan do it, I just⊠this stuff is dangerous. Seriously.â
âI helped you last year,â you say.
âYeah, and yâdid a great job. But that was under dire circumstances, yâknow? I pretty much peer-pressured you into it.â
âI wanted you to dress up as Santa.â And be my fake-boyfriend, you donât add.
He groans. âI remember. That beard shed everywhere.â
You laugh, then turn, suddenly remembering where you are. âShit. Will they find us?â
âNah, they left. I saw âem get on the elevator before I found you.â
You sag in relief, then tense again. âWhat about the cameras?â
âI put âem on a loop. What kinda operation you think Iâm runninâ here?â
You smile. âA good one. Obviously.â
He lightly taps your shoulder with two fingers. âCâmon. Think thatâs enough spycraft for one night, yeah?â
You go to the elevators and go out the side exit this time, on the opposite corner. As you wait for the light, you point at a billboard advertising The Mighty Crabjoys.
âI love them!â you say.Â
Hood follows your finger. âYeah?â
You nod. âI tried to get tickets for their concert next month but they sold out in, like, fifteen seconds. Same thing happened to me with Hozier.â
âHozierâs cool. I like him.â
You cross the street to the garage. âYou do?â
âWell, sure. Itâs Hozier. I dunno much about Mighty Crabjoys, though.â
âTheir music is fun.â
âIâll have to try it.â
You ride the elevator up in silence. Tonight was scary, but not nearly as much as last yearâs events. Youâre getting good at this!
âMy therapist suggested doing things that scare me, to help with my therapy,â you say as you get into Hoodâs car. âShe said she thinks exposure will help me the most.â
âDoubt she meant this stuff.â
You shrug. âI dunno. I think Iâm getting better at facing my fears.â
Hood turns the key in the ignition. ââM such a bad influence.â
âYouâre not,â you say, but you donât expand. You donât point out that before last year, you were terrified of Red Hood, of what he stood for, but now you understand that heâs more on your side than any grubby-handed politician who swears to stand for you. For all of his hard violence, Hood is fair, and kind, and really fills out those pants. Youâve had the occasional dream since last yearâs party, where Hood is still your Santa boyfriend, but not because youâre chasing a criminal. And all you see are those blue-green eyes, boring into you like he knows your heart races when youâre around him, and itâs not because of any anxiety attack.Â
The drive home is quiet. You gave Hood the address and itâs been silent for minutes. No music. You wonder what kind of music Hood listens to. You wonder all sorts of things about him.
âThanks for believing in me,â you say, while you wait at a light.
Hood nods. âYeah, well, you called it âbout Drake, soââ
âNo, I meanâŠâ You flatten your palms over your pants. âFor helping me with WE.â
âYou helped yourself.â
You shake your head. âYou helped me and you didnât have to. You were really nice, Hood. No oneâs ever been so nice to me before. I think⊠I think meeting you was the best part of my year.â
âYikes,â he says, maybe trying to release some of the tension. Itâs not a bad tension, but itâs heavy nonetheless. Like Hood doesnât know what to do with your honesty.Â
You laugh, watching downtown Gotham pass you by. âI guess getting my new job was pretty good too.â
âWell, Iâd hope so.â
You fold your hands in your lap. This feels like a moment youâre going to replay over and over in your head tonight. âAnyway, I just wanted to say thanks.â
âThank you too,â he says. âNot just for helpinâ me take down one dirty CEO at a time. But thanks for, uh, beinâ a friend.â
You look at him. He keeps his eyes on the road.
âWeâre friends?â
He shrugs. ââF yâdonât mind beinâ friends with the bastard Red Hood.â
You smile and think of your coat in the backseat. âNo. I donât mind at all.â
****
Friday, gala night, comes sooner than you expect. Miraculously, the program at work doesnât give you any more trouble. But you worry about working on it, conscious that it might be part of a dirty deal and Brian Osborneâs campaign for election. So you twiddle your thumbs and call out sick once, which you never do. You let Jessie distract you with pictures of her nephew. And above all, you do not contact Hood.Â
Not that he told you not to, or anything. Itâs just a personal rule youâve set for yourself. You felt jittery when you got out of his car last week, your dry-cleaned coat in your arms. You thought about it all the way up to your apartment, and then you stared at it while you made dinner and watched Die Hard.Â
Maybe this will be the last time you meet up with Hood. At least for a year. A part of you is sad that soon, you wonât see or speak to him regularly, after he nabs Tim Drake and Brian Osborne, and the fact that youâre disappointed terrifies you.
âHey.âÂ
Peterâs standing in front of your desk. He has a bag with Pennyâs logo on it. He sets it on your desk. You look up at him.
âHi,â you say, staring at those black, black shades. âHappy holidays!â
âHappy holidays,â he says. âDâyou like cinnamon rolls? They had a special this morning. Two for one.â
You laugh. âOh my God. I actually was gonna bring you a cinnamon roll last week.â
He grins. âYeah? We must be psychically linked.â
âDefinitely. Are you sure you donât want it?â
ââM sure.â He watches you pull out the cinnamon roll. Thereâs a plastic fork and knife in the bag too. How nice.Â
âYou got a fork,â you say, opening the container. âHowâd you know I hate getting icing on my fingers?â
He shrugs. âIntuition. Psychic connection. Take your pick.â
âThanks,â you say. âSeriously. I needed this.â
He nods. âI figured. I saw your name on the list for tonight. Changed your mind?â
âOh.â You lick icing off your lip and swallow hard, pretending to chew for longer than you need to. âYes, actually. Jessie wore me down. And I thought, why not? Youâre working security, right?â
âYeah, probably, but you might not see me. Iâm sâposed to stick close to the Wayne heirs all night. Timmy and Dickie.â
âDick Grayson will be there?â
Peter nods. âYeah. Pretty much the whole family. Bruce takes his galas very seriously. This one is the biggest one of the year.â
Maybe you should text Hood that heâll need to be wary of all those Wayne kids. You donât need Hoodâs involvementâor yoursâsplashed across page one on the Gotham Gazette next week.
âDo you have any plans for the holidays?â you ask.
Peter shakes his head. âNot really. Iâm not a believer or celebrator of much.â
You blink, pursing your lips. Peter tilts his head.
âWhat?â he asks.
âNo, nothing, justâŠâ You laugh. âI donât know, I feel like someoneâs said that to me before. Deja vu.âÂ
âHuh. Maybe I got that from a movie or somethinâ.â
You smile. âLike Die Hard.â
âThey say that in Die Hard?â
âNo. Sorry. I was thinking of something a friend said. So, no plans? Are you working?â
âPretty much all break,â says Peter. âActually, âs kinda unfortunate. I got tickets to see The Mighty Crabjoys next month, but I canât go âcause of work. Been tryna unload âem so they donât go to waste, but no luck.â
âReally?â You sit up in your desk chair. âI love them, actually. I wanted to see them.â
âDid ya? Shit, thatâs perfect. Iâll email âem to ya.â
âAre you sure you donât want them?â you ask. âYou could make a crazy resale profit.â
âOh, donât cha know? They pay me the big bucks to protect Wayneâs secrets.â Peter grins. ââM retirinâ in a month.â
You laugh. âDid you find out youâre a secret Wayne heir, or something?â
Peter runs his tongue along the edge of his teeth. âMm. Somethinâ like that. Nah, donât worry âbout the money. Think of it as a one-year celebration of your survival at WE.â
âAh, well.â You shrug one shoulder, suddenly bashful. âI couldnât have done it without you, Peter.â
He clicks his tongue. âNow thatâs not true. You made your own way.â
You smile, small and proud. âMaybe.â
âDefinitely.â
Chatter from the hallway draws your attention. Tim Drake walks onto the floor, flanked by three people you donât know, and Dick Grayson. Peter clears his throat.
âIâll see ya âround,â he says, gently tapping your shoulder. âBreakâs over.â
âOh, okay. Happy new year if I donât see you.â
âHappy new year,â he says. âYâdeserve a good one.â
Peter leaves through the stairwell door on the opposite side. You stand when Tim walks to Tobyâs desk, which is three desks down from yours. You donât know why you stand, but you feel like you should. You notice heâs wearing the coat you bumped into last night in his closet. Your heartbeat ratchets.Â
Tim says something to Toby, who looks terrified. Good. You hope he said something along the lines of do your fucking job.Â
But then Tim looks at you. And so does Dick Grayson. You nearly swallow your tongue.Â
They walk to you. Tim shoos everyone but his brother away, instructing them to âfind something constructive to do.â They scatter.
âWho was that you were talking to?â Tim asks.
âW-what? You mean Peter?â
âPeter,â Dick echoes. Heâs smiling, but it makes you nervous. Heâs studying your face like heâs trying to pick you out of a lineup. âDo you know Peter very well?â
âHeâsâI mean, weâre friends. Heâs a security guard.â
Dick nods, no longer looking so intense. âHmm. Okay.â He sticks out his hand. âDick Grayson.â
You wipe your hand in what you hope is a discreet fashion so you donât rub sweat on Dick Graysonâs palm. âNice to meet you.â You say your name.
âYou too,â Dick says. âFinally.âÂ
When they donât say anything else, you start to fidget. Your gaze darts between them. âIâm sorry, am I in trouble or something?â
âNo trouble,â Tim says. His eyes narrow at you. Shit. Shit! âEverythingâs fine. There were some bugs in the program your teamâs been working on, but Toby figured it out.â
You highly doubt Toby has ever figured out anything of importance: code, the female body, normal responses to a funeral announcement. And the way Tim and Dick are staring at you feels like an interrogation.Â
âOh, great,â you say, taking a deep breath and exhaling as you speak, like Hood taught you. âI hadnât noticed anything amiss, but if thereâs anything I can do, please let me know. Iâve been working on the program for months. Mostly front-end work.â
Timâs smile is polite but frosty. âI appreciate it. I know you all work extremely hard.â
âA company would be nothing without I.T.,â Dick chirps.Â
You laugh nervously. âThank you, thatâs kind.â
He smiles knowingly. Dick Grayson is reported to be wholly pleasant and friendly. Right now, you feel like youâre being hunted for sport.
Tim checks his watch and nods crisply. âI have a meeting.â He sweeps a glance across the office. âKeep up the good work!â
They leave. Air fills your lungs once more. You sink into your chair. Then you pull out your phone.
You: oh my god oh my godÂ
You: hood
You: hood
You: please
?: Whatâs up? Iâm working.
You: TIM DRAKE IS ONTO MEÂ
You: are you SURE he canât tell i was taking out the trash?
?: Excellent use of code. Yeah, Iâm sure. Take a breath. What do you mean heâs onto you?
You: okay well he fucking came to my floor and he asked if i knew this security guard which isnât part of it but he had this LOOK hood. and dick grayson was there too and his smile was so freaky, itâs like he knew exactly what i was thinking
? is typingâŠÂ
You watch the speech bubble pop up, then disappear, then pop up again.Â
?: He asked if you knew a security guard? Who?
You: peter. heâs my friend. hood i think my coverâs been blown
?: You donât have a cover. Your identity is literally a programmer at Wayne Enterprises.
You: oh my god even worse!!!!
?: Please try to relax. None of that means anything. Iâll check on Drake when I finish what Iâm doing.Â
You: THIS COULD BE LIFE OR DEATH
?: Warhead
Youâve been gnawing on a fingernail this whole time. The text annoys the shit out of you, but you obediently open your drawer and take out a Warhead from a party-size bag and pop it into your mouth. Youâve been on the hunt for a candy thatâs even more sour for the bigger panic attacks, but the Warhead works today.Â
You: maybe i shouldnât go to the gala
Your fingers hover over the keyboard. Wait. If you donât go, youâll be home. Youâll be unaccounted for. Thatâs exactly how people go missing. No, itâs better to be at the gala, close to Hood. Tim Drake canât assassinate you if youâre at the same event as him on the night of his exchange with Osborne.Â
You: nvm thatâs how ppl die. iâll go
?: Are you eating the Warhead?
You: yeah
?: Eat another one.Â
You do.Â
****
You: does this look okay?
You: [img._6]Â
Jessie: you look great!! I love that color :) dark red is perf for xmas
You look at your reflection, smoothing down your dress. You wanted something glamorous, and you sifted through three different discount sections at three different Macyâs. You lucked out with this dress: dark red, long-sleeved, long skirt but not too long that youâll be tripping all night. And you can run, if need be. Not that you think you will. But still.
You: iâll be in a red dress btw
?: Okay. How do you feel?
You: fine. Are u already there?Â
?: Almost. Donât worry. I wonât let anything happen to you.
You pocket your phone and grab your purse, heading out the door. Itâs luckily not snowing, or youâd take a taxi. But the walk to the train isnât too bad. Youâre back to wearing your coat, which is good, because it goes better with your dress than Hoodâs would. But you kind of wish you couldâve worn his. Itâs admittedly warmer.
The gala is held at the Gotham Art Gallery this year. Bruce Wayne had made a statement that all of the proceeds from tonightâs event would be donated to the local orphanage. Heâs Gothamâs biggest philanthropist. You donât have any particularly strong opinions on him. He seems decent enough, for a billionaire. His son, howeverâŠ
Well, whatever. Thatâll be over soon enough. You have the utmost faith in Hood tonight.Â
The gallery is hosting the party in its main hall. The roof is made entirely of class, so clear it looks like the night sky is bearing down on you all. The moon is an inky dot of cream above you, almost but not quite full. Waiters circulate with appetizers and alcohol. You take a flute of champagne when itâs offered, but you only take a few sips. You need to be sharp to help Hood.Â
Bruce and Dick go on stage to talk about the gala, but youâre not listening. You look around. You donât expect to see Hood, of course, but your eyes are peeled for Peter. He said heâd stick close to Dick, but heâs nowhere to be seen.
âŠThen again, neither is Tim. Huh.
You take out your phone.
You: have you found the trash?
?: Lol. Not yet. Stay put. Relax. Iâll let you know when I take care of it.
You take a deep breath and try to do as Hood says. It feels weird to not be directly involved. Your phone buzzes.
?: Pretty dress.
Your face immediately goes aflame. What do you say? If you were being honest, youâd say that you didnât wear red just because itâs Christmas. But you feel that thatâs too bold. Bolder than youâre willing to be.Â
You pocket your phone, too alarmed to say anything. You gulp more champagne, forgoing your rule. Hood told you to relax, right?
The night goes on. Jessie lures you to the dance floor. She introduces you to more people at the company.Â
And then you spill champagne on your dress.Â
You sigh. âGreat.â
Jessie is sympathetic. âNo! Oh no, not again. Want any help cleaning up?â
âNo, itâs fine.â You wave her away, a little uncoordinated from the alcohol. âBe right back.â
You start your hunt for the bathroom. Itâs only a little champagne, but itâs right on your neckline, and itâs uncomfortable. At least you wonât smell like tuna.Â
You pull out your phone.Â
You: spilled champagne :P
You finally find the bathroom and carefully dab the champagne with a wet paper towel. Then you check your phone again. Your message remains unread and unreplied to.Â
A cold, sinking feeling pools in your stomach. You tap Hoodâs contact, about to call. You pause. What if he canât answer the phone?Â
This is just your anxiety talking. Thatâs why you avoid drinking; your anxiety always gets worse. But maybe you have a right to be worried now. Hood always responds quickly. If not in depth, then a simple yes. Why wouldnât he respond now?
You throw away the paper towels and leave the bathroom. What did Tim say? His private collection room.
There are some staff, but they clearly donât give a shit about wandering guests, too busy catering to demanding one percenters. Youâre not the next 007, but itâs easy enough to find the private collection room. The door has been left slightly ajar, and you carefully pull it open. There are wooden crates piled everywhere, so you duck behind the nearest stack.Â
Thereâs a pause. You cringe. Did you make too much noise?
âI didnât hear anything,â Tim says.Â
You crawl on your hands and knees, shuffling so you can peer around the crates. Osborne has his bodyguard from last night, as well as three other men. Tim is alone except forâ
Oh God. Peter?
Your lips part in shock as you take in the sight of your formerly favorite security guard. Your mind races. Is this why he was so evasive about his schedule? Why he didnât care about selling the tickets? Yes, youâre sure that being a massive jerk-off and helping billionaires commit crimes is very lucrative.Â
You scowl. He canât see you from this angle, but you sort of wish he would, even though you can very clearly see his holstered gun. Would he even care, seeing you? Or would you be another body to dispose of?Â
You lean back against the crates. Your reaction time is a little slow from the champagne. You pull out your phone and text Hood again.
You: security guards suck ASS
You put it away and watch Tim take out a briefcase. He opens it for Osborne. You canât see whatâs inside. Osborne opens his own briefcase, and those contents you can see. Stacks of cash.Â
âCommitting election fraud has never been easier,â Tim says airily.Â
Osborne laughs. âFantastic. Youâre my inspiration, Mr. Drake.â
Maybe you should be recording this. You open the camera app and press record, trying to be steady as you zoom in. Peter is on his phone.Â
Ding!
?: Where are you?Â
âShit,â you whisper, trying to mute your phone.Â
Peter looks up and sees you. You shoot him what you hope is your meanest face.
âWhat the fuck is this?â Osborne asks, snapping his fingers. One of his goons wastes no time in going and hauling you up by your arm.Â
âLet go of me!â you shout, swatting at him. He holds you firmly.Â
Tim looks at you icily, blue eyes wide. You fear heâs going to order Peter to kill you right then.
âWho are you working for?â Osborne asks you.
You lift your chin, feeling more confident than you feel. Damn champagne. âThe Red Hood. And heâs gonna kick your ass.â
Tim glances at Peter, chewing his lip. He nods at you. âTake care of her.â
âNo,â Osborne says. âLetâs see if this Red Hood character does show. Heâll be looking for his partner, no doubt.â
His confidence makes you queasy. Did Osborne already get to Hood?
You find it hard to believe. Hood can handle himself, no doubt. But he had to sneak around tonight, didnât he? If he is somewhere, like a basement or shoved into a dusty sarcophagus, no one will be looking for him.Â
âI can handle her, sir, honestly,â Peter says, and you hiss at him.
âTraitor,â you snap. He ignores you.
But Osborne doesnât. He squints at you, then Tim, then Peter.
âDo you know her?â he asks.
âOf course not,â Tim says. âLet him take her into a back room so we can get on with this.â
Osborne shakes his head, closing his own briefcase. "No, this is fishy. Red Hoodâs partner happens to stumble onto our deal? âŠYou almost got me that night at the office, explaining away the noise. Well, not tonight. I smell a rat. And I take care of rats immediately. Finish it."
The guard pulls out a gun and cocks it against your temple. But youâve barely felt the press of cold metal before itâs gone, your arms free. He's on the ground, blood gushing from both legs. Peterâs gun smokes.Â
Gunfire erupts. Peter dives for you, dragging you behind crates. You fight him all the way.Â
"You asshole," you snap. âYou fucking asshole! How can you do this? Tim Drake isââ
"Stay here," he says, angrier than you've ever seen him. "Un-fuckinâ-believable."
You peer around the crates. Tim is wrestling with one of Osborneâs goons who has a gun. Peter goes for the other two. They fire and you duck back behind the crates.Â
âShouldâve known not to trust a Wayne!â Osborne shouts. âEspecially one who beds men! Just like your filthy father!â
âYou fuck men too, Brian,â Tim says, heaving the guard over his shoulder in a very impressive takedown. Since when does Tim Drake know MMA? âDoes your fanbase know that?â
Peter fires and Tim snaps, âDonât shoot, dumbass! The art is on loan!â
âIâm the dumbass? Meeting here was your bright idea!â Peter snarls, and that voice sounds very familiarâŠ
Osborneâs bodyguard punches Peter and cracks his shades, which fly off his face. Peter instantly knocks him out cold. Seafoam eyes, such an unusual colâholy shit. Holy shit.Â
âHood?â you blurt, so surprised, you forget to hide.Â
This time, Osborne fires at you. Hood shoots at Osborne, who flees. He wastes no time in grabbing you, swinging you back behind the crates. You peek over and see Tim follow Osborne out, with the remaining two goons at his heels.Â
You whip your head to look at Hood. Peter. âWhat the fââ
âShush.â He scoops you up, hoisting you over his shoulders like you're a sack of potatoes. You writhe in protest.Â
"What the hell! Put me down, Neanderthal!"
âYouâre unbelievable, yâknow that?â he says, carrying you out of the collection room and down the hallway.Â
âIâm unbelievable? Exactly how many identities do you have, Peter Todd Red Hood?â
Hood sighs and sets you down. Youâre in the main part of the gallery, which is currently closed to guests, but you doubt Hood gives a shit about that. Itâs empty, and thatâs what matters. He holsters his gun and rests his hands on his head, like he just ran a marathon.
âGuess you want an explanation,â he says.
You put your hands on your hips. âThat would be nice, yes.â
Hood smiles a little. You frown.
âWhat?â you ask, aggravated.
âI dunno. You used to be so skittish âround me. Now youâre, like, hm. My friend, I guess.â
You drop your arms, startled. âIâŠâ You look away. âYouâre working for Tim Drake. Youâre no better than Osborne.â
Hood scoffs. âEven if I was dirty, you wouldnât catch me dead working for Timbelina. No, sweet, âm not. Iâm the same Red Hood youâve always known. Still after the bad guys. But Tim DrakeâŠâ He pauses. You look at him. âIs Red Robin.â
âWhat?â
He raises his right hand. âSwear it. And, uh, my name is Jason. Jason Todd.â
Your mouth falls open. âYouâre Bruce Wayneâs sââ
âWard,â Jason cuts you off. âYeah. But trust me, I wouldnât be here willingly. See, uh, youâre actually a spectacular spy. Like, better than the FBI.â
âI am?â
âSure. Timâs not really a corrupt CEO. He was just playinâ the part to lure Osborne. Weâve been after him for a while. No one was supposed to detect anything âcause nothingâs public, to protect Timâs image, butâŠâ
âIâm really good at my job,â you say breathlessly.
Jason grins. âYâsure are. I couldnât deter you, and I couldnât tell you the truth. Didnât wanna endanger you. I tried to make yâdrop it, but you wouldnât quit. Could go into the detective business, honest.â
âWow.â You lean against a pillar. âSorry.â
Jason shrugs. ââS okay. Was fun.â
He edges a little closer. He probably thinks you wonât notice but youâre a detective.Â
âSo you were Peter this whole time. You were⊠watching over me?â
Jason licks his lip, mouth forming shapes. âI mean, officially, I was makinâ my identity legit so Osborne wouldnât get suspicious. I saw you when you came in, and I guess I couldnât help but say hi. I thought youâd recognize me, but those shades were worth their money.â
âI remember those eyes,â you say quietly.
He clears his throat. âRight. So, um, I guess I just⊠wanted to make sure you were okay. And then we kept talkinâ and, I dunno. Sorry.â
âFor what?â
âFor everything, I guess. For enterinâ your life and stayinâ in it. I get it if yâwant me to leave you alone.â
âNo.â You take Jasonâs hands, so his fingers rest on the insides of your wrists. âHoodâsorry, Jason. You make me less nervous. And Iâm relieved that your alter ego isnât a bootlicker.â
Jasonâs face is disgusted. âNo way in hell.â
âCan I make a confession?â
âOh, well, Iâve already made about three, so evening it up would be great, yeah.â
You swallow. "Okay. Well, last year when you pretended to be my Santa boyfriend, I kept thinking about what if it had been real."
Jason's pupils are enormous. "Yeah?" he whispers. "Was it a good thought?"Â
You nod. "I felt so conflicted, thinking about you and also thinking about Peter. And nowâŠ"
âMmhm?â
You look at Jasonâs lips. He has a scar that cuts through his Cupidâs bow, but itâs quite pretty. The Red Hood has a pretty mouth. Huh.Â
âIs my pulse steady?â you ask, looking at him through your lashes. You lift your wrists slightly.Â
Jasonâs eyebrows lift in realization. âYeah. Not one lie told.â
âI wish youâd kiss me.â
He leans in, and you meet him halfway. Heâs taken off his gloves, so when he cups your neck, hot, rough skin sears you. Oh, you like him. Lightning shoots down your chest and back. Heâs a shy kisser, and that pleases you even more. Thereâs something thrilling about the fact that you can make him moan first. Just from a kiss.
Footsteps echo on the marble, and you pull back, fearing Osborne and his men. But itâs much worse: Tim Drake is ten feet away, holding a bo staff.
"Really?" he asks, annoyed. "This is why you couldn't follow us?" He nods at you. "Hey."
"Hi," you say, utterly mortified. "I am so sorry. Please don't fire me."
Tim raises an eyebrow. "What, for sucking face? Please. Bruce will be thrilled to know that Jason isn't nearly as maladjusted as he thought."
"Fuck off," Jason says, pulling you closer by your waist, almost subconsciously.Â
"Crowbar victim."
Jasonâs gaze is steely. "Ninety-nine. Failed. Clone attempts."
Tim looks impressed. "Wow. Dug deep for that one."
"I've been reading B's files to fill the gaps."
"Thereâs some fucked-up shit in there."
"Seriously." He looks at you, and itâs like his entire expression changes. You wonder if heâs been looking at you like that the whole time. He turns to Tim. âGimme a minute.â
"Fine, whatever. I'm gonna track down his bodyguard. I think one of them hacked my computer last week.â
âActually, that was me,â you say. âI overrode your firewall.â
Tim's eyes widen slightly as he looks at you. "For real?"
"Yeah, I was looking for your edit history on the project. When I, you know, thought you were on Osborneâs side.â
Tim doesnât seem bothered by the fact that you thought he was evil for several months. "Wow. Wanna come work for me privately?"
Jason grunts. "Back off."
Tim grins with all of his teeth. "Okay, I'll spare you. Hurry up.â
Jason flips him off. You turn to him after Tim's gone. "So heâs your brother?â
âNot if I can help it.â
âBut⊠legally?â
He sighs. âUnfortunately. And the one you met a few days ago, Dick? That oneâs mine too. Legally. Heâs on different meds, though.â
âOh.â Your eyebrows rise. âOh. So when Dick asked today if I knew Peter very wellâŠâ
âHe did not mean in the coworker way, no. They all think weâve been secretly dating for a year.â
You frown. âBut we havenât.â
Jason throws his arms up. âTell me âbout it! Worldâs greatest fuckinâ detectives. Psh. I told them to butt out, for the record. Told them they didnât know what was goinâ on. And do they listen? Does anyone listen to me in this godforsaken family? Nope!â
âI listen,â you say.
Jason immediately softens. âYeah, you do.â
âI think you should probably go help Tim, though.â
He waves a hand lazily. âIn a minute. Heâs fine. Tryinâ to figure something out first.â
âWhat?â
âWhether I believe in Christmas miracles or not.â Jason pushes his tongue under his lip, smiling. He leans in to kiss you again. You meet him in earnest.
thinking about jason coming back from the gym all sweaty wearing a tank top and reader going absolutely feral because LOOK AT THOSE TREE TRUNKS HE CALLS ARMS
what about... watching him work out + sweaty arms đ jason x afab!reader (no pronouns). mildly nsfw but no smut. you're (i'm) lustful for this man! estab relationship. all fics rb'd to @sanguinelibrary
****
The gym isn't too crowded for a Friday. You don't usually meet Jason here, but you got off work early and you wanted to surprise him. You ordered pizza to pick up on the way home as a treat. Jason's been stressed over a case, and he does his best to not let it interfere with his life with you, but you're sympathetic all the same. Hopefully a night in with pizza will cheer him up.
It now occurs to you that you've never actually seen Jason exercise. You know he does. Even if you didn't know he's Red Hood, you'd assume he must do some kind of strength training just based on his physicality. A very nice physicality.
But you don't see Jason in action. He's not Red Hood or a vigilante or anything else besides himself around you. He's just Jason, your sweet boyfriend, who cooks for you and brings home trinkets he thinks you'll like. He's wildly funny, clever, a movie buff. He leaves his reading glasses everywhere, and he much prefers to sleep facing you, your limbs entangled.
So sue you if you forget, sometimes, just how deadly competent your boyfriend is. And the maintenance that's required to upkeep such skill.
He's got headphones in, and you hold off on sending him a text. Jason always seems to sense when you're around, finding you before you find him. So you wait, if only to boast your own stealth later.
What Jason's doing, however, makes your face immediately hot. You've never seen him lift weights, and maybe that's for the best because it all looks obscene to you. Jason's exercising his legs, thrusting his hips up to lift the weights. You can't see how much weight it is, but it looks like a lot. His thighs plump up with each rep, the muscle gaining shape, then returning to rest.
If you were closer, you'd get to hear the sounds Jason makes: quiet grunts, sighs, hums. You know he isn't loudâever, even when you encourage him to be. The gym would be no exception because Jason would never want to be rude or make people uncomfortable.
But oh, you're teetering into dangerous territory now, watching Jason lift, because you wish you could hear his sounds and feel his breath. You'd like to press down on his stomach and hear him whine, the muscles tender from exertion.
"Hi, sorry, are you needing help?" the woman at the front desk asks. She snaps you out of your trance of grossly ogling your boyfriend. Jesus, you must look like a creep.
"Oh! No, sorry, thanks. I'm waiting for my boyfriend. Over there." You weakly point at Jason.
"Oh, okay," she says brightly, letting you be. Maybe you don't look as creepy as you feel. That's good.
Jason finishes his reps. When he gets up from the machine, his loose tank top rides up, showing you his sweaty backside. Oh Lord. You turn around and take out your phone, sending a quick text.
Hi baby! I'm here at the gym :) take ur time <3
Jason pauses and looks at his phone. It's not long before he scans the gym and his eyes land on you. He lights up, waving. You wave back, your throat dry. He types on his phone. The notification pops up.
Just got one more exercise, then I'll be out okay? I love you
You give him a thumbs up. Jason returns it and wipes down the machine. Then he moves to the dumbbells. This shouldn't be so bad, right? Jason's arms are delicious, butâoh, he's squatting. With the weights. Mother of Pearl.
It's a good thing Jason's facing the side, so he can't see how you're laser-focused on his ass. You have a rounded appreciation for Jason's body, but maybe you've been neglecting his glutes. Wow.
Reel it in! Christ. What's up with you? It's not like you and Jason are going through a dry spell. Jason always pleases you, as sweet as pie. Right now, you'd like to chew on him.
He finishes up and you go to sit by the door, so it doesn't look like you've been lurking. Jason comes out a minute later, face shiny with sweat. He has a hoodie on, unfortunately hiding his body, but that's okay. You're patient.
"Hey, sweetheart," he says, cheeks flushed. "'M all sweaty, so if y'don't wanna hug, I totally gâ"
You cut him off with a hug, and he nearly lifts you off the ground, your toes dragging. His pulse pounds against your hand. It's clear that the adrenaline from the workout makes Jason eager and excitable. He's usually not so open with affection in public, but you're not complaining.
Jason is indeed sweaty, but it's a clean sweat mixed with his deodorant. His hair is spiky with moisture. He smells so much like a boy, like a really cute, jacked boy who likes you and can toss you onto a bed if you wanted him to. And do you ever.
You'd grope his ass if you didn't think it would get both of you banned for life. So you keep it PG, pretending like you haven't been wet for the last fifteen minutes.
"Hi, Jay," you say, your soft voice masking how dizzy with lust you are. Who needs pizza? You can eat Jason for dinner.
"Hey, honey," he says, brushing your cheek with his knuckle. God. Jason's tender and you want to jump his bones. "This is such a surprise. Thought you were working late."
"It ended early, so I came by. Wanted to see you. And I ordered pizza for us to pick up."
Jason melts even more, if thatâs possible, leaning in to kiss you. "So nice of ya. Didn't have to."
"Wanted to," you say, eyeing his massive shoulder. Don't bite! "Should we go?"
The pizzeria is a few blocks down, and Jason's apartment is a few blocks from there, so you two take your time walking. Jason holds your hand. He's so warm from the gym. His skin sears yours.
"I actually saw ya before you texted," he says. "Couldn't say hi while I was doing my reps though."
"Oh," you say, swallowing. "That's fine. Those reps looked, um, intense."
Jason shrugs. "They get a little easier the more you do 'em, but yeah."
"You didn't seem to struggle." Your voice is totally giving away how much you liked it. It's no surprise how Jason looks at you now.
"I guess 'm just practiced," he says slowly. You know he's scrutinizing you, watching for your tells. "Did you... like watching me?"
"I wasn't watching you."
Jason laughs, low and sure. "Baby, I saw you. You were glued to that spot. Thought you were just bein' sweet and attentive until..."
"Until?" you ask, voice pitched up. You stop walking. He stops with you.
He grins. "'Til now." He leans in, hands going to your waist, mouth near your ear. "How much did y'like it?" He's begging. Jason loves when you tell him how much you want him, how good he is to you. It gets him hotter faster than anything else.
You carefully fit your knee between Jason's legs and press. He whines, a broken sound, not hushed enough for being in public. You have to be mindful, even if the sidewalk is empty. But the sounds Jason makes are tempting. You quite like how eager he is after the gym.
"Be good, and I'll show you when we get home," you say.
Jason draws back and looks at you, half-lidded. He nods. "Y-yeah. Okay."
Hm. Maybe you've cracked the code to make Jason get loud.
thoughts on jason who keeps forgetting to cut his hair until itâs curling around the nape of his neck. you walk by and yank at it playfully to remind him itâs getting long and the moan he lets out is so loud he wants to apologize to the neighbours.
xoxo sunnie (@fic-over-cannon)
oh hell yeah sunnie baby<33 jason x gn!reader. nsfw. heavy makeout
****
As soon as you get home, you drop your things and flop onto your boyfriend, who's on the couch with a book.
"Thank God," you say, climbing onto him. "My favorite pillow's here."
You let out a loud sigh and burrow deeper into Jason's chest. He's warm, his chest rising and falling steadily. You feel him laugh, his body jostling you.
"Hi, baby," he says, rubbing your back. "Everything okay?"
You peek one eye out. Jason smiles down at you. God, he's cute. You quell the urge to bite his pectoral.
"Better now that you're here. Work's just being a bitch."
He nods sympathetically, probably ready to offer a solution like leaving dead rats on your boss's doorstep. But you suddenly find something far more interesting, something that has you sitting up and momentarily forgetting your woes.
"When did your hair get so long?" you ask, straddling Jason's lap. He accepts you easily, one hand resting on your hip to brace you.
"Is it? Jus' cut it a month ago," he says, free hand running through his dark curls. Fluffy, baby curls poof and gather at the nape of his neck. You've always been jealous of how fast Jason's hair grows and how thick it is.
"You look like you're gonna sing about how we all need to love each other," you say, grinning. "Another month and you'll rival Dick's mullet era."
Jason rolls his eyes. "I'd never hear th' end of it from him."
You shrug, pushing a curl behind his ear. "I dunno. I like it, Jay. You look really cute."
"Yeah?" he asks, bashful as ever over your compliment.
You grin, immediately endeared. Your hand travels deeper into his hair, gathering a fistful.
"Yeah, I do, sweetie." You lazily meet his mouth, and Jason's eager as always to touch and be touched. He kisses you sweetly, thumb rubbing circles on your waist.
You're not really thinking about what you do next. Jason's kissing you, and you're holding his hair. Usually it's not long enough for you to get such a grip on it.
He squeezes your thigh. You pull.
Jason moans loudly into your mouth, hips jerking forward. You exhale in surprise, your grip loosening. Your mouths part.
His face is red, as red as it gets after a long workout, or that time you made him come so hard he cried.
"F-fuck, sorry," is the first thing out of his mouth. You feel him shift his hips away from you, and the realization strikes you like lightning: Jason's hard from a few kisses and a hair pull.
"You so don't have to apologize for that," you say, going on your knees so that you can grab his face and look down at him.
Jason looks up at you, teal eyes big from this angle. He's got long lashes and freckles dotting his nose. You rest your tongue on your teeth, and your fingers creep back into his hair. He holds your waist, like he can't help but touch you.
"You liked that, huh?" you ask, grip tightening again.
Jason's face is still red. "Um, youâit, well, it caught me off-guard, but... yeah. Sorry."
You pull his hair again, a little harder this time. He moans again, struggling and failing to be quiet. His pink lips form a perfect O, lids fluttering. You want to eat him alive.
"What did I say about apologizing?" you ask sternly.
Jason's back straightens. "You said not to. Won't do it again."
"Good boy," you say, sinking back down to kiss him. You feel him hard against your thigh, and the thrill of Jason getting so worked up in your hands makes you hot.
"Mm, maybe we should leave your hair long." You suck a mark on his neck. Jason whines.
"'F you want me to, I will," he says, hips shifting under you. You grind against him and Jason makes a choked sound. He's so fucking easy.
"Oh, yeah?" you ask. "It's my choice, huh? Never mind the fact that you're already big and hard from a little kissing and pulling. I barely have to do anything and you're gagging for it. You want me, baby?"
Jason nods vigorously. "Yeah, y-yeah. Want cha. Anything you want, I'll dânnngh!"
You pull again. Jason's hips lift so high and fast that you go up with them. His strength makes you dizzy. The fact that he's hard and docile beneath you makes you dizzier.
"You're so sweet, honey pie," you say, hand traveling under his waistband, wrapping around his cock. Jason's moan is strained. "Don't you dare touch a pair of scissors."
Summary: It's been six months since you were kidnapped in Gotham and rescued and... kissed by the Red Hood. Nothing has been the same since you returned. How are you supposed to continue the monotony of princess life? Lucky for you, someone's attempting a coup in your country. Guess who's on the case.
Pairing: Jason Todd x princess!fem!readerÂ
Word count: 16.6k
Warnings/tags: violence, attempted assassination (not graphic), swords, guns (it's Jason!) Romance, loverboy Jason, lovergirl reader. Pining. Daddy issues. Mentions of a deceased parent. Bed sharing. I loved writing this!!!
the divider
This is a sequel! Read part 1 here!
Six months later. Calpatia. Home.
"This is stupid," you say, impatiently holding your arms straight out to the side as the tailor measures the length of your ribcage. "I'm not getting married."
"You might be soon," Lettie says. She crosses her arms, watching the tailor work. "Provided you don't scare away the next prince. It's best if you don't let it sneak up on you."
You scowl. "Lettie, I'm not getting married now. That would be stupid."
"Ever since you returned from Gotham City, it's been stupid this and no that with you. What's gotten into you? Since when is everything stupid?âÂ
"Getting kidnapped provides a startling clarity," you say hotly.
The tailor begins to measure the length of your body to the length of your future veil and that's when you lose patience. You push past her, off the tailorâs step riser, and stomp out. Sheâll probably complain to the king how difficult you're being, and he'll lecture you tonight at supper. Lettie will try to soothe him, because Lettie's the only one who gives a damn about you in this palace, but it will be in vain. You've acted particularly egregious these past months.
You can't bring yourself to care. The monotony of life sits on your chest like a weight. It's like you'd been living in ice before Gotham, frozen in meeting expectations. Sneaking to the cinema then was nothing compared to the things youâd like to do now: run away to another country, make friends, go somewhere where no one knows or cares if youâre a princess. Now you're impatient, outspoken, unruly to the point of agitation. The guards and your father have all but lost their tempers with you. Your father has begun to hint at marriage, even going as far as to invite two princes on two separate occasions as possible suitors. You were as terrible as you could be to them, until Lettie interfered and dismissed them both. Both instances resulted in your father screaming at you and you stubbornly moping in your room. Life is stagnant since you returned from Gotham, and you have no idea what to do about it.Â
You go to the palace gardens and find a secluded bench. Your usual spot when you need some air and to pretend like youâre free.Â
Sometimes, out of weakness, you google the Red Hood. Recently, he was in the middle of taking down a local mobster called Black Mask, whose face frightened you. A citizen had recorded Hood fighting Black Mask on a roof. You rewatched the clip several times, transfixed by Hood's fluid movements, the way he wielded himself as a weapon. He'd taken down several of Black Mask's men easily. More than once, you scolded yourself for not taking Hood's number. Though who's to say he'd have given it to you? And really, it was only a kiss. Hood probably isn't thinking about it. Heâs a busy man.
Better that you didn't get his number, actually. Better that you came home and returned to normal. Except you can't return to normal.Â
"I convinced the tailor that you were ill."
Lettie is on the garden path, walking to you. Her white work shoes click on the paved cobblestone.Â
"I can handle the king's lectures,â you say, crossing your arms and angling away from her on the bench.Â
She hums. You feel her sit down next to you. "Certainly. Though what if a lecture becomes finishing school?"
You make a face at the thought. "I'd just escape." Briefly, you picture Hood waiting at the bottom of a two-story dormitory as you climb down on tied bed sheets. You smile.
"Yes, I suppose you would."
Lettieâs joints creak as she shifts to get comfortable. She's too old to be babysitting you. You're too old to need babysitting.
Her hair is fully gray. It's been that way for a couple of years. She refuses to dye it. It's a privilege to grow old, she always says. You're still not sure if you believe her. So far, being young isn't so wonderful. Is being old really much better?
"I wasn't trying to be cross," she says, taking your hand into her lap. You feel her cool gold wedding ring press against your knuckle. "I simply don't want you to crash into reality. You're growing up. It's the hardest thing to do."
"I know," you say. You're silent for a while. Then, "I'm sorry that I stormed out."
"Which time?" she asks, squeezing your hand.
You laugh. "All of them."
"Hmm. Forgiven."
You sit there a little longer in the garden, listening to the bubbling fountain that has two marble cherubs, water pouring from their open palms. You rest your head on Lettie's shoulder, using less of your weight than you used to so her arm won't ache.
"Do you still have nightmares?" she asks.
"Sometimes." Youâve had them since you returned from Gotham.
"I'm sorry, my darling. You shouldn't."
You shrug. "It's to be expected, I guess."
You wonder if Hood has nightmares. You're certain he does. Your own nightmares make you feel closer to him in that way.
"So, when will you tell me about the boy?"
You flinch, sitting up. "What boy? There's no boy."
Lettie laughs. "Oh, I'm sure. A lady in love denies it instantly."
"There is no boy, Lettie," you say firmly. "Father barely lets me out on my own. How can I meet a boy to fall in love with?"
"Like with everything else, you manage to find a way." She smiles, teasing. "I'm only sorry you won't introduce him to me."
You sigh. "It's impossible to. That is, er, if there were a boy."
"Of course," she says, eyes twinkling. "Speaking in hypotheticals."
"Precisely. He isn't from here."
"A foreign love? Interesting. Doesn't surprise me, though. You've always had a traveling spirit."
"It doesn't matter." You shake your head. It's silly to think so often of him. You have your life and he has his. "It wouldn't work out anyway."
Lettie takes your hand in hers. They're wrinkled with age but still soft. These days, she never skips her lavender-aloe nighttime balm. Her hands crack otherwise. Many nights youâve massaged her aching hands and put soft gloves on to soothe the skin.
You look at her, at her dark eyes, her gray curls pinned away from her head. You look at her heart shaped face, the face you've known since childhood. Your only friend. Your only ally. Some nights, you feel guilty for not thinking of Lettie that night in Gotham. You imagine she was worried sick when she got the news. She hugged you for a long time when you came home.
But you think if she met Hood, got to know your savior, she wouldn't have worried so much.
"Life has a way of working out," she says.
You want to believe it. Lettie's never lied to you before.Â
Three days later.
Someone is shouting in the throne room. You only have to listen for a few seconds before you realize it's your father who's shouting. And he's shouting for the guards. Fear washes over you. You dash for the throne room, mind careening toward the worst-case scenario.Â
As soon as you enter, you freeze.Â
In front of you is your father at his throne, snorting with anger like a rhinoceros. And in front of him is the Red Hood, his arms crossed as three guards point spears at him. Your exhale is punched out of you at the sight.Â
âHey there, princess,â says Hood, not turning around.Â
You bite the inside of your cheek briefly. Smiling would be extremely inappropriate right now. âHi, Hood.âÂ
âSeize him!â your father orders. The guards advance, and you see Hood reach for his holster. You move before you can think about it.Â
âFather, no!â
You race across the foyer, nearly slipping on the marble. You place yourself between the guards and Hood. The guards stop, bewildered. Pointing their spears at you would be treasonous.Â
âPrincess,â Hood whispers, barely audible. His gloved hand grazes your elbow, quick enough to be an accident. But you know that Hood's touches are never accidents.Â
âDaughter! Remove yourself this instant!â your father thunders, eyes blazing.Â
âNo,â you say, and the closest guard is forced to lower his spear.Â
Your father sputters. âWhatâ!â
âThis man saved my life,â you say. âHe's a hero. You cannot treat him like some thug!â
âNot that I'm not used to it,â Hood adds, unhelpfully.Â
âThis man is the Red Hood of Gotham,â says your father.Â
âNah, I'm the Scarlet Pimpernel.â
The guard begins to raise his spear again.
Hood scoffs. âMan, if I wanted you dead, you'd be on the floor already.âÂ
Your father looks about ready to blow a gasket. His face is plump with anger.Â
âYou scoundrel,â he says. âYou barged in here and attacked my guards!â
âI think incapacitated is a more fitting woââ
âFather, please,â you interrupt, because if there's one thing Red Hood lacks, it's diplomacy. âRed Hood rescued me, or are you so quick to forget favors given by common men?âÂ
âOuch,â says Hood.Â
You turn, putting your back to the guard and your father. âI'm sorry,â you say quickly, eyes wide. âI didn't mean that you're common, just that you have no title and thereforeââ
âI know what yâmeant.â Hood sounds like he's smiling. ââS good to see ya, princess.âÂ
You smile quickly, wary of the eyes on you. You turn back to face your father. He's stomping toward you. Hm. Not a good sign.Â
âFatherââ
âLook, Majesty,â Hood drawls. âI didn't come here to stir up trouble or corrupt the pretty princess. I promise I have no interest in doing anything but good things for your lovely country.âÂ
Your father doesn't stop in his tracks. You stay put in front of Hood. Your father wouldn't dare lay a hand on you and you really don't want him to be bested in a fight with Hood. You love your father (most days) and that's exactly why you're trying to prevent his humiliation.Â
âI don't care why you'reââ
âWhy did you come?â you ask, before your father decides to do something rash.
âNice of you to ask, princess,â Hood says. He gently moves past you, so that heâs face-to-face with your father. You want to touch Hood in warning, but you think better of it. That would throw your father over the edge. âI came because a man named Michael Jamison is in your country, and if you don't let me take care of him, he's gonna do some serious damage. Treason-level damage.â
âIf there was an enemy in my country, I'd know about it,â says your father.Â
âNo, you actually wouldn't. He knows how to hide his tracks. He's got his fingers in every pie: weapons, drugs, cutting off people's fingers. All the specialties. My partner and I have been tracking him since he moved his operation from South America and holed up here two weeks ago. All I want is to take him back to Gotham.â
âAll you want?â Your father raises a brow. âAre you not infamous for your firearms, Red Hood? I recall that they're not only for decoration.âÂ
Hood shrugs. âThought I'd spare you the nitty-gritty.â
âMy answer is no.â
ââScuse me? He's operating right under your nose. If you let him run wild, you'll put yourself and your citizens in danger.âÂ
âYou have no proof a person like that exists. And even if he did, my police would take care of it.âÂ
Hood snorts. âYeah, sure. âCus cops are so trustworthy.â
âI handle matters in my country. Not you. You have no jurisdiction here, Red Hood. You're incredibly lucky I haven't jailed you by now. It's only by the grace of my wayward daughter that you're not rotting in a cell.â
âThat's cute that you think your prison could handle me,â Hood says.Â
âIs that a challenge?â
âIt's a fact.âÂ
Right. Now seems like as good a time as any to step in.Â
âFather,â you say. He glares at you. You barrel on. âRed Hood is very good at what he does. He's a vigilante whoâs not affiliated with Batman, but still very capable. He deals with domestic matters with impeccable skill. I think that it would be wise to investigateââÂ
âNo,â your father says. âAnd I am finished discussing the matter.â
âFine,â Hood says. âI'll go.â
You swing your head to look at him. He doesn't even incline his head to you. Go?
âExcellent,â your father says. âLeave immediately.â
âSure,â Hood says. âYou don't wanna deal with a potential coup? Fine by me. I'll go right home. Jamison will destroy your country and escape to somewhere with a large desert or forest where I can bury his body.âÂ
âExcellent,â your father says airily. âMy men will personally escort you to the tarmac.âÂ
âFine.â Hood begins to walk away, then stops, turns. âOh, one more thing. Jamison has plans to assassinate you so your adversaries can take over. Okay, take care!â
âWhat?â you ask, stepping toward him. You turn to your father. âFather, we shouldââ
âHow do you know this?â your father asks.Â
Hood looks at him straight on. âIâve been doing this for a long time.â He pauses. âI studied under Batman. A long time ago. His reputation precedes him. You can trust that I know how to gather intel and how to take down bad people. Itâs my job. I dealt with Jamison a while ago and I thought Iâd destroyed all his assets, but heâs back, and heâs not someone you wanna ignore.â
Your father snorts. âAm I meant to take you at your word?â
âYeah, actually, you are. âCus I took care of the princess and I didnât want to see her caught in the crossfire of a political coup. Sheâs the only reason I bothered to put you in the loop, Majesty.â
You bow your head so no one will see how utterly pleased you are by that.Â
Your father sighs. For the first time in a long time, you see how aged he is. Itâs hard to see him as anything but your father the king when heâs ordering you to marry before the end of the year, but now, you see him as he is: an old man who needs protecting. Protection that you know Hood can provide.
âPlease listen to him,â you say softly. âPlease. He wouldnât lead you astray.â
Your father looks at you. Heâs no longer glaring at you, but he still squints, like heâs trying to figure something out. He looks at Hood, who gives away nothing with his stance and helmeted face. You wish you could hide your emotions so easily.Â
âRed Hood, if you can provide substantial proof that this person is staging a coup in my country, then we may go from there. But I refuse to act on a guess.â
âI can do that,â says Hood.
Your father nods and finally gestures for the guards to stand down. You exhale fully.Â
âReturn to your chambers,â your father says to you. âWe will speak later.â
You blink. âWhat? Father, if this concerns your safety, I shouldââ
âYou will not be in this conversation,â he says firmly. âI will handle this alone. Go see Lettie. I know you dismissed that tailor before she could fit you for your new gown.â
âThis is outrageous!â you say, and your fatherâs eyebrows raise.
âDo not say another word,â he warns. âI have been more than patient with you todayââ
âYouâre my father!â you burst. âHow can you exclude me from this? Donât I matter? Your own daughter! How canââ
âThat is enough.â Your father gestures for a guard to escort you. âPlease take the princess to her chambers. We will discuss your defiance later.â
âPlans for a coup wouldnât ignore the princess,â Hood says. âItâd be good if she wasââ
âNo.â Your father looks angrier with you than he had with Hood, eyes blazing. âGet her out of my sight.â
The guard leads you away and out of the throne room by your arm. As the doors slam shut, you wrench your arm out of his grip.
âI can walk myself!â you snap.Â
The guard backs down, bowing. You donât go to your chambersâyour last act of disobedience.Â
No, you go up the back stairs and behind a false wall, where thereâs an entrance to a passageway that runs along one wall of the parliament chamber. A thin, silken banner covers the vent you peer through, so you can see most of the chamber but itâs tinted red. There, you wait. And listen. You try to slow your breathing, fuming from your fatherâs dismissal but not wanting to give yourself away. Your father walks in first, sans guards, followed by Red Hood.Â
âIf you try anything, Iâll see you hanged,â your father says.
âSure, Your Majesty. Whatever you say.â
Your father sits at one end of the long, polished wooden table. Many times, youâve watched him and members of Parliament discuss matters. It was your only view into your countryâs politics before they happened. Or else you were as clueless as Calpatiaâs citizens. You didnât want to be a princess who didnât concern herself with her own country.Â
âWell? Show me your irrefutable proof, Red Hood.â
Hood takes out a small laptop. He opens it and types, then shows it to your father, who puts on his glasses, squinting at the screen.
âThis is a network where jobs are posted for mercenaries. Call it a dark web Glassdoor.â
âI see. And this is how you find work?â
Hood snorts. âNo, Iâm a little more exclusive than this. I choose what I need to be involved in. But itâs a good way to track activity. Now thisâŠâ He types. âWas posted two weeks ago. And this is footage of Jamison entering the country.â
âJamison is looking for men to do his dirty work,â your father says with a grimace. âAll of this happens on the internet now?â
âYup. Welcome to the twenty-first century.â
Your father shakes his head. âItâs all very confusing to me. My daughter is the one with the technology knowledge.â
âWell, sheâs of a different generation, so it tracks.â
âYes.â Your father looks at Hood. âI suppose youâre of the same generation as she is, then. I can tell that youâre young. Young men always give themselves away.â
âIâm actually forty-seven. I work out.â
Your father ignores him, looking at the screen. Finally, he sits back.
âAlright,â he says. âI believe you about Jamison. Should I presume that you have a plan?â
Hood shrugs. âSure. Pretty simple, actually: get out.â
âI beg your pardon?â
âJamison isnât gonna waste time, Your Majesty. Heâs gonna take you and the princess out as fast as he can. He knows that every additional day he spends in the country increases the chances of him being discovered. We canât risk going after him while youâre still here.â
Your father nods thoughtfully. âI suppose youâre right. Thatâs a good plan.â
Thatâs a terrible plan. Every good spy film has taught you that bait is the best way to lure out the enemy and make them more likely to make a mistake and fail. Leaving the country would basically let Jamison walk out without a hitch. Thereâd be nothing stopping him from trying again in a new country. Whatâs wrong with Hood? He should know better.Â
âIâd lend my services to get you out safely, of course,â says Hood. âOtherwise youâll be sitting ducks.â He glances at the vent where youâre watching from. ââScuse the expression.â
You startle. How did heâ?
âRed Hood, before I choose to accept your consultancy, I want to make it very clear that your relationship with my country and everyone in it is strictly professional,â your father says.
âYour guards really arenât my type, YâMajesty.â
Your fatherâs expression tightens. âDo not play a fool. You know exactly what I mean. Iâm sure that you attempted to seduce my daughter while you were rescuing her in Gotham; itâs no wonder sheâs been so wild since she returned from Gotham. I know itâs only through her training that she resisted you. She is a princess, a future queen, far above you, and I will not have her tainted by you. She might think youâre a dashing young man, but I know your kind very well. A mercenary, whether you use the label or not. A thug.â
âPlease, Iâm blushing,â Hood says.
Youâre far from Hoodâs easy humor. Youâre accustomed to your fatherâs snide remarks about how you donât know any better, but wrapping that up in an insult to Hood has you hot with anger. You glare at the gauzy shape of your father, layered in red. Tell him off, you think. Give him some Gotham.
âIf I find that you even attempt to consort with my daughter, assassination or not, I will certainly make your life hell. You are tentatively welcome in my country, but you are not welcome to her.â
Hood laughs. âYouâre wasting your breath, Majesty, really. Princesses are a dime a dozen in my line of work. Sheâs not the first princess Iâve met. Anyway, I donât accept payment in the form of kisses. I expect something more material.â
You gasp, covering your mouth with your hand.
Your father raises a brow. âIs that so?âÂ
âWell, like the princess said, I did rescue her. For free. Actually, all things considered, I think that my payment would be compounded. I saved her life, now Iâll save yours.â
Your father chuckles. âIf there's one thing I can appreciate, it's your audacity, Red Hood.â
âOh, câmon,â Hood says, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms. âYou know how far the dollar stretches. Or, uh, the euro. A guy's gotta eat. And considering that no one in your country alerted you to this impending coup, yâreally donât know who to trust. Iâve always found financial support to be good insurance that I do my job well.â
You blink rapidly, hurt and furious at once. You can't believe what you're hearing. This can't be the same man that took you for a slushie and carried you back to your hotel.Â
Your father sighs. âA mercenary after all. I suppose I am glad that your sights are set beyond my daughter. Fine, I am willing to discuss payment. I will not pay you in full until my safety is confirmed. But I suppose I can give you a deposit.â
âNow youâre speaking my language.â
And you watch in horror as your father writes Hood a check and how Hood happily accepts it. âA pleasure,â he says. âSuch a lucrative pleasure to protect kings.â
You hurry out of the tunnel, eyes hot. How could you be so stupid?
You skip supper. Lettie tries to talk to you but you ignore her efforts and all the efforts of the other maids. Months wasted on someone you thought you loved. All you've done is lie in bed until evening, despondent. That's what you're doing when an origami lily sails through your open window and lands on the floor. You sit up and look at it, wiping your eyes. Another paper shape soon joins it: a swan. You get up and go to your window.Â
Hood is fifteen feet below, on the grass. He waves, casual and effortlessly cool in a way that would've made your heart swoop before. Instead, your mouth curls into a sour pucker.Â
âRapunzel, Rapunzel, let down thy silken drapes,â he says, hushed. âI always thought it was gross for the prince to climb her hair. Who knows where his boots have been, yâknow?â
You bare your teeth at him, anger overriding your hunger and headache.Â
âWhat are you doing here?â you hiss.
Hood pauses. âWanted to tell you what King Pops and I discussed. And I forgot my grappling hook at home, soâŠâ
âI know what you discussed!â you snap. You whirl around and grab a pearl and ivory comb that you got for a birthday present off of your vanity. You return to the window and hurl it at Hood with all your might. He catches it with one hand. The comb doesnât even crack. Bastard.
âWhat theâ?â
âThere's your reward. Compounded,â you spit viciously. âHad I known you were so eager for material wealth, I wouldn't have offered anything else!âÂ
Hood scoffs. âPrincess, I know you're smarter than that. You know that was all an act.â
âWas it? I was very convinced. Especially when you took the money. I'd no idea you were such an actor, Red Hood.âÂ
You slump down against the wall next to the window, not wanting to see him anymore. The memory is always better than reality. You know that now.Â
âWait, câmon, none of that was true! I didn't want a reward. I never wanted a reward for rescuing you, okay? Don't you think I'd have asked for one sooner if I did?â
âYou were only waiting for an opportunity to ask,â you say, voice wobbly. Great. Here come your tears again. âYou didn't even really want to see me except to butter my father up for a reward. You probably barely care about Jamison being here at all.â
âIâm not crying!â you shout through tears. You hope the guards will hear and drag Hood away.Â
âShit. Shit. This isn't how it was sâposed to go. Princess, don't cry âcus of me.âÂ
You bring your knees to your chest and bury your face in them. How could you have been so naive? It's one thing for this feeling to have fizzled due to the distance. But having Hood here at home, revealing his true intentions in front of you is the worst thing that could've happened to you. You were deluded to think it would turn out any way but terribly.
Suddenly, thereâs a hand lightly touching your shoulder. You flinch and look up. Hoodâs crouched in front of you. Between two gloved fingers is your white, floral-embroidered handkerchief, which he must've found on your vanity. You guess that the comb you chucked at him is back on your dresser too.Â
âDonât cry over me, princess,â he says softly. âHate that we keep meeting like this.âÂ
You stare at him, forgetting your tears for a moment. âHow⊠how did you get up here?â
Hood nods at the window. âClimbed.â
âIt's three meters up.âÂ
âYeah.â
âAnd the guards? There are always six in rotation on this side of the castle,â you say.
Hood tilts his head. âY'think I can't evade a few royal guards?âÂ
âOh.â You're extremely impressed but you don't want to admit it. âI should have you arrested for trespassing.â
âNah, you could have me arrested for way more than that. I mean, if they found you crying with me here, you could easily claim I was attempting to hurt the Crown and that'd be treason. Don't forget my earlier threats and break-in. King Pops would probably draw and quarter me at this point.âÂ
Your eyes widen in alarm. âHood, that's horrific! I would never let him draw and quarter you. We never practiced that in Calpatia. It's positively barbaric.â
Hood shrugs. ââM sure you could make an exception for someone that really deserved it.â
You shake your head. âIf this is your way of apologizing, it's awful.â
âActually, I was trying to cheer you up.â
âThen it's doubly awful.âÂ
âYeah. Not so good at the sweet talk part. Which you know.âÂ
You hum. âYes, you're quite bad at it. Too bad Batman isn't here.â
âAlright, I deserved that.âÂ
âYou did.âÂ
Hood waves your handkerchief. You take it and dab your cheeks. He crosses his legs and sits in front of you. Heâs bigger than you even at this height. The memory of the kiss hits you then. Inappropriate.Â
âLook, âm sorry I said those things,â he says, head down. âBut I canât have Papa Majesty thinking âm tryinâ to seduce you. Heâd launch me into the ocean before I found Jamison. But none of what I said back there was true. I donât want a reward for rescuing you or for stopping Jamison. I took the check but I ain't gonna cash it.âÂ
âAnd princesses being a dime a dozen? How many have you kissed before me?â you ask scornfully, brows furrowed.
âZero,â Hood says, looking up. âNot just princessesâI havenât kissed anyone before you. Or after you. That was all true, what I said in Gotham. No oneâs ever wanted to kiss me. Then youâI mean, a princess wants to kiss me? Shit, thatâs like, so astronomically out of the odds, it never even entered my realm of possibility.â
âThatâs silly,â you say. âYou arenât that terrible of a kisser.â
âOh, well, Iâm glad to see youâre in such high spirits now,â Hood says, pulling a knee up and resting his elbow. You can see his belt and the taper of his waist.Â
You bite your lip, trying to hide your smile. âI suppose that I am feeling better now, yes. I⊠I sincerely apologize for my outburst.â
âYâmean when you threw a comb at me?â
âI knew youâd catch it.â
âUh-huh.â
You lean in, giddy now that your tears were for naught. Hood is here. In your room. Itâs⊠well, itâs scandalous, for one. Itâs a dream, for two.
âIâve never had a boy in my bedroom,â you say. âItâs very improper.â
âOh, yeah? Careful, princess. You almost sound excited about the impropriety.â
âThat's absurd,â you say.
âMm. As absurd as you spying on us in a secret vent?â
Your eyes widen. âSo you did know I was there.â
Hood nods. âSure did.â
âThen why did you say you came to keep me in the loop?â you ask.Â
Hood rubs the back of his neck. You lift your chin, feeling victorious.Â
âYou came to see me,â you say, smirking. âDidnât you?â
âWellââ
You lean forward on your knees so that youâre taller than him. You cast your gaze down at him, feeling confident despite the fact that you canât see Hoodâs face.Â
âDidnât you?â you say again, grinning.
âJust wanted to make sure you were takinâ the news okay,â he mumbles.Â
âHow very valiant of you, Hood. I think your plan is terrible, by the way.âÂ
ââScuse me?â
You shrug. âI must be plain with you. Youâll almost certainly miss the chance to capture Jamison if we leave. And moving my father when we've no idea where Jamison is hiding is too risky and it makes us unstable. Calpatia is our home. Being on our home ground is better tactically.â
âTactically? The idea is to prevent an assassination, not go to war. And it'll take time for Jamison to move into position.â
âBut we want to catch him,â you say. âHaven't you seen those spy films? They always use bait. Besides, my father's departure will worry the citizens. There'll be civil unrest. Instability will only benefit Jamison.âÂ
Hood's quiet for a moment. âI was tryinâ to play it safe.â
âI know,â you say, eyebrows pinching. âThat isn't your style. Why?â
âI didnât wanna scare you, or put you or your dad at risk. This is a lot. We should play it safe.â
âHood, I have something that Jamison doesn't. Well, two things. I have you, and thatâs why Iâm not afraid to stay.â He coughs quietly at that. âAnd I have a lot of knowledge of Calpatia. Come with me.âÂ
You stand and wait for him to do the same. Youâre reminded again of his size, how heâs like a shield to you. He smells like the jasmine flowers from the palace gardens. You take him by his elbow and lead him to your desk.
âAlright.â You take out a map of the city from your drawer and bend your desk lamp to shine the light more thoroughly on it. âThis is the city. Countless tunnels run underground, see? I have heard that some go for miles outside the city center, though I've never investigated it for myself. If Jamison has employed citizens here, he'd definitely be using these tunnels. He could hide his assassins in the tunnels.âÂ
Hood sighs. âAnd there's too many to know where he'd be hiding, so we'd be putting you both in danger if we tried moving you out.â
âThat is what I was thinking. I don't know how far along Jamison is in his plans. But if he's been here for two weeks, I imagine that he has enough strategies at his disposal. There are too many variables for us to risk moving my father, and we don't have enough men to search everywhere. It would take months and triple the manpower to find him.âÂ
âKnow somethinâ? You're killer at military strategy.âÂ
You smile, tip one shoulder up. âDo you think so?âÂ
âOh, you've got the brains for it, definitely. And people would never see ya cominâ, princess.âÂ
You turn so you're facing Hood. He's close enough that you're pressed against the desk, the edge of it against your hip. You look at his helmet, at those glowing eyes. For months you've ached to know what color his real eyes are. What any of him looks like underneath his mask.Â
âWhatcha thinkinâ about?â he asks.Â
âI was⊠I was just thinking about how we would lure out Jamison.âÂ
âYeah?âÂ
âYes.â You promptly turn and face the map again. âDo you have any ideas?â
âWell, if we're talkinâ about using your dad as bait, then it'd need to be a big enough situation where he'd feel comfortable with trying to assassinate the king.â
You gasp. âOh! Oh, Hood, this is perfect! You're a genius. Well, I'm a genius, but you helped.â
You race to your nightstand and set your laptop up on the edge of the bed, kneeling. Hood follows you, looking over your shoulder.Â
âIs that a video of me fighting Black Mask?â Hood asks.Â
You click out of the tab as fast as humanly possible. âNo. I don't even know who that is.â
âBeen googling me, have ya?â Hood sounds undeniably smug.Â
âThat's preposterous. I'm very busy. I don't have time to search you up, Hood.âÂ
He gracefully doesn't say anymore. You quickly pull up the advertisement for the city festival that you created.
âHere it is. Here is where we can trap Jamison.âÂ
ââFestival of Embers,ââ Hood reads. âWow. Did you make the flyer?â
âYes.â
âLooks really good, princess. Didnât know you were an artist.â
You preen. âI dabble. Anyway, it's a countrywide celebration, and they celebrate it for many days outside of the city. But here in the city, we have a masquerade ball on the first night as an official commemoration. Many dignitaries and officials attend.â
âMasquerade, huh? Yeah, that would definitely appeal to Jamison. Closed space and he can disguise himself. Good thinking, princess.â
âThen youâll propose this to my father?â
Hood sighs. âItâs a good plan, but I donât wanna put you in danger.â
âMy father has many guards. I would be fine. And youâd be in charge. I trust you.â
âYou do?â
You look at him in confusion. âOf course I do, Hood.â
âIt would give me a better chance of catching himâŠâ Hood nods. âOkay. Iâll tell your dad.â
âLovely! Oh, this is so exciting.â
âAn impending coup is exciting?â
You wave him off. âYou know what I mean. And now, I must go sup a late meal. You are dismissed.â
He snorts. âGenerous of ya to let me leave.â
âYouâre welcome.â
He gets up and goes to climb out your window. You step forward.
âHood, wait.â
He stops, turning to face you. You press your lips together. How easily you forget how a princess ought to behave when you're around him. But you get the feeling that Hood doesn't mind so much.Â
âI⊠I wanted to say that I'm grateful for your presence. And your help.â
ââS nothing,â Hood says.Â
âNo, it is something. I am glad you're here.âÂ
âHappy tâbe here, princess,â he says quietly.Â
You smile. âGood night, then.â
âGânight.âÂ
Hood disappears behind the wall. You don't watch him leave, too afraid of the ache his departure causes. You take the paper swan and lily and put them on your vanity, next to the comb.Â
The next day, you sneak into the parliament chambers again and listen to Hood propose your plan to your father. He agrees after some persuasion. You try not to let it get to you, the fact that your father would trust Hood, who is essentially a stranger, over you, his own daughter. But you canât let that get in the way of your focus, which is to protect your father (and, by extension, yourself) from Jamison.Â
âYou will be there at the party then, I presume?â your father asks Hood towards the end of their meeting.
ââCourse. Iâll be lurking and shit.â
Your father raises a brow. âI would appreciate it if you'd not be profane in my presence, Hood. Come, now. Surely youâll partake in the festivities. Besides, my men are very territorial about their duty to the Crown. Itâs better for everyone if you blend in with the crowd. Would it not go against the point of you being here if youâre out in the open in your helmet and guns? That isnât subtle at all.â
âI didnât exactly come dressed for a masquerade ball,â Hood says.
âNo, certainly not,â your father says, looking Hood up and down. âBut no matter. One of the tailors will design you a costume, on my charge. A sign of good faith, since youâre putting effort into keeping me alive.â
Hood hesitates, and you see him look in your direction, at the vent youâre peering through. âYeah. Iâm, uh, trying my best.â
Your father nods jovially, in infinitely better spirits than he was yesterday, despite discovering his impending assassination. Probably because you two havenât crossed paths at all today. âThen itâs settled. One of the maids will direct you to the tailor today.â
âI really donât need a tailor and all that shâugar. Canât I just wear off the rack?â
Your father tilts his head. âI do not know what that means.âÂ
Hood sighs. âNever mind. Look, Your Majesty, I donât sit for tailors. Not good for protecting my identity. Get me? I appreciate the offer.â
âThey could go to your hotel, if youâd prefer.â
âThatâs a negative. Only a select few see the goods.â
Your father makes a face. You stifle a laugh.
âI⊠see.â Your father shrugs. âWell, if thatâs how you feel. You can give your measurements to the tailor then. Or are those confidential as well?â
âSâpose thatâs okay. Sure, I can do that.â
They get up.Â
âWonderful. And Hood? I trust that you are keeping everything we discuss here confidential. That includes talking to anyone in the palace.â
âWhat am I, an idiot? âCourse itâs all confidential,â Hood says.
âThat is not to say that I donât trust my subjects. But I do not want any of our plans to reach the princess. She doesnât need to worry about this.â
Your jaw sets. Hood pauses in leaving, crossing his arms.Â
âSheâs really smart, Majesty,â he says. âSheâs not some airhead. And I think sheâd have important ideas to contribute to the plan.â
âI know that my daughter thinks she is clever,â your father says. âToo much so for her own good, in fact. However, sheâs not knowledgeable about the world, and because of that, she would get hurt. Itâs better that she focuses on other matters.â
âGod,â Hood says. âYou dads really are all the same, huh?â
Your father lifts an eyebrow. âI beg your pardon?â
âTryna keep her in the dark isnât gonna work. Sheâs worried and sheâs smart and sheâs gonna find out about stuff eventually, whether you want her to or not. Itâs up to you whether you wanna be there for her. But youâre hurting your relationship in the meantime.â
âRed Hood, you are here for our safety and that is all,â your father says coldly. âI do not need nor desire your opinions on how to manage my daughter. I am magnanimously choosing to forgive your insolence. Good day.â
âRight,â Hood says, clearly holding back. He goes to leave. âSee ya.â
Your heart sings. No oneâs ever so freely laid praise upon you, especially about your brain. Youâve been called beautiful and gracious and poised countless times. And those are nice compliments, but no dignitary or ambassador cares enough to say things besides what a lovely gown, Your Highness. Not even your own father thinks youâre capable of anything beyond getting dressed in the morning.Â
You race out of your hiding spot, hoping to catch Hood before he leaves the palace. He hadnât said when heâd see you again, in your room or otherwise, and you want to see him again in these precious few days that you have him. You donât see him in the foyer or in any of the nearby hallways, so you go to the garden. There are a couple of secret hideouts in the shrubbery and stone walls that youâre sure Hood would find and wait for you there. You check the bushes first, then the false wall that leads to a secluded, overgrown part of the garden thatâs a blind spot for most guards who donât know to check here. Then you see a peek of red within the bushes and you walk faster, excitement restored.Â
âHood!â you say. âHood, those things you saidââ
A man steps out of the bushes. Itâs not Hood.
You stop, frightened. âOh! Intruder! Intruder! Help!â You grab a fallen branch and wield it at him. âJustâjust stay back! I will hit you!â
âWhoa, jeez.â He holds up his hands in defense. One arm is a prosthetic and looks to be metal. His copper hair is tied back in a small ponytail, a bow strapped to his back. Heâs wearing similar gear that Hood wears, but itâs short-sleeved and maroon. His face is scruffy, and he has on red aviators and a backwards, gray baseball cap. He sort of looks like if a frat bro became a superhero. Hood teams up with the strangest people.Â
You shake the branch at him. âBack up!â
He backs up. âYour Highness, I swear I donât mean you harm. Iâm with Hood.â
You stop, squinting at him. âProve it.â
âSure, sure. What do you wanna know?â
âUm⊠what is his post-patrol food and drink of choice?â
âOh! I know this.â He snaps his fingers. âBuffalo ranch roller and blue raspberry slushie from 7-Eleven. Bam.â
âAnd who did he first eat these items with?â
âDick.â
âI beg your pardon?â
He inhales through his teeth. âAh, I mean his brother. Obviously. Thatâs just what I call his brother because heâs a⊠jerk.â He makes a face like heâs in pain. âDid I pass the test?â
âI⊠suppose so.â You donât lower the branch, frowning at him. âWho are you?â
âNameâs Arsenal. Hood told me to meet him here. Weâre tracking down Jamison together. Iâve been laying low since he waltzed into the palace and pissed off the king.â
You perk up. âHoodâs coming here?â
Arsenal sighs. âGuess not. Iâm gonna call him now⊠okay? Please donât hit me with the branch.â
âIf you try anything, Iâll kick you in the groin,â you say, lifting your chin. âI have been trained in self-defense.â
Your self-defense teacher from when you were sixteen was a beautiful, strict woman, who was rumored to be the heiress of an underground assassin network. She favored swords the most. She was the only person, besides Lettie, who actually intimidated your father. You miss her.Â
âI totally believe you, Your Highness, and I promise I will keep my distance. Look, Iâll put him on speaker. You can hear from him that Iâm cool.â
You nod. âThat is agreeable. Dial.â
âOkay, great. I love when things are agreeable.â He dials on his phone and it rings. Hood answers on the first ring.
âYeah?â comes Hoodâs voice. You try not to react too obviously to the sound of his voice.
âDude, what the hell? You ditched me.â
âSorry.â Hood sighs. âI dunno whatâs goinâ on with me. I got in a fight with the kingâheâs just so dismissive of her, yâknow? What an asshole! Sheâs the one who came up with the idea! I got mad âcause sheâsâGod, if you met her, youâd get it. She threw a comb at me yesterday. What a woman. She smells like a meadowââ
Arsenal coughs loudly. âOhhh, youâre on speakerphone! Her Highness is actually here with me.â
Thereâs a solid three seconds of silence. You fear the line has dropped. Then: âWhat.â
You swallow and lean forward. âHi, Hood.â
âHi, princess.â You canât decipher his carefully neutral tone. âWhatâre you doinâ with Arsenal?â
âShe found my super secret hiding spot,â Arsenal says.
You roll your eyes. âDo you think I donât know the ins and outs of my own garden? This is hardly a hiding spot.â
âYeah, I can see why you like her so much, Red,â Arsenal says. âShe threatened me with a crotch kick.â
âAttagirl,â Hood says.
You beam proudly. âThank you, Hood. I was looking for you.â
âHow come, princess?â
âWell, IâŠâ You glance at Arsenal. He sighs and hands you the phone, taking it off speakerphone at the same time.Â
âThank you,â you say. âI apologize for threatening you with a branch.â
âNo sweat. Happens all the time. Iâll be over there, not eavesdropping.â
You put the phone to your ear. âHello, Hood. Youâre off speakerphone now. Arsenal gave me the phone.â
âGot your way, huh?â
âI always do,â you say sweetly. âI was looking for you because⊠well, it was very kind what you said to my father about me today.â
âHeâs fuckinâ ridiculous. How dâyou deal with him?â He huffs. âI thought my dad was a pain in the ass. Thank God heâs not a king. Well, not legally.â
You hum. âIt takes a lot of practice to deal with him. But please donât jeopardize the plan by arguing. I know he can be frustrating, but truly, you donât need to fight him for my sake.â
âHe was sayinâ stupid shit,â Hood says petulantly.
You smile. âHe often does. Thank you for defending me.â
âIâll always defend ya, Princess. But, um, I better stay away for a bit to let him cool off, yeah?â
Youâre mournful at the thought of Hood staying away. Your time together is already so limited.
âDid you talk to the tailor about your costume?â you ask instead.
âYeah, I gave him my measurements. He said heâd deliver the costume to my room.â
âWonderful. Iâll make sure he doesnât put too many feathers on it.â
âFeathers?â
You giggle. âKidding. So, I smell like a meadow?â
Hood clears his throat. âI, uh, think Arsenal needs his phone back.â
You fiddle with your dress, delighted by how flustered he is. âIn a moment. Iâm quite enjoying this.â
You bite your lip. âVery well. I am a benevolent princess.â
âI know yâare. And you can trust Arsenal, okay? I trust him with my life.â
âI trust you with mine, so I believe you,â you say solemnly. You hesitate, wanting to ask him to see you again before the festival, but you donât think you have a right to request such a thing. âGoodbye, Hood.â
âBye, princess. Donât get into too much trouble.â
You hand Arsenal the phone. He nods gratefully and holds it up to his ear, listening for a bit and humming, then hanging up.Â
âWhat hotel are you staying at?â you ask.
Arsenal snorts. âHotel is a very generous descriptor for where we are. Hood wanted to stay inconspicuous which means weâre roughing it. Weâre at the Calpatia Inn.â
âThen you should go that way,â you say, pointing. âYou can cut through the woods and find the main road while avoiding the guards.â
âThanks, Your Highness.â He does an awkward half-bow. You watch amusedly. He winces. âYeah, that wasnât right, was it?â
âIt wasnât bad,â you say. âBut you do not need to bow. A friend of Hood is a friend of mine. No formalities required.â
âYouâre Hoodâs friend,â he says, nodding slowly. âHuh. Right. See you later, Your Highness.â
âGoodbye,â you say, watching as Arsenal disappears behind the wall and in the opposite direction of the castle.Â
You allow yourself a tiny squeal when youâre completely alone. He thinks you smell like a meadow!
The city is abuzz with excitement about the festival, which is three days away. Meanwhile, your father is wreaking havoc on the castle inhabitants. Not only is he stressed with expense approvals and security arrangements, but he's also insistent on not letting you go anywhere, under the guise of the assassination threat. You know that heâs stressed and when heâs stressed heâs more strict. But instead of your usual defiance, youâve decided to be as complacent as possible so he doesnât discover your wild plan (falling in love with the Red Hood). To do this, you have agreed to the worst thing possible: a courting.Â
Viscount Archibald Gramsley has graciously told you to call him Archie. You do not extend the same courtesy, and you make sure he addresses you as Your Highness. True, you're playing nice with your father today, but too much cooperation would make him suspicious. Luckily, you know how to strike a balance.Â
You and Archie are in the garden for tea, in the nice, white wicker chairs, shaded under the large oak tree that nearly reaches the top of the palace. You used to attempt climbing to the top but never got further than the first branch. You wonder if Hood likes to climb trees.Â
âI have twice as large an estate at home,â Archie says, lazily lifting a well-groomed eyebrow. âIt would please me to host you instead next time, Your Highness.â
You smile tightly. âNothing would please me more.â
âFantastic. I'll have it arranged.â
Archie was the first on your list of potential suitors, and instead of going through the pain of vetting them all, you agreed to go in order of request. Now you wish you had studied the list more closely. Archie has been talking about himself for a little under an hour, and youâre debating which fork would be best to stab him with.Â
You wish you could have tea with Hood instead. Does he like tea? He seems like he would. And he probably has freckles on his cheeks from the sun. Scars, too? You think so. A man like him can't go without getting keepsakes from fights. You stir your tea absently, thinking about what color eyes Hood has while Archie blathers on.Â
âYou know, Father worried me when he said I'd be meeting the Princess of Calpatia, but you're more beautiful than I thought you'd be. It's refreshing, to say the least,â he says. He loudly sips his tea.Â
Archie is short and wiry. He could be handsome if he never spoke a word, but his lack of wit unfortunately ruins any good looks of his. He's very proud of his blond hair and smooth skin that's probably never seen an hour of sun. You thought meeting in the garden would be good for what is certainly a vitamin D deficiency.Â
âAre you sure we couldn't have tea inside?â he asks, wrinkling his nose when a dragonfly soars past. âIt's quite sunny today. It's⊠unpleasant.âÂ
Seriously, who hates the sun? You take a large gulp of tea. Your tutor from your childhood would rap your hand with a ruler for that but she's not here, and you donât care if your manners disgust a so-called prince. You wouldnât see Archibald again even if he was the last man on Earth.Â
Then again, as far as choosing men that would survive the end of the world, he wouldn't be on your list. Hood would be, though. Heâd be wonderful in an apocalypse. You imagine him sweeping you away on his motorcycle, telling you to stay close and to hold on as you weave through the hills of Calpatia. You would almost certainly survive with Hood watching over you. Heâd find an abandoned cottage for you to rest in, and when he was sure you were alone, heâd delicately unlace your bodice, careful not to rip your dressâ
âI beg your pardon, are you listening?â
You blink, zone back in. âMy apologies. What were you saying?â
Archieâs mouth puckers. âI was saying that your father said you were looking for a husband.â
âOh! Well, I have been wanting to travel first,â you say. You canât let Archie think youâd seriously consider a proposal. Whatâs more, if he does propose, your father will stop at nothing to push you to accept. And if you decline, heâll make you accept the next royal pain that looks your way. And thereâs always someone worse.
âTravel, yes. I also enjoy traveling. We could do that, before we settle down.â
âSurely you must have other prospective marriage offers,â you say quickly. âBetter than me. My estate is small, as you said.â
Archie nods. âTrue. But princesses from larger countries are such chores to manage.â
Heâs obviously never met you before.Â
You smile wanly. âIs that right?â
âQuite.â Archie sips delicately from his teacup. âThey have such modern ideas about independent rule. I myself am in line for my own throne. You understand.â
Good God.Â
âI think that a king and a queen should rule equally,â you say.
Archie looks like youâve just told him you like to chew barbed wire. âWith all due respect, that is preposterous. Princesses are not trained in diplomacy or politics. A queenâs role is important but separate from the kingâs duties.â
Yeesh. Where did your father find this man? The last century?Â
âI⊠Archie, I think perhapsââ
Thwap!
You both flinch as an acorn hits the side of Archieâs head. He whips his head around, searching for the offender. âWhat on earth was that?â
âI donât know,â you say, looking around. âPerhaps the tree dropped an acorn.âÂ
Archie rubs his head. âYou ought to instruct your gardeners better. If they cannot do their jobs, thenââ
Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!
Three acorns drop from above, all hitting Archie right in the center of his head. He leaps from his chair, outraged. His cheeks are pink with anger.
âWhat is going on?â he shouts. âWho is doing that?â
âArchie, itâs probably just a squirrelââ
âFilthy rodents!â he screeches. âThey ought to be shot!â
You blink, watching him in disgust. Out of the corner of your eye, you see movement. A red vest. You laugh, then cover your mouth.
âWhat is so amusing about this?â Archie snaps. âAre you ill?â
Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!
âNo, not at all,â you say, muffling your laughter. This time, the acorns come from multiple directions. Archie screams, swatting them away, and your giggles become uncontrollable as he flails like a monkey.Â
âBastard squirrels! Filthy creatures!â he screams, and you gasp. Archie looks at you with wild eyes, panting.
âIâŠâ He swallows. He smooths his hair and his suit, trying to regain his composure. âIâI apologize for my outburst. I did notââ
Thwap! Thwap!Â
Archie bellows a yell, kicking the chair and knocking the teacup onto the ground. It chips at the rim. You stand up, lifting your chin.
âI request that you leave,â you say sternly. âNow.â
âFine!â he yells, and stomps back inside the palace, shoving through the guards.Â
You exhale and pick up the teacup, then you point to the gardens. âI am going for a walk to clear my head. Please make sure that Viscount Gramsley finds his way out.âÂ
The guards nod understandingly, and you go toward where you saw that glimpse of red. You spot a red origami bat near a jasmine bush and you quickly pick it up and tuck it into your dress.Â
âDidnât work out?âÂ
You smile at the voice hidden in the bushes. âUnfortunately not. Some mischievous squirrels.â
âShame. Gotta watch out for them.â
âIndeed.â You resist the urge to stick your hand into the bushes and find Hoodâs hand. âIs the plan going well?â
âSure is. Everythingâs going smoothly.â
You nod. âThatâs good.â
The urge to ask to see Hood again before the festival bubbles up. You canât get enough of him. It should frighten you.Â
âSo, youâre interested in meeting a prince?âÂ
You make a face. âDonât be ridiculous. I am already in love.â
You cover your mouth, hoping Hood canât see your embarrassment.Â
âOh,â he says. âIââ
âAnyway!â You bite your lip, mind racing for a subject change. âEr, please tell Arsenal thank you for the acorns. His aim is impeccable.â
Hood snorts. âDunno what yâmean. He told me heâs been practicing his curtsy. âSee ya soon, princess.â
âSee you.â You pick a jasmine from the bush, walking back to the palace. You bring it to your nose. It smells like Hood.Â
The Next Night
Boom!
Somewhere, something hits the walls of the palace. The sound makes you flinch, and you rush out of your chambers to see the commotion. The guards that are usually posted down the hall are gone, so you follow the shouting. Thereâs a second set of doors that separates your chambers and the hall from the rest of the castle, and you push those open.
On the carpet is a palace guard being restrained by three other guards. As you approach, he looks right at you, eyes wild and hateful. A guard steps in front of you, gently shielding you. You peek around his shoulder, watching the traitor struggle.
âIâll kill you!â the guard shouts. âYouâll be sorry, you stupid brat. You and your father destroyed my home. You donât deserve this palace! You donât deserve it!â
Heâs dragged away and the heavy doors close after him. His ranting is muffled now, but you can still hear it in your mind, feel his frightening blue eyes cutting through you like ice.Â
The guard in front of you asks, âAre you alright, Your Highness? We prevented him from entering your chambers.â
You feel sick. âYes, thank you. I-I am fine.â
Another guard sighs. âIf itâd been a minute later, yâmightâve beenââÂ
The first guard nudges him. He shuts up.
âWeâll be nearby if you need anything,â says the first guard sympathetically. âPlease try to rest, Your Highness.â
Youâre suddenly exhausted as you shuffle back to your room. The hallway seems longer than usual, and you stare at the portraits and ornate windows on the walls. Paranoia strikes you then: what if there are others? What if they break in through the windows? You pick up your pace then and race to your room, closing the doors behind you. Mindlessly, you rub your arms and sit on the edge of your bed, staring at the floor. Tears come to your eyes, and you let them fall.Â
What if the plan doesnât work? What if your father dies?
Your curtain moves and you flinch. Itâs happened. Theyâre here for you.Â
But then you see the heavy black boots and the tactical vest and you exhale in relief. No, youâre safe. You are always safe with Hood.Â
âHey,â he says quietly, climbing gracefully over your sill. Â
You quickly wipe your cheeks. Your face feels puffy and hot. âHi.â
Hood stops at the edge of your room, right by the window. You watch him take off his boots and walk to you in socked feet. He sits on the floor next to you, not touching you, but close enough to. You see now that his clothes are spattered in blood. Your mouth opens in horror.
âHood, why are youââ
âArsenal and I intercepted some of Jamisonâs men before they got to the palace. They tried a sneak attack. Got messy. I came as soon as I heard. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?â
You clasp your hands in your lap. âNo. But he was so close to me, Hood. The guard said that if it had been a minute later, I wouldâve⊠I wouldâve beenââ
ââS not true. People always say stuff after the fact.â
âDonât lie to me, Hood,â you say, glaring. âDonât try to protect me in my fatherâs misguided way.â
His shoulders go up, then down as he exhales. âOkay. Sorry.â
You shiver, adrenaline coursing through you. âI suppose I would be an easier target than my father, considering the placement of my chambers. We should probably put more guards after⊠after we have checked their backgrounds, of course, and reinforce theââ
âPrincess.â Hood kneels in front of you. He takes off his gloves, careful not to get blood on you, then holds the sides of your calves over your nightgown. Your exhale is punched out of you. He looks up. You canât see his eyes, but it makes you feel better that heâs meeting your gaze somewhere behind his helmet.Â
âHe wouldnât have gotten to you. I wouldnât have let that happen. And yâdonât need to figure out security measures. Weâre doing that right now.â
âI donât need to be coddled, Hood,â you say sharply. âI understand the reality of the situation.â
The image of the guardâs face hits you again. The strands of spit pulling from his teeth as he screamed at you, his wild eyes. How can anyone be so full of hatred toward you? What have you done to make him want to hurt you?
âI just⊠I donât understand what Iâve done. Why is this happening?â
âNo, hey. This ainât a reflection of you. Jamison is the devil, seriously. And he only works with people who are just as twisted as he is. Itâs not you, yâknow, itâs⊠really, really bad business.â
You feel tears begin to swell again. Hood rubs your legs. âI kept wondering why I was kidnapped in Gotham,â you say, voice warbly with tears. âIf there was something different I couldâve said or done⊠maybe Iâm a terrible princess. Even you hated me when we first met.â
âNo way, I didnât hate ya. I was⊠I was havinâ a bad night, to be honest. Didnât have to do with you. And youâre not a bad princess, okay? Not a bad anything. Nothing that happened in Gotham or tonight was your fault. Got me?â
He squeezes your legs. You nod.
âYes,â you say. Heâs so close. Youâre reminded of that night in Gotham, how his bulk unnerved you. Now, you feel overwhelmed in a good way, Hood at your feet like a guard dog. His hands are still on you. You feel drowsy and warm.
âAnyway, âm glad we met. Despite the circumstances,â he says, stroking your clothed calf with his thumb.
âWell, that is because I am spectacular company and quite irresistible.â
He throws his head back and laughs. You bite your lip at the sight, sick with pleasure. You can face anything with Hood at your side, you think.Â
âOh, man. Think yâmightâve cast a spell on me,â he says when he catches his breath, tracing your ankle bone with a knuckle.Â
âI hope so,â you say, heart beating fast. He hums.
The adrenaline is fading and exhaustion hits you. In Hoodâs presence, you feel as safe as you possibly can be. You believe that he wouldnât have let that guard hurt you. But you also know that he canât be everywhere at once.
âHood?â you say quietly.
âYeah, honey?â
âWill you stay the night with me? Iâm afraid⊠what if Jamison tries again?â
âHe wonât.â
You frown. âI wonât sleep a moment alone.â
âPrincess, I really donât think I shouldââ
You clutch his hands. Theyâre calloused and cool. He has thick fingers. âPlease? Please, Hood, I feel the safest with you. Just for tonight. Then weâll catch Jamison at the festival tomorrow and itâll all be over.â
He sighs. âIf I stayâŠâ
You nod eagerly. âYes?â
âNo one can know. Iâd be gone before dawn.â
âYes, of course. So youâll stay?â
â...Iâll stay. Despite my instincts.â
âOh, wonderful! Hood, youâre wonderful.â You want to hug him, but you think better of it when you remember the blood. Even so, hugging is not proper for a princess. You stand and smooth the wrinkles of your nightgown. âGood. Yes. Shall I find you some pajamas?â
âUh, no, you shall not.â
âYou cannot wear your gear to bed, Hood. Itâll be very uncomfortable. Besides, I do not want you sitting on my furniture when you have blood on your jacket.â You wrinkle your nose.Â
âIâm gonna be on the floor anyway.â
You roll your eyes. âThat is the most ridiculous thing youâve said. You will not lie on the floor like a house pet. No, you will sleep on my chaise lounge.â
You arenât completely gone; you realize that having Hood sleep in bed with you would be a little much, even for your recently developed lack of decency. Hood is probably too much of a gentleman to sleep in your bed, anyway. But you wonât let him hurt his back sleeping on the floor. Not when he has to be at his best tomorrow night.
âYour chaise?â
You point to your baby pink chaise with gold accents thatâs next to your bed. âItâs comfortable; I have fallen asleep on it while reading.â
âJesus. This kinda thing is bad for my reputation, yâknow.â
âYes, yes. Donât sit in it without removing your blood-stained clothing, please.â
He sighs like youâve just asked him to fetch you the moon. âYou always get your way, donât you?â
âEssentially, yes. You can shower in my en-suite. Iâll sneak into my father's chambers to get you some clothes.â
âOh no, no no. That's where I draw the line. No way am I wearing King Popsâ stuff. Heâs not even my size.â
âThen how will you change clothes?â
Hood looks at the window. âWellâŠâ
Twenty minutes later.
âI resent this,â Arsenal hisses from below.
You peek your head over the windowsill and wave. âHi, Arsenal.â
âHiya, Princess.â He scowls at Hood. âI still resent this. I donât care that youâre in love or how beautiful the princess is.â He nods at you. âAnd you are quite beautiful, Your Highness.â
You laugh. âWhy, thank you, Arsenal.â
Hood snaps his fingers impatiently. âLess yappinâ. Not gettinâ any younger here.â
âI should never have to look for your underwear. Hood, man, weâve been through a lot, but touching your underwear is far from being on my bucket list.â
âItâs clean, asshole,â Hood hisses. âWill you just throw the bag up?â
Arsenal sighs and throws the duffel bag up to your window. His aim is impressive, like Hoodâs. Youâre glad that theyâre both on your side.
âHold on,â you say, and you get the picnic basket of palace dinner you packed for Arsenal, in exchange for his magnanimous delivery of Hoodâs underwear. Hood helps you attach it to his grappling hook so you can send it down.Â
âPrincess, youâre the sweetest,â Arsenal says. âSee, this is what Iâm talkinâ about, Hood. Manners. Grace. Politeness. You can learn a thing or two.â
âYouâre one to talk,â Hood says, flipping him off.Â
âJerk. Sweet dreams, Princess. Sorry about that crazy guard guy.â
Your smile is thin. âThank you, Arsenal. Will I see you tomorrow at the festival?â
âFor sure.â He grins at you, and it would probably make your face hot if you werenât shoulder-to-shoulder with the Red Hood. âSave me a dance?â
âDonât answer that,â Hood says. âShe only dances with princes, jackass, not your ugly mug.â
You smile, patting his hand. âDonât be jealous, Hood. A princessâ job is to be diplomatic and dance with all of her subjects.â
âYeah, hear that? Diplomatic. Look it up, Red!â Arsenal crows.
âFuck off.â
Arsenal shrugs and blows you a kiss. You snort and wave.Â
âGood night, Arsenal,â you say.
âNight, Princess. Jerk-off.â
âFuckhead. Youâre watching the north wall tomorrow,â Hood says.
âGotcha. See ya both.â
He disappears around the wall, picnic basket in tow. Hood closes your window and locks it.
âHeâs nice,â you say, biting your lip to hide a smile.Â
Hood whips his head around so fast, you almost laugh. âYou like him?â
You smile indulgently. âI find him charming. Though not as charming as you.â
âYeah?â He inches closer. âIâm charming, huh? Iâve been told as much.â
You laugh. âNo modesty! Go shower.â
Hood comes out in a cloud of steam exactly seven minutes later. Youâre already in bed, and you close your laptop on your lap. The front of his white tank top is a little damp, drops of water running down his neck and getting absorbed immediately. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his arms, soft when at rest but bulging with muscle when he bends them to stretch out his tank top. You catch a glimpse of dark hair on his chest and oh, the Red Hood is a brunet.
He has on black basketball shorts for modesty, though you have no idea whatâs modest about Hoodâs impossibly large thighs. Briefly, you recall the internet trend of people crushing watermelons with their legs.Â
âBathroomâs free,â he says. âI bagged up my clothes, donât worry. No blood in your room, princess.â
âOh, Iâyes, thatâs good. Thank you. Isnât it uncomfortable to wear the helmet with wet hair?â
âNah, I have a drying mechanism built in for when I have to go diving in the Hudson on a case. Learned that the hard way. And itâs cushioned inside, so I can sleep everywhere.â
âYou think of everything,â you say, watching as he approaches. You have to crane your neck to see him from this angle, and your heart jumps at the thought of Hood climbing atop you, bracketing you with his arms and legs. You think about if his helmet were off, and if he dripped water onto you, and where that water would land, and would he wipe it away with his handâŠ
ââdonât have tâworry about it, okay?â
You blink. âI⊠I beg your pardon, Hood, I was lost in my thoughts.â
âYeah, I see that. What were you thinkinâ about?âÂ
He squats at your bedside, resting his elbows on the bed. That flexes his biceps. You feel light-headed.
âI was just thinking about tomorrow. Iâm worried,â you say, not completely lying.Â
âHey, itâll be fine. Yâknow Iâd never let anything happen to you. I was sayinâ that Arsenal and I are gonna vet the guards on your protective detail, so you donât have to worry about it.â
âThank you, Hood.â
Is this what itâs like to fall in love?Â
âNo sweat. Itâll be over in a minute,â he says. âMorning after, youâll be amazed at how light yâfeel. Happens every time I finish a case.â
You turn on your side, putting your laptop on the nightstand. You prop your head up on your hand. âSo youâre a detective. Like Batman?â
âWell.â Hood stands and stretches, pulling his elbow over his head. His tank top rides up, showing you a sliver of his happy trail. Goodness. He settles in the chaise, reclining. âKinda. I definitely practice methods that Batman doesnât approve of. But he trained me, so yeah, I owe a lot of what I know to him.â
âWhat was it like, training under him?â
Hood sighs. âIt was fantastic. âTil it wasnât.â
You frown. âIâm sorry. Letâs talk about lighter things.â
âSure. Whatâd ya think of Archie?â
You roll your eyes. Hood chuckles, shoulders shaking.Â
âPlease,â you say. âIâll spare you. Fatherâs choices for suitors are always horrendous.â
ââS so medieval that you still have to do that. Marry some guy you donât like for the throne.â
âMy mother felt the same way,â you say. âShe was only queen for a year before she abdicated and divorced my father. She couldnât stand royal politics.â
âWow. Didnât know a queen could do that.â
âShe wasnât royal by blood. She met my father while abroad and they fell in love. And I guess she thought that she could do this: be a queen, love my father. But she could only do one of those things. She got sick a few years later. My father would hardly leave the hospital. I didnât see him for weeks at a time. I know he misses her everyday, and Iâm grateful that he loved my mother so much that he carries her through his grief. But it changed him for the worse.â
âYou donât miss your mom?â he asks quietly.Â
âI miss the idea of a mother,â you say. âBut how can I miss a woman I never knew? I can only love the people who have tried to make my life better, who love me to the best of their abilities. My father would do anything for me, except let me marry who I want. He loves me the way he knows. What more can I ask him for? Anything else I desire, I must carve it out for myself.â
He hums. âThatâsâyouâre really understanding of people. Youâd make a great queen.â
You smile. âDo you think so?â
âYeah. I think you can have anything you want, princess.â
âI think you can too,â you say, hushed.
He laughs, but itâs sad. âYeah, dunno âbout that.â
âNo, you could,â you say. You could have me.
He looks at you for a long moment. You have never seen his eyes, and yet Hoodâs gaze unravels you every time. Youâre certain he always knows what youâre thinking. It scared you at first. Now it feels like a blessing to have someone who can read you so well. It feels like fate.Â
âYou should get some sleep,â he eventually says, leaning over to turn off your bedside lamp. âWe got a long day tomorrow.â
âOkay.â You pull the covers over you. Youâre glad you told the maids to not come in and prepare you for bed. âGood night, Hood.â
He turns off the light. Your room is shrouded in darkness, but you can still see the dim glow of Hoodâs helmeted eyes. They should scare you.Â
âGânight, princess.â
When you awaken, youâre soaked in sweat. Your neck sticks to your pillowcase, and your body feels baked, trapped under the covers. You struggle, your breath thin. You donât remember your nightmare, but you know what it was about. Ever since Gotham, all your nightmares are the same.
âHey.â Hoodâs figure looms over you. You see his helmeted eyes. âYou were screaming. IâŠâ
You reach for him without another thought. âPlease come.â
And immediately, he goes, climbing into your bed, sitting cross-legged. Gingerly, he opens his arms, and you cling to him tightly, fisting the back of his tank top. He holds you back, petting your spine. Youâre sweaty and your breathing is too fast and your nightgown is rumpled. You are not a princess right now. Youâre just you. Hood doesnât seem to mind.
âI dreamt about the night in Gotham,â you whisper. âI⊠I havenât stopped having nightmares about it since I came home.â
ââM sorry,â Hood says, words thick with guilt. âI shouldâve found ya sooner.â
âIt wasnât your fault,â you say. âJust bad business.â
He hugs you tighter. âYeah. Gothamâs cursed like that.â
âIâm going to miss you when you leave, Hood.â
âMe too, princess. But Iâll come visit. Iâll sneak into your window. âM gettinâ real good at it.â
You laugh, your throat thick with unshed tears. âToo good.â
âIâm just so cool. What can I say?â
You pick your head up from where it rested on his shoulder. You hold his forearms. His hands are cool but the rest of him runs hot.
âPlease stay in my bed,â you say.Â
âPrincess. Honey, thatâs not proper. Câmon, yâdonât want me in your bed.â
âI do. How can you not tell? I want you everywhere, Hood.â
He shudders. âShouldnât say those things. Yâknow better, princess.â
âPlease,â you say again, resting your hand on his neck, where his pulse throbs. âOr I wonât sleep.â
You feel him swallow. âA-alright, okay. Lie down.â
You smile triumphantly, and lie down. Hood lies next to you, taking care not to touch you. You slip your hand under the sheet and feel for his fingers. He lets you link them together.
âAlways get your way, huh?â Hood says.
You smile into the darkness, eyelids heavy. âAlways.â
You wake up slightly groggy from last nightâs events, but youâre otherwise well-rested. And, to your absolute delight, Hood is still in your bed. You move your head slightly to look at him. Heâs rolled onto his side, facing you, shoulder touching yours.Â
âOh my.â
You jerk away from Hood, shooting to sit up. Lettie stands in the doorway, a stack of fresh linens in her arms. She sets them down and stares at you. Hood startles awake, and it takes him less than a second to roll out of your bed, sleep-rumpled. He freezes when he sees Lettie.
âLettie, it isnât what you think,â you say.Â
She raises her eyebrows. âMy dear child, Iâm really not sure what to think. Mr. Red Hood, is it?â
Hood pulls down his tank top and tucks it in, trying to look more presentable. âUh, yes, maâam. Hood is fine.â
She looks at you, laughter in her eyes. âI see. Well, âLettieâ is quite fine as well. Do you often share beds with princesses in your undershirt, Mr. Hood?âÂ
âLettie!â you hiss, face aflame. âGods above. He was protecting me.â
âIs that what the young people call it?â
âOh my God,â Hood says, looking up at the ceiling. âJesus Christ. Iâm gonna go. It was, uh, nice to meet you, maâamâLettie. Princess?â
You nod, forgetting your embarrassment for a moment in favor of getting your last looks of Hood. âYes. Iâll see you tonight?â
âPromise,â he says, reaching over to squeeze your hand. He briskly circles around your bed, bowing his head as he passes Lettie, getting his bag.
âIndeed, donât forget your belongings!â she says cheerily.
âYup. Yeah. Thank you.â Hood shuffles to the window and puts on his boots. He doesnât lace them before heâs throwing his legs over your windowsill, disappearing in a moment. You stare at the cloudless sky long after he goes.
âSo. Foreign boy?â
You whip your head back to glare at her. âThat is not funny. He really was protecting me. I was frightened after last night. I had another nightmare, and I asked him to stay. He was a perfect gentleman.â
Lettieâs expression softens. âOh, my dear. Yes, I heard about the incident this morning. I was in town last night, or I wouldâve checked on you. Are you alright?â
âI am fine. Hood was⊠he comforted me.â
âI see.â Lettieâs eyes are fond. âYou really like him.â
You sigh. âI really do, Lettie. Heâs⊠oh, heâs just not at all what you expect. Heâs kind and funny and so brave.âÂ
You leave out the details about Hoodâs biceps. For your and Lettieâs sake.Â
âAnd he visited you? Thatâs dedication. Iâm sure heâs very busy in Gotham.â
âHe came here for work,â you say. âIt was a very good coincidence. Well, bad, because of the coup plan, butâŠâ
âBut silver-lined,â Lettie says.
You nod. âYes. But heâs leaving after the festival tonight.â
âOh, darling.â She comes to your side of the bed, sitting next to you. You scoot closer and lean on her shoulder. She rubs your back.Â
âIâm going to miss him so much, Lettie,â you say.Â
âI know, my dear. But you know that things have a way of working out.â
And with all your heart, as you look out the window, you hope that Lettie is right.Â
âThank you for coming,â your father says for what feels like the hundredth time to a couple dressed in matching purple Volto masks. They curtsy and you return it, smile strained. Itâs only been a little under an hour and youâre already exhausted. You hope youâll get to enjoy next yearâs ball more. Ideally without any assassination threats.
âStand up straight,â comes your fatherâs sharp reminder. âI expect you to dance with at least three suitors tonight. We must keep up appearances and there are plenty of prospective husbands here.â
You sigh. âYes, Father.â You feel his eyes on you and you turn to look at him. âWhat is it?â
âYou arenât fighting me,â he says. âItâs odd. What are you planning?â
âNothing. If you want me to dance tonight, Iâll dance. Though I maintain that I can help with the plan. Er, whatever the plan may be.â
He shakes his head. âI want you as far from me as possible. Jamison is after me, not you. I donât want you caught in the crossfire. But⊠I suppose you ought to focus on other things tonight, besides finding suitors.â
You perk up. âReally?â
âI donât want you to be distracted if something does happen. But⊠promise me youâll try to participate in the festivities. We donât want to alert our guests that anything may be amiss. You are the face of tonight.â
âThat isnât true. They look to you for guidance, Father.â
He smiles and reaches over to stroke your face in a rare display of affection. âIn some ways, yes. But youâll be their queen one day, and you are in the public eye whether you like it or not. Think of the impression you want to make.â He looks at you for a moment longer. âYou look like your mother. She wouldâve been very proud of you, you know.â
You blink away the wave of emotion that fills you. âThank you, Father.â
You look out at the sea of people in the ballroom. Dozens of couples dance, laugh, flirt. You try to focus on greeting new guests instead of your longing to join them. The musicians have begun to play a smoky waltz, rich and extravagant.Â
âGood evening, Your Majesty.â
You turn at the new voice. Itâs an odd mix of a proper affectation and not. This guest is alone. His eyes flick to you briefly, before returning to your father. He bows deeply. He has a red Colombina mask etched with black and gold. His suit and cape are extravagant and match his mask. Tucked into his belt is a sword, completing his costume of a rugged, mysterious Casanova. But covering his mouth is a black sash of fabric, like heâs an outlaw, or aâ
âWelcome. I hope youâll enjoy the festival,â your father says. âHer Highness, Princess of Calpatia, my daughter.â He gestures to you.
The mystery guest bows deeply to you. He gets close enough for you to see his seafoam eyes, piercing through the shadows of his mask. His lashes are thick and dark. Your heart stutters.
âPrincess,â he says, and youâd know that voice anywhere. Your lips part, about to call his name. He puts a finger over the sash, where his mouth would be. You remain silent.Â
âIt is the utmost pleasure to meet you.â He addresses you, not your father, and you smile. âIf it pleases you, may I have this dance?âÂ
âWhat did you say your name was?â your father asks.
âI did not say, Your Majesty. I apologize. The name is Gregory. Prince Gregory. Greg, if you prefer.âÂ
You grin.Â
âI see. Well, alright. I suppose that is fine. Go ahead.â
You take your princeâs hand. He helps you down the dais carefully, mindful of the poof of your skirt.Â
âDonât worry, Princess.â He eases you into a waltz position, one hand on your ribs, the other holding your hand. âPromise I wonât tear up this dress.â
You can't stop grinning. It's incredibly inappropriate. âI should hope not, Hood. This cost more than the last one.â
He hums. ââS beautiful. Youâre beautiful.â
You tuck your chin coyly, pursing your lips. âI wore red for you.â
He sucks in a heavy breath. His gaze flips your stomach. âFor me? Not very proper of ya, Princess.â
âNo,â you say, voice husky. You wish you could feel his pulse on your mouth. âIt is not.âÂ
âHowâd yâget away with that? Didnât King Pops vet your dress?â
You smirk. âDo you think that I cannot handle my overprotective father, Hood?â
âNah.â He turns and pulls you closer for a moment, chest against your back, before resuming the polite amount of distance expected between a princess and her guest. âI know you can handle yourself.â
The crowd has made a space for you and Hood to dance. Some watch, some donât. You arenât concerned. Hoodâs eyes drift aside periodically, checking your surroundings. But for the most part, his attention is all on you. It overwhelms you in the best way.Â
âHow did you manage to do this without my father knowing, Prince Gregory?â
His eyes tell you that heâs smiling. âNeeded to go incognito. Canât have the Red Hood stompinâ around, raising flags. âSides, yâthink I canât handle your overprotective father?â
You let your hand creep up from its place on his broad shoulder, until youâre cupping the back of his neck. He inhales sharply. His Adamâs apple bobs.
âIt would be foolish of me to doubt you canât handle anything that comes your way, Hood. If thereâs a word to describe you, itâs competent. Among other things.âÂ
He squeezes your waist. âStop it.â
âStop what?â
âYâknow what. Your dadâs watchinâ me like he wants to string me up the flagpole.â
âSince when do you care about being good?â you whisper.Â
âSince you stopped, apparently.â
âYou have pretty eyes, Hood.â And he does. Theyâre so much better than anything youâve conjured in your imagination. You can last another year without Hood after discovering the color of his eyes. Youâd wait a decade to know the color of his lips.Â
âNot as pretty as yours, sweetheart,â he murmurs, holding you against his chest for a moment as the song ends. Then he steps back and bows. You laugh.
âSo formal,â you say, curtsying.Â
âOne of us has to be,â he says, eyes mischievous as he takes your hand and kisses your knuckles through the sash. You feel his warm breath on your skin.Â
âI only want to dance with you,â you blurt before he can go. âDon't leave, please.â
Hood squeezes your hand. âYouâre my dream, pretty girl. But I gotta check security first. Jamisonâs probably arrived by now. Go dance with the real princes.â
âI donât want to,â you say, probably sounding as whiny as you did when you first met Hood.
He clicks his tongue. âCâmon, be good for me, yeah? Iâd never leave ya hanginâ.â
Reluctantly, you let him slip his hand from your grip.Â
âBe careful,â you say fiercely. âReally, Hood. I mean it.â
âHey,â he says quietly in your ear. âNothingâs gonna happen. Iâm real good at this. Never had the Royal Guard on my side, so itâs gonna be easy as pie. If you see anything, tell one of the guards. Arsenalâs outside. Jamisonâs going down tonight, princess.â
Your heart is in your throat. You swallow it back down, straightening your back. Hood needs you to be a princess tonight. And that is what you do best.
âOkay,â you say. âDonât leave without saying goodbye.â
âOh, Iâd be the worldâs biggest asshole if I did that. No way would I leave without seeing you again, sweetheart. Iâll be back soon. Save me another dance.â
And then heâs gone, easily slipping into the crowd. A man approaches you, one of the visiting diplomats. He bows, and you curtsy, falling back into the rhythm of the festival. You spend the next hour on high alert, dancing with anyone who asks. You keep a sharp eye out for Hood, but he hasnât returned to the ballroom yet. Probably, heâs doing a diligent check of security, and youâre grateful that he takes his job so seriously. But itâs your last night together. You want one last dance. And⊠maybe even a second kiss.Â
âYou dance beautifully,â your current partner says. A general, judging by the medals on his costume and his straight posture. Heâs dressed up as a knight, his mask serving as a helmet. He has a scabbard around his waist with a bejeweled sword.Â
âI like your costume,â you say, trying to be polite.
He grins proudly. âThe sword was custom-made. Would you like to hold it, Your Highness?â
âPlease,â you say, grateful for the distraction.
He takes out the sword and sets it carefully into your hands. He reminds you that itâs sharp, and you remember not to roll your eyes.Â
âItâs a beautiful piece of work,â you say, taking the sword in hand. âThe swordsmith did an excellent job. Perfect weight, balance, quality.â
The general blinks. âI had no idea you knew so much about swords, Your Highness.â
Go figure. âI used to fence.âÂ
He keeps talking, but youâre no longer paying attention. There are guards running toward the palace kitchen. You glance at the dais. Your father is gone.
You donât think. You just run.
âWhere is my father?â you yell as you enter the kitchen. Pots are strewn across the floor. Soup is dripping from a stovetop. You whirl around to face the guards. The captain steps forward.
âWhat happened?â
âJamison was disguised as a waiter. There was a confrontation between him and the chefs. We think he took the king and went through the garden.â
âThat wouldnât work. There are too many people, and the gardens lead to the palace wall. Itâs a dead end.â
The captain sighs. âYour Highness, I calculated this to be the most likely escape route. Jamison will want to get to his boat as soon as possible. Weâre wasting time discussing it.â
You turn to the frightened chef, who looks like he might faint. âIs there anything that stood out to you about Jamison? Anything he said, did, wore?â
The chef lights up. âYes! Yes, Your Highness, he was wearing these awful muddy boots instead of the standard loafers. Thatâs what made me confront him in the first place.â
Tunnels.
âHeâs going through the sewer grate that leads to the tunnels under the city. I was right. Get Red Hood and tell him to meet me at theââ
âYour Highness, with all due respect, you are not in charge of this plan. There is a protocol to follow,â says the captain. He turns to the guards. âMen, follow me. Fan out and search the garden.â
âMy father will die if you donât listen to me!â you shout.Â
But the captain ignores you. Angry tears sting your eyes. Why wonât anyone listen to you?
The chef steps forward. âWhere do you think he will go, Princess?â
You wipe your cheek. âThe sewer grate on the south side of the palace. Thatâs the closest escape. Iâm going after him.â
You run out of the kitchens and out into the warm summer night. People are still laughing, drinking, dancing, unaware of the tragedy that looms. You will never forgive yourself if you lose your father tonight.
You go to the south side. Three figures stand near the sewer grate. One of them is struggling. You tear off your mask and brandish the sword, furious and terrified. You point at the closest manâs neck.
âLet go of my father,â you say, body tight with adrenaline.
âAnd you must be the beautiful Princess of Calpatia. What a pleasure.â
âJamison, is it?â You push the sword further so the tip is against his neck. He inhales sharply.Â
âNow donât be hasty, Princess. Especially when itâs you, andâŠâ Jamison looks behind you and laughs. âOh my God. Just you? Thatâs pathetic.â
Jamisonâs thug holds your father, his thick arm wrapped around your fatherâs neck. You glance at him.Â
âFather, are you alright?â
âPlease, please run,â your father begs, and the thug crushes him in his grip. Your father wheezes at the pressure. You can see his cheek is dark with blood.
âFatherââ Tears well in your eyes, and you blink them back. You take a deep breath. You must be brave. You arenât back in that Gotham warehouse. You are home. âLet him go. Iâll hurt you!â
Jamison laughs. âYou think I believe that?â
Youâre shaking, and Jamison sees that. You push the sword harder. Blood wells up at the point, and Jamison winces, but his mean smile doesnât drop.Â
âKill me, then. Kill me and John here will beat you unrecognizable and leave you to die, and youâll be lost in Calpatian history.â
âRun, please run,â your father begs, moaning in distress. âDo not hurt her. She doesnât know any better, pleaseââ
Crack!
The sound of a gunshot tears through the air. Jamison turns, and in the second heâs distracted, you hit him hard on the back of the head with the hilt. He growls, taking out a gun and trying to aim, but you slash his wrist with the sword. He yells, shouting profanities and clutching his wrist with his other hand to stop the bleeding.Â
âIâll kill you!â he screams.
âNo, you wonât.â
Hood appears from behind, and now you know the source of the gunshot. Relief washes over you. His mask is gone, replaced with his helmet, and heâs wearing his brown leather jacket.Â
âHood,â you say, overwhelmed with love. You almost say as much, but you catch yourself. You are a princess right now.Â
Jamison sighs in disgust. âRed Hood.â
Hood looks at you, gun pressed against Jamisonâs back. âHey. Yâokay?â
You nod, breathless. âFine.â
âGood.â He knees Jamison, forcing him to the ground. He takes his gun and throws it aside. Several guards appear, surrounding your father and John, who realizes heâs outmatched. He releases your father.Â
âHey, Jamie,â Hood says, and you can hear the daggers in his voice. âLong time no try to kill. Youâre lucky the princess is fine, or youâd already be dead, fucker.â
âAnother second and you wouldâve found her body in the sewer,â Jamison sneers.
You take a step forward and kick Jamison in the stomach. He groans in pain, hunching over. You look at Hood, who nods.
âNice one.â
âThank you. Get him out of my sight.â
âYes, Captain,â he says, and you smile.Â
Hood hauls Jamison up. Several guards take him from Hood. The Captain of the Guard tries to slink away in the chaos, but you stop him.
âCaptain,â you say.
âPrincess,â he replies uneasily.Â
âHad Hood not come in time, my father wouldâve died. Perhaps I wouldâve too. This negligence on your part was unacceptable.â
âYour Highness, the most likely escape route was through theââ
âPerhaps some time abroad will cure your misplaced judgment,â you say. âThat is all. Dismissed.â
He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but when you glare at him, he salutes and leaves, hurrying to catch up with the others.Â
âThat was very foolish, what you did.â
You turn and face your father, who is frowning. Heâs still bleeding, but that doesnât soften his expression. You lift your chin, prepared for your final battle of the night.
âI will not apologize. You were in harmâs wââ
He cuts you off with a strong hug. Youâre speechless as your father pulls you to him, hugging you so tightly, you fight to breathe. But you donât tell him to loosen his grip. You just drop the sword and put your arms around his shoulders.Â
âDo not apologize,â he says, and you can tell heâs crying. âMy brave girl.â
You inhale shakily, unable to do anything but hug back.Â
He steps back, wiping his eyes. âI know that I am hard on you. Iâm afraid of so much. But you⊠you can take care of yourself.â
You nod frantically. âYes, I can. I promise.â
Your father presses his lips together. âI see. I will remember that.â
He smoothes down his clothes and looks around. It doesnât hurt this time, watching him put his feelings aside and regain composure.Â
âHood,â he says.
Hood steps from out of the shadows, startling you. âMajesty?â
âI trust that you will see the princess safely inside.â
âOf course, sir. Guard her with my life.â
Your father looks at you. You smile. He nods, then walks back inside.Â
Now itâs just you and Hood. The stars are out, and thereâs a warm breeze. The sounds of the party are muffled, and youâre relieved that the guests werenât frightened and forced to evacuate.Â
âArsenal found a bunch of Jamisonâs men. The guards are gonna search for the rest of the night to find the rest. But heâs finished, donât worry.â
âOh.â You exhale. âThatâs very good. Thank you for⊠everything. For saving me. Again.â
âYou kidding? You saved yourself, Princess. ButâŠâ He closes the distance between you, taking your hands. Your eyelids flutter.Â
âIâll always have your back,â he says.Â
You lick your lips, itching for a kiss. Can he tell? Part of you hopes not. The other part, howeverâŠ
âThose were some killer sword skills.â
You grin. âThank you. I was trained by an expert.â
âHm, I can tell. The moves seemed familiar.â
âDid they?â
âMmhm.â
You rub the insides of Hoodâs bare wrists. You look at where his lips would be, under his helmet.Â
âWhatcha thinkinâ about?â he whispers.
âHow much Iâd like to kiss you,â you say.Â
Hood takes a sharp breath. âStill?â
âIâve wanted to kiss you again since you first kissed me, Hood.â
You clutch Hoodâs hands, squeezing. He squeezes back before letting go.
âJason,â he says.Â
You blink. âWhat?â
âMy name. âS Jason.â
âJason.â He shivers when you say his name. You brush your fingers along the sliver of skin between the collar of his costume and his helmet. âJason, will you kiss me?â
âYeah, yes. Anything yâwant.â
He goes to take off his helmet. You close your eyes, listening to the hiss of air and the click, and the helmet hitting the grass. He touches your cheek with one cool, ungloved hand. His thumb traces circles on the apple of your cheek.
âIâŠâ The hand drops. Your eyebrows knit, but you donât open your eyes. âI want you to see me. âS only fair, so you can decide if yâreally wanna kiss me again.â
You open your eyes, about to protest. Jasonâs face startles you. His eyes are a vibrant teal when they arenât shadowed by a mask. His hair is dark and curly, like you suspected, but thereâs a shock of white in the front. His nose is big, with a bump in it. Tens of scars decorate his face, most of them silvery with age. He has a particularly deep scar on his upper lip and another on his eyebrow. His face is strong and masculine, one youâd find on-screen as a rugged cowboy.
Jason looks down like heâs ashamed. His lashes are thick.Â
âNo Prince Greg here,â he says quietly.
How can he say such a thing? Doesnât he see how gone you are for him?
âJason,â you say. âI am in love with you.â
His mouth parts in surprise. You step forward and kiss him before he can speak, arms looping around his neck. You bury your hands in his curls, combing through them. Jason catches you, making a surprised noise against your mouth. He holds you by your waist and dips you slightly as he kisses you back. You sigh, nipping his lip, and Jason makes a tiny noise in his throat.
âDonât you know?â you say, pulling away. âPrinces are terribly overrated.âÂ
He smiles gently, holding you tighter. âIs that your royal decree, Princess?â
âObviously.â You take him in some more, and itâs like bathing in moonlight. âYou owe me a third kiss. You canât leave until you give it.â
He leans in and kisses you, holding your chin between two fingers. âGood?â he asks.
You shake your head. âNo. Now you owe me a fourth.âÂ
Jason laughs and kisses you again. âI guess Iâll have to extend my stay.â
Summary: You've been assigned a new patient. Nothing out of the ordinary, or so you think... he's a vigilante, and he hasn't gotten a physical in a long time. You take your job seriously; if Jason Todd wants to be cleared for duty, he needs to be checked thoroughly.
Pairing: Jason Todd x doctor!AFAB!readerÂ
Word count: 3.1k
Kinktober fill: Day 1 - Medical kink
Warnings/tags: medical environment, slight inspection kink, size difference, breeding kink, Jason has a big you-know-what, doctor!reader, submissive Jason, dumbification, humiliation, handjobs, p in v sex. unspoken consent (Jason consents to everything!!) uhh if I missed anything lmk.
A/N: hi hello so this is my first time doing kinktober. I don't write a whole lot of smut, so please be nice. hope you like groping jaytodd. as always this content is 18+!!
divider
You look down at the clipboard outside Patient Room 3. J. Todd.
Hm. New patient. They often give you the new ones. Everyone says you have the best bedside manner.
âGood afternoon, Mr. Todd,â you say, stepping into the sterile patient room.Â
âPlease just call me Jason,â your new patient says. You look up.Â
Heâs tucked into the plastic chair in the corner. He barely fits. You can imagine stuffing himself into the tiny chair was wildly uncomfortable.
âJason, then,â you say, ever professional. âPlease have a seat on the examination table.â
You take a pen out of your lab coat pocket and walk over, waiting as Jason ambles to the table and sits. He doesnât even need to awkwardly hop or shuffle; heâs so tall, he can just sit. He keeps his hands clasped on his lap.
He towers over you, even sitting. The elevated table certainly doesnât help your size difference. But Jason sits very politely, ankles tucked together, looking at you but not in a confrontational way. In fact, he seems nervous.Â
âItâs very nice to meet you, Jason,â you say. âI understand youâre here for a physical.â
Jason nods. âCanât go into the field without it.â
âAnd for good reason. Ensuring youâre physically fit to go out there is very important.â You flip through the information on the clipboard. âIt says here youâre six feet, three inches and two hundred and sixty-four pounds, is that correct?â
âYeah,â he mumbles.Â
âFine, good. Iâm going to do some quick tests, alright? Check your heart, lungs, reflexes. The usual stuff. Is it alright if I touch you?â
âUm.â He shifts, making the paper crinkle. âYeah, âs fine.â
âAre you sure?â you ask.Â
Jason nods. ââM sure. Sorry, just been a long time.â
You smile quickly. âItâs alright, Jason. I understand. Youâve nothing to be nervous about. Iâm sure youâre in excellent health.â
You check his blood pressure first. You roll up his sleeve, revealing a large bicep. You have to plant your feet to pull the velcro tightly around his arm. Then you squeeze.
âYouâll feel a little pressure,â you say as the machine tightens, then releases. Jason breathes evenly, as heâs no doubt been trained to do.Â
âGood,â you say, and remove the wrap. âVery good, Jason. Iâm going to check your heart and lungs now, alright?â
He nods. You put the stethoscope in your ears and reach for him. Jason flinches as you touch his belly. You tilt your head.
âEverything okay?â you ask.
âY-yeah, just didnât expect it.â
You lift his shirt gently and pull it higher, higher, until it catches on his nipples, which poke through his shirt. You gesture for him to hold his shirt, and he does.
âCold in here, hm?â you ask.
He nods, looking at the floor. You keep your face blank and place the stethoscope against his heart. You listen to his heart pound, and itâs even, if not a little fast.Â
âBreathe in,â you say, and Jason does. You listen to the air fill his lungs without any intrusion, strong and full. âExhale.âÂ
He exhales, and you move the stethoscope down. âBreathe.â
Jason breathes, then exhales. You hum and remove the instrument.
âEverything sounds fine to me. Iâm going to check for lumps. You know, anything out of the ordinary.â You look at him for a moment. âItâs better if you just remove your shirt for this part.â
So Jason does, carefully folding it and placing it on the counter nearby. You cup Jasonâs belly first. He flinches again but doesnât pull away. His stomach is soft, but you donât have to press far to feel solid muscle. You move up and press against his abs. Jason grunts softly. You press harder.
âFeel good?â you ask.Â
âMm, mmhm.â
Your hand travels down to just below his belly button. You press. Jason hisses quietly.
âHurts?â you ask.
He shakes his head. âNo, doesnât hurt, justâŠâ
You press again. His leg twitches. You ignore it and go up his chest, fingers grazing his scars and the dark dusting of hair on his chest. You cup his right pectoral. Jason jumps.
âWh-whatâre youââ
âAll part of the exam,â you say. âTry to relax. If something hurts, tell me.â
You squeeze his pec, kneading the fat between your fingers. You flick your thumb over his nipple. Jason makes a tiny, choked noise in the back of his throat. He looks down at you from the table, breathing heavier.
âHurts?â you ask.Â
He shakes his head. You switch to the other pec, groping that one. A blush begins to spread from his neck down.Â
âIsâah, is this really necessary for the e-exam?â he asks.
âIn your line of work, of course. One canât be sure where injuries might be hiding. I need to be thorough. You want me to be thorough with you, donât you?âÂ
You pinch his nipple between your thumb and forefinger. Jasonâs hips jerk.
âY-yeah,â he says, lids fluttering.Â
You release his pec and crisply click your pen and write on your clipboard.
"Itâs hard, isnât it?â
Jason looks up, startled. "Whâum, what?"
âThe job,â you say, tucking the pen in your pocket. âYour work is physically demanding, yes?â
âOh. Well, I guess. I mean, been doinâ it so long, âs not so bad.â
âAny performance issues?â you ask, taking out a rubber glove from the box.
ââScuse me?â
âThereâs a lot of stress in what you do,â you say, opening your cabinet and pulling out the medical jelly. You set it on the counter next to him. âPerformance issues are common. Please remove your jeans.â
âWhââ
You hold up a hand. âI understand itâs embarrassing, this portion of the examination, but Iâm a professional, Jason. Iâve seen it all, truly. Youâve nothing to worry about. Weâre just going to test your reflexes and make sure all of your muscles are in working order.â
Obediently, he pops the button open and pushes his jeans off. You wait coolly as he folds them and puts them aside.Â
The first thing you notice is that Jason has thick, muscled thighs. You take the tape measure and unroll it, wrapping it around his left thigh first.Â
âFlex your leg for me,â you say, and Jason does, bending at the knee. The tape measure strains where youâve pulled it taut, the muscle bulging.
You gently tap his leg and he relaxes. Then you do the other thigh. You squeeze his calf and Jason bends his opposite leg.Â
âVery good,â you say, making a note on your clipboard. âYouâre a very good listener, Jason. Iâll make a note of that too.â
You roll up the tape and set it aside. Then, you step close enough so that his legs touch your front.Â
Thereâs a bulge in Jasonâs briefs, his cock obviously chubbed up under the black material. You tilt your head.
âAre you aroused, Jason?â you ask, reaching for your pen.Â
âI, umââ He licks his lips. You track the movement, gaze piercing. ââS just a lotta touching andââ
âBut Iâve hardly touched you,â you say, eyebrow knitting. âThis is very unusual. Do you often get aroused so easily?â
Jason shakes his head. âNo, n-no, Iâusually, Iâm really good at controlling it.â
âUsually? So you do get aroused often?â
âNo,â Jason says, frustrated. ââM not constantly getting ha-hard, âs justâa-ah!â
You hold his cock through his briefs, squeezing curiously. Jason gasps, bucking into your hand. You nod in realization.
âOh, I see. Youâre big. Yes, youâre very big, arenât you?â You cup his balls. Jason whines. âItâs a wonder youâve made it this far. How do you manage to get anything done with this?â
âGhâhuh?â he manages, legs parting as you play with his cock.Â
You let go before Jason can get fully hard. Thereâs already a wet spot on his briefs. You tut.
âYou shouldâve led with this, Jason,â you say, flipping the cap of the medical jelly open. âYou shouldnât hide anything from your doctor. Though itâs hard to hide this, hm? Miraculous you can still focus on what Iâm saying.â
âDonâtâdonât understand,â he says, shifting his legs. You gently step between them, and youâre confronted once again by your size difference. Jason completely engulfs you like this, but heâs docile, remains good and still as you inspect him.
"Just relax," you say, squeezing the cold jelly into your hand. You rub it between your fingers to warm it up. Then you pull his briefs down with your free hand and stroke his cock with the other.
Jason chokes out a gasp, his massive shoulders coming up to his ears as he jerks forward.
"Excellent reflexes," you say.
Jason's cock quickly swells to a full erection, growing larger. He's quite the specimen from a scientific perspective. You put your other hand on his neck and feel him throb in time with his pulse. He shakes in your grip.
"No irregularities here. You grow erect quite fast. Do you touch yourself often?"
"'S that really necessary to ask?" he grits out, hips jerking as you stroke down.
"Everything between us is purely confidential,â you say. âAnd yes, it is necessary. Well-endowed individuals should touch themselves regularly. Especially someone in your line of work. I can't imagine how humiliating it would be for you to be rendered useless on a mission because all the blood in your brain is being used to fill your enormous cock."
Jason whines at that. You let go of his neck to make a note on your clipboard. You stroke him all the while.
"I-I'm perfectly capable of focusing without jerking mâself off," Jason says, blinking hard. His Adam's apple bobs.
"Are you?" You release his cock immediately. Jason hisses at the loss of contact. "I'm very interested to see this firsthand. Let's do a test. I'll ask you some questions, and you'll try not to think about how you'd like to come all over my hand. Ready?"
"Yeâhah!"
You calmly begin to stroke Jason again, this time faster. He grips the edge of the table, trying to contain himself. His eyelids flutter.
"Please report the events of your previous mission," you say.
"I, umâokay, I was d-downtown 'cause there were some lost sh-shipments in theânngh. F-fuck."
His hips buck uncontrollably. You stop, lips pursed. Jason groans, chest rising and falling fast.
"Jason," you say patiently. "We can't complete the exam if you can't control yourself. I thought that you could, that you didn't turn big and dumb and messy when you're touched. Was that incorrect?"
"No, no, 's true. I can be good. I can control myself," he says, voice thick.
"If you can't, I can always end your exam here," you say.
Jason shakes his head. "No, I can do it. I can complete the exam."
You hum and squeeze more gel into your hand and rub it between your fingers.
"Okay, then," you say. "Please continue."
You begin to pump Jason's cock in earnest, with firm, measured strokes. His breath stutters but he manages to keep talking.
"I-I was downtown and I decided to talk to my source first. He's usually at the docks, so I-Iâ"
"Slow down," you say. "You're talking too fast."
"IâI'm trynaâoh m'Godâ" Jason whimpers, tears gathering in his eyes. "I wanna hold it. I can hold it."
"It's alright." You stroke harder. He shakes his head.
"It's alright," you say again. "Your balls need to be emptied. You won't be able to think until they are. You need that release. Good, sweet boys with big, fat cocks often experience this. It's nothing to be ashamed of. You can't focus otherwise."
Jason shakes his head, red-faced. "'S not true. I can focus, 'm not just thinking with my dickâ"
"No, you're not," you say, voice neutral as you pump him. "Because you have no thoughts when you're hard. And you won't until you orgasm. So try to relax, Jason. This is all part of the procedure. You're doing wonderfully."
Jason looks at you, mouth open, lips bitten pink, and he can hardly get another word out before he's stiffening. A second later, he's coming all over your hand and his stomach.
He doesn't stop for a long time, coming and coming. You watch with great interest as his release dribbles down your hand, his stomach, and his thighs.
"Look at all of that," you say. "I couldn't contain your release in my hand. Do you always ejaculate in such large quantities?"
"Jesus Christâyes, okay? I come a lot and it's fuckin' embarrassing."
"I see. It would seem as if your body was made to breed," you say. "Perhaps you should take the hint."
Jason groans and tries to pull away. But he's not fast enough, and you see that...
He's still hard. Your eyebrow rises. You squeeze him experimentally. A drop of cum bubbles from the tip.
Jason pants, lashes wet. "Pl-please, I don'tâI c-can'tâ"
"Fascinating. Is one orgasm not enough?" you ask, hand still firmly wrapped around his cock.
His fists curl, crumpling the paper on the table. "No, I canâI'm fine, it'll go downâ"
"It clearly won't," you say, and release him. You snap off your soiled glove that's covered in Jason's cum and throw it into the wastebasket.
Jason's chest heaves. His cock is an angry red. "'M fine. It'll go away. 'S gone down before."
"Jason, in order for this checkup to be effective, you need to be completely honest with me. I have to make sure you're physically fit to do your job. It would seem that you must masturbate multiple times a week because you can't think while you're erect. I can see whyâif I had a big, thick cock like yours that was frequently hard and leaking, I'd stroke myself to completion each time too."
"Y'make me sound like some kinda animal when y'say it like that," he says, leaking onto his stomach. You shrug.
"In a way, you are. You fit nature's stereotypical fertile phenotype. A rutting bull, a virile ox, a prized, stud racehorse. You are otherwise capable and strong, but your base needs are immediate. Biology has made it so that you have as much opportunity to impregnate as possible."
Jason's ears are bright red. "'M not knocking anybody up."
"No, but you could. It would be a waste for you not to, frankly."
You toe off your shoes, unzip your pants and pull off your underwear, so you're left in your blouse and lab coat. You fold everything neatly and set them aside.
"Wh-what're y'doing?" Jason asks, hazy and unfocused. His pupils are blown as he takes in your legs.
"It's obvious that you're frustrated," you say. "Penetration will soothe your agitation."
You join him on the table. Jason doesn't move, gaping at you.
"I-I don'tâI don't need you toâ"
"Yes, you do," you say calmly, slotting your legs over his. "What will you do? Go out there in the office with your big, leaky cock? Make a mess for anyone to gawk at? They'll see how dumb you get when you're hard. You won't be able to make it home; you'd sooner spurt all over your jeans the second you pull them on."
You put a hand on Jason's chest and ease him back, so he's lying down. You brace yourself with hands on either side of his head.
"I'll fuck you to completion, and you'll feel much better. You'll be able to think again. Someone of your condition can't be left alone like this," you say.
"I don'tâI can'tâah, ah!" Jason's eyes squeeze shut as you sink onto his length. His hips begin to move before you've bottomed out.
"Jason," you say clinically. "Please try to control yourself. I've not even gone all the way down."
"Tight, s-so tight," he blathers, back arching off of the table. "Pussy so hot."
"I understand, butâoh!"
The words die in your throat as Jason sits up with you halfway on him. He wraps his arms around your waist, grip like a vice, and plants his feet on the bottom step of the table. He bottoms out in one go, slamming into you.
"Oh my G-God, yeahâ" he moans, fucking up into you in earnest. "Yeah, yeah, yeah."
You pet his hair soothingly, which quickly turns into holding onto his head as he moves you the way he wants. "This is wonderful progress you've just madeâmmâI-ahâthink this is an important step for y-you."
"'M sorry," he says, panting against your chest. "S-sorry, can't hold itâ"
"Don't apologize," you say, as Jason adjusts his grip and fucks you so deeply, you're sure you'll feel it for days.
"Wanna be gentle, w-wanna be good for ya," he says, caught on a sob.
"It's alright," you say. "You were made to-nghâget hard and breed. You can't do anything else. You'll impregnate me right now. My womb will be unable to hold all of it because you'll come so much."
Jason whines, slick with sweat. He huffs in your neck, cuddling you close and thrusting. "Y'smell nice."
He paws at the hem of your shirt, forgetting his place, then stops and keeps his hands away. "S-sorry," he mumbles, nose on your collarbone.
You hum. "Oh, I see. Would visual stimulation help?" You undo the buttons of your shirt, coat still on. Your tits jiggle with each thrust, held by your bra cups.
"Holy f-fuck," Jason whispers, staring at your breasts. His strokes speed up, fast and sloppy.
"Does it please you, being inside of me? Seeing my body? Accurate data is very important to me, Jason."
"Y'so pretty," he says. "So, so pretty. C-can't believe y'let me touch you. Nicest doctor I ever met."
"I feel fully penetrated," you say. "You should be proud. Next time, you'll, ah, mount me."
Jason nods frantically. "IâIâ"
"Easy, easy," you say, your own head going fuzzy at his brutal pace. "Empty that big cock so you can form a sentence. That's it."
Jason's noises turn high and whiny, little ah-ah's that are muffled against your neck. He squeezes you as he comes, hot and thick, right into your cunt. His cock twitches with aftershocks, cum spurting in little bursts.
He groans long and low as his cock finally goes soft. His cum drips down your thighs and his. You stare at where he's still inside of you, still thick and pulsing after coming. You squeeze your legs, enjoying the stretch. Jason moans weakly, jerking against you.
"Y'didn't come," he says gloomily. "Fuck. 'M so sorry."
"Jason, I'm your doctor. My job is to make sure you feel your best. And now that you've come, you can focus on other things. Like your partner's release."
He nods eagerly, still inside of you. "I can. I'll make y'come."
âIâm sure you will,â you say, gaze roving over his body. âI think we ought to meet regularly. Perhaps twice a week. I believe that will help your stress levels considerably.â
Jason looks up at you like youâve hung the moon. âAnything you want, Doc.â
You smile. They give you the new patients for a reason.
ellievsbear
vaporwave
kianamaiart
germansingergirl
romaincrisis
