Totally Jersey (but not exclusive) things the Batfam definitely does from someone who lives in Jersey
Note: I haven’t read any Cass or Duke so if anything is off lmk— also this is just for fun feel free to debate lol
- Gotham is Newark
- Jason has a strong north accent, similar to slight Bronx accent
- Dick has the tiniest accent but it’s only when he says Dog or Water and nothing else but religiously tells people he has the accent
- probably says Joisey
- Tim had the accent but lost it completely
- Jason’s bagel order is an everything bagel bacon egg and cheese with salt pepper ketchup (they know his order by heart)
- Added fact Jason chews with his mouth open
- Park Row is just the Newark airport area I don’t make the rules
- Tim orders a ham Swiss croissant
- Tim loves the boardwalk because he likes to play the rigged games but HATES the sand he’s anti-sand
- Has definitely had fried Oreos and threw up
- Damian gets his jersey pride after a year and a half— only he can hate jersey like a true jersian
- Damian refuses to use the word hoagie because “sandwich is perfectly fine.”
- Dick purposely uses Jimmys and pork roll to piss off Jason, until Jason accidentally uses Jimmy’s and has an aneurysm
- Growing up Dick went to Land of Make Believe for a whole week straight because of the giant toliet
- Wawa: Jason, Tim, Bruce
- Quickchek: Dick, Duke, Cass
- Neither: Damian
- Both: Alfred, Dick (technically)
- Pizza causes fights so does bagels
- The go to is Italian food if Alfred can’t cook (or is dead)
- Jason will lose his mind if they miss their exit while someone is driving
- Dick is an ADM truther and probably goes on Sundays despite the blue laws (probably doesn’t understand blue laws tbh)
- He refuses to go up all the floors though so he ends up only staying for an hour and a half after hitting up Wetzles
- Dick doesn’t know how to pump his gas
- Once when he was too tired after patrolling he 100% pumped diesel into his bike and killed it
- Tim is the no.1 poser lookin without realizing, wired headphones, skateboard, layered clothes (oversized shirt over a long sleeved shirt, with baggy jeans)— he goes out to cafes like this just to order a coffee, they know him by name and order (based on a true experience)
- Probably wears thrasher (not based on a true experience)
- No central doesn’t exists
- Jason is pro-central Jersey
- Dick, Tim, and Duke all fight him on this
- Cass doesn’t care, (she sides with Jason)
- Duke 100% stops into the corner stores to buy an empanada and a drink
- Cass performs sometimes at the local bandshells for fun or just to relax, although somehow the theater or cheer team or marching band is always there
- you can’t escape them ong
I cant think of any more currently so that’s it for now lol
Also if you’re gunna write for any of them, people from Jersey don’t say, “New Jersey,” we say North or South Jersey (from experience)
(Lemme go pick up an Orphan and Signal comic so I can give yall better hcs🥹)
Summary: You were trained to be a weapon—silent, precise, untouchable. A swan that bites, a peacock that dazzles only after the strike. Trained by women who believed softness was a lie and love a liability, you learned to move silently, to kill without leaving a trace. You were never meant to want. Only to execute. Jason Todd sees you and knows immediately: you don’t soften. You consume. You meet like survivors circling the same wound—watchful, armed, too close. What grows between you isn’t tenderness. It’s hunger, pressure, and inevitability. Love doesn’t bloom here. It overflows. And when the world comes for what they made—you don’t run. You devour.
Tw: this fic has themes of Graphic violence, blood/gore, death (both canon and non-cannon ), trafficking, PTSD, possessive behavior, explicit language, eventual smut and implied mental health.
prologue (Read first!)
Chapter 1 Chapter 53
Chapter 2 Chapter 54
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
✨And many more to come! this is a multi-chapter fic!✨
Tag list is officially now at full capacity! Sorry guys💔
description: wedding royal au; the night you've spent years dreaming about, and it's nothing like you thought it would be
wc: 3.6k
warnings: clark is refered to as kal-el exclusively here, smut, fingersucking, lingerie, mirror sex, breeding kink, possessive kink, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, implied clark having sex with others
13 nights of kinktober masterlist
The kingdom of Vayara, your homeland, had stood as Krypton’s ally for centuries, its mountain citadels carved into glittering stone and its people as proud as their history. This marriage was meant to mark the strongest bond yet between your worlds, etched not only in treaty, but in flesh and vow.
You had told yourself that was enough, even as the whispers of your future husband Kal-El’s escapades cut deeper than you’d ever admit. Whispers of him being seen entering women’s chambers late at night, some even as scandalous as being seen entering a room with Lord Wayne and a woman no one could name.
And yet, throughout the years, he had never once treated you with anything less than reverence. His charm was not feigned, his humor never forced. If anything, his kindness made the rumors sting more, because it meant you had let yourself dream that your union would be different.
You couldn’t believe that the same man who laid down jackets to cross over streams, and offered you his arm for every walk around the gardens, was the same one who was talked about in these salacious rumors.
As time went on you noticed the slight darkness and heat that lingered within his eyes when he looked at you. The care was still there, but there was something deeper and unnamed that laid beneath it. Something that appeared more often as your wedding date approached closer and you and Kal-El spent more time together while your parents and advisors handled the intricate details of what this marriage meant for your kingdoms.
But tonight, on the day of your wedding, you could no longer deny the way his eyes burned. Every glance across the ceremonial hall had been fire, every brush of his hand against yours a spark. The kiss at the altar still lingered on your lips; searing, dizzying, full of a claim you hadn’t expected. By the time you left the feast, his arm firmly around your waist, you were trembling with something that was decidedly not resignation.
Now you stood before the mirror in the bridal chambers, the polished obsidian frame catching the low amber light of the sconces. You smoothed the silk clinging to your hips, the color a deep, ceremonial red—Kryptonian tradition, your attendant had insisted, meant to signify passion, unity, and renewal. The lingerie itself was delicate but commanding: sheer crimson panels embroidered with silver thread that shimmered like starlight, a corseted bodice that lifted your chest into a daring swell, slender straps sweeping off your shoulders like ribbons of flame. The stockings, sheer and gossamer-thin, were fastened with delicate silver clasps, while a single jewel—a blood-red crystal mined from Krypton’s southern ranges—rested at the hollow of your throat, glowing faintly against your skin.
You felt almost absurdly exposed, even though the garment was crafted to be regal. And for what? Your husband has plenty of sexual exploits to bother himself too much with you. You’ve resigned yourself into knowing that your wedding night would be nothing more than obligation than passion, love. Though after Kal-El’s actions at the wedding and ceremony you find yourself having doubts if that would still be the case. You take off the slip, attempting to see if that made you feel any less ridiculous, but in your distraction, you’d forgotten to close the chamber door.
The soft sound of footsteps reached you too late. You glanced up—and your breath faltered.
Kal-El stood in the doorway, framed by the pale white stone, his ceremonial armor stripped away save for the regal sash still draped across one shoulder. His gaze found you instantly in the mirror. The warmth and kindness you had always known were still there, but layered now with something rawer, hungrier.
His lips parted, though no words came at first, only a slow exhale that seemed to make the air heavier between you.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, reverent, and threaded with a heat that left you unsteady:
“You are… breathtaking.”
And from the way he was looking at you, as if you were not only his bride but his crown, you felt that tonight would not be the empty union you had once thought. This will be something new altogether.
Each step he takes builds up the tension between you and him. As he steps behind you, you never break eye contact in the mirror, feeling the heat building up in your core. Gods, he's never looked at you like this. So passionately, so intently. Like you're something he's finally allowed to have. He brings his hands up to rest on your waist, feeling instant heat seeping into your hips from his touch.
“My King,” you whisper, lowering your head slightly in acknowledgement of his power. One of his large hands leaves your hips to lightly raise your chin, a touch that’s opposite to the strength that he obviously displays within his muscles.
“We are married, so you share an equal rank as mine. Do not lower yourself like that again, own your power, my love.”
At the term of acknowledgement, your head snapped up to look at him. Kal smirked faintly at your reaction, but then his gaze drifted downward, settling on the mirror. His eyes traced the reflection—your body enveloped by his frame, the shift of muscle as he drew you closer, the way you fit against him as though made to belong there.
A startled gasp escaped you when you felt the bulge pressing firm against your lower back, undeniable in its size and promise. Heat flared through you, chased almost instantly by a cold pang. For all his kindness, for all the years you had known him, this was not his first time exploring pleasure. He had experience, while you… you had only your hopes, your fantasies.
And worse—the thought of others sharing him, of women in shadowed rooms knowing the breadth of his body before you did, twisted like jealousy sharp in your chest. Your shoulders tensed. A slight frown crept unbidden across your lips.
Kal noticed at once. His brow furrowed, the warmth in his expression dimming into something heavier. His hand fell away from your waist.
“What is wrong?” His voice dropped low, careful, but urgent. “What changed?” He leaned in, seeking to gather you close, to soothe you—but you slipped from his reach, stepping back toward the counter.
The distance was slight, but his reaction was immediate. His eyes darkened. “You step away from me?”
You exhaled, fighting to steady your voice. “I just needed space.” You hesitated, words catching in your throat. “I’m not as well… practiced as you. But I understand. This doesn’t have to mean anything beyond duty.”
The look that crossed his face pierced you. Kal reeled back as though struck, his head tilting sharply. Color rose in his ears, though his expression was hard to read. For a long, heavy moment, he simply studied you, impossibly blue eyes searching. When your gaze faltered, it seemed to give him his answer. A low hum rumbled in his chest, and then he moved.
In one decisive step, he caught your arms, spun you to face him, and closed the gap between you. His presence consumed the space, shoulders squared, voice rough as gravel.
“I see you’ve heard the rumors.” His jaw tightened. “I am sorry for any distress they caused. But let me be clear.” He leaned closer, eyes boring into yours. “I have never touched another woman personally.”
You opened your mouth, disbelief ready on your tongue—but the sharp look he leveled at you stopped the words cold.
Seeing you still, he pressed on. “Yes, I entered those rooms. But only for research.”
Your breath caught. “Research? What sort of—” You stopped yourself, realization dawning, but needing him to speak it.
A flush spread along his cheekbones, but he didn’t look away. “I have never done things by half measures. I have known you for many years, and I have loved you for more. I knew our marriage was inevitable, and I wanted to ensure I was an incredible husband in every way possible.” His voice softened, earnest despite its weight. “Yes, I sought knowledge of how to please a woman. But I never allowed one to touch me. I am yours. Do not mistake it—just as you are mine.”
Silence hung between you, thick and fragile. You stared at him, the truth of his confession unraveling in your chest. He had studied pleasure not out of indulgence, but devotion. He had waited, had loved you, and somehow spoken the words so plainly—as though they were fact.
A laugh bubbled up, startled and incredulous, spilling past your lips. “You—studied?”
Kal blinked, then a low laugh broke free of him too, rumbling in his chest until it tangled with yours. The absurdity of it, the relief, the strange sweetness of this revelation—until the tension that had bound you both snapped like a bowstring.
The laughter faded slowly, leaving only the hum of awareness between you. Kal leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours. His hands cradled your face as though you were breakable.
“Will you let me show you what I’ve learned?” His lips brushed each of your cheeks in turn, reverent, soft. His next word was a plea, not a command. “Please?”
Gods, you were hopeless when he asked like that. Kal-El of Krypton, prince of a world, strongest of his people—standing before you not as a sovereign, not as a warrior, but as a man asking for the chance to love you.
Your throat tightened, but you nodded, surrendering to him at last. Your jaw drops at his display of strength as he lifts you up to the counter, your hips at the edge, as he kneels before you.
He spreads your legs softly, fitting himself between them as he tilts your hips up slightly, putting his face to face with your core. Kal looks you in the eyes as he kisses your mound once, before moving the underwear to the side as he runs his tongue up your slit to circle your clit and suck lightly once, almost like a promise of what’s to come.
Seeing the soft lines of pleasure clouding your face already made his heart beat faster, happy to have already gotten off to a good start, but he knows he can’t lose focus yet. What was it that Bruce had said? Oh right,
Another gasp gets drawn from you as Kal slowly prods your entrance with his tongue, always pulling away when you get too tense. His left hand shifted from your hips to above your clit, his thumb pressing slow and tight circles.
Kal eventually pulls away, his azure eyes darkened to midnight as he slides two fingers from his right hand into his mouth. The wet sound of his tongue against his knuckles sends a shiver down your spine. He withdraws them slowly, a glistening thread of saliva stretching between his lips and fingertips before breaking. When he presses one finger into you, his pupils dilate, jaw slackening at the velvet heat that envelops him.
Your shallow gasps transform into desperate, high-pitched whines as molten pressure builds low in your abdomen, coiling like a spring but hovering tantalizingly below the precipice of release. A fresh wave of arousal slicks his finger, and Kal's nostrils flare at the scent. He slides a second finger alongside the first, the stretch making your inner walls flutter around the intrusion.
His fingers curve upward with unearthly precision, finding that spongy, sensitive spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. The pads of his fingers stroke relentlessly while his calloused thumb works rough circles against your swollen, pearl-like clit. The chamber echoes with the obscene symphony of wet flesh and your ragged breathing, punctuated by his baritone praise.
"Look how perfectly you take me," he growls, voice thick with wonder. "Made for my touch alone."
With each honeyed word, the coil within you winds tighter, your thighs beginning to tremble. Kal's breathing grows ragged, his chest heaving as he watches your face contort with pleasure. Just as the first tremors of release begin to ripple through you, he slows deliberately, leaving you suspended on the knife-edge of ecstasy. "Tell me I'm yours," he demands, voice rough as gravel. "Say you understand."
"Kal, please, I—" The words dissolve into a keening whine as you arch your hips desperately toward his hand, seeking the friction he's denying you.
"Say it. I'm yours." Each syllable punctuates a deep, languorous thrust of his fingers, the heel of his palm grinding against your most sensitive spot with devastating accuracy.
"Yes, yes, I know. You're mine, you're mine, please, Kal." The admission tears from your throat as you buck wildly against his hand. His lips curve into a devastating smile, teeth flashing white against his sun-kissed skin as he tilts his head, saying a line he’s heard from Bruce. "Was that so difficult to admit?"
Without warning, he resumes his merciless pace, fingers plunging into your soaked heat with such force that the lewd, squelching sounds of your arousal fill the room. "Come on, give it to me," he commands, voice strained with his own desire as he sucks his left thumb into his mouth before pressing it firmly against your throbbing clit. The dual sensation catapults you over the edge. Kal's name rips from your lungs in a broken cry as your head falls back, spine arching like a bow as waves of blinding pleasure crash through your trembling body
But Kal doesn't let up. Seeing you go over the edge lit a desperate determination within him, focused on you to see it again. His fingers continue their relentless assault, curling and stroking through your pulsing walls as your first orgasm crests. Each thrust sends aftershocks rippling through your overstimulated nerves, your thighs quivering uncontrollably against the cool marble countertop.
You shake your head weakly, sweat-dampened hair clinging to your temples as you try to push his broad wrist away. "No, it's too soon, I can't," you gasp, voice fracturing around the edges.
Kal's tongue clicks softly against the roof of his mouth. "Yes, you can," he murmurs, midnight eyes fixed on where his fingers disappear inside you. "You're already squeezing me so tight. Can't you hear how desperately she's taking me?"
Only then do you register the obscene symphony—the slick, rhythmic squelching as he works you open, the wet suction that seems to echo off the gilded walls. Heat floods your cheeks at how wanton it sounds, how the royal guards outside might hear your surrender. When you attempt once more to push his hand away, his lips pull back in a primal display, revealing gleaming teeth. The growl that rumbles from his chest vibrates through your bones as he commands, "Be still for me," his voice paradoxically gentle yet unyielding.
Your resistance crumbles as a second, more powerful release crashes through you like a tidal wave, your body arching off the counter as you dissolve into liquid pleasure beneath his masterful touch.
In the dim, flickering light of the chamber, his fingers, slick with your essence, withdraw, glistening like dewdrops on a leaf. He stands, bringing them to his lips, sucking them clean with an audible pop, his eyes never leaving yours.
Stepping between your trembling legs, he bends down, his lips crashing onto yours in a dirty, passionate kiss. The taste of yourself on his lips is strange, yet intoxicating, a primal reminder of the pleasure he's just drawn from you.
This night has been a revelation, a dance of desires you never expected. The Kal you knew was gentle, kind even, but the man before you is a beast of pure focus, his every move a testament to his single-minded devotion to your pleasure. Between kisses, silent vows are exchanged, a sacred pact in the language of lust.
I am yours. You are mine.
His mouth trails from your lips, down to your cheeks, then to your neck, leaving a path of soft, sucking bruises, little mementos of this night. When he pulls away, your hips buck, chasing his lost touch. "Don’t worry," he rasps, voice thick with desire, "we’re not done yet. There’s something I’ve been dying to try."
With a firm grip on your hips, he lifts you effortlessly from the counter, making sure your stance is steady before turning you to face the mirror. His knee nudges your thighs apart, and he positions himself behind you. The remnants of your lingerie are discarded, as are his own, leaving you both bare, your overheated skin welcomed by the cool air.
The reflection staring back at you is unrecognizable, not the respectable rulers of a kingdom, but a pair of lovers lost in a dance as old as time. Your eyes are pools of barely restrained heat, your hair disheveled, and sweat beads on your skin like morning dew. Yet, his dark eyes, locked onto yours in the mirror, hold you like you're the most precious jewel in any kingdom.
"Watch us," he commands, his voice a low growl. "Don’t take your eyes off."
You whisper his name like a secret as he slowly enters you, every inch stretching you, filling you. You try to pull away, overwhelmed, but his hand on your stomach holds you firm. He pauses, allowing you to adjust, then pushes deeper, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. You feel impossibly full, a deep heat settling within you, despite the multiple orgasms he’s already wrung from you. When he’s finally sheathed to the hilt, his hips flush against yours, you realize he’s been chanting something the whole time.
"All mine. Only mine." Lost in his daze, you cover his hand with yours, drawing his attention. "Gods, do you see this?" he groans, "Look at how perfectly you fit me. Like you’re made for me." The raw possession in his voice draws a moan from deep within you, causing him to thrust unexpectedly, feeling you squeeze him.
He starts to move, slowly at first, then building speed. "Breathe, my love. Let me in, yes. That’s my girl. Take me deeper." The room fills with the sounds of your lovemaking, the smack of hips meeting, the wet, sucking sounds of your bodies joining, the symphony of your moans and his grunts.
"Fuck," he groans, "if you keep squeezing me like that, the kingdom will have an heir by dawn." The thought of filling you, pumping you full of his seed, causes his head to throw back, his hand to tighten on your stomach. Your moans grow with each thrust, murmurs of praise for Kal, and whimpers of "Please, don’t stop, don’t stop–"
His voice is a low growl in your ear, "I could take you all night, and it still wouldn’t be enough. Do you see us in the mirror? No one else will ever touch you like this. Every time you look in this mirror, I want you to remember this, remember who fills you up and stretches you out like this."
Your head tilts back, resting against his shoulder as he speeds up, your eyes locked on the erotic tableau in the mirror. You never imagined your wedding night to be like this, but you’re deliriously happy with the reality. His tip bullies into your tightness, your body clenching around him as another orgasm approaches. Kal clenches his teeth, feeling your impending release.
"You’re clenching so hard, are you already close again? Good. Come apart on me as many times as you want, just keep your eyes open. Lemme see you fall apart."
A few more deep thrusts and you shatter, softly moaning his name, gripping his forearms for balance. Kal thrusts through your orgasm, his words of praise a constant stream. "That’s it, love, squeeze me, Gods, you’re perfect, and you’re mine. Can you take me? Will you let me fill you? Please, let me give you a child."
Too worn out to do anything but nod, you feel him speed up, chasing his own release. He thrusts deep, shooting his essence into you, filling you, claiming you. "Yes, that’s it. Take it, all of it. Better than my dreams."
His hips stutter forward in gentle pulses as he rides out his aftershocks, his muscled body trembling against yours like a plucked bowstring. The iron grip of his fingers gradually softens, replaced by the velvet brush of his lips, warm and reverent—tracing constellations across your flushed face, the sensitive curve where your neck meets your shoulder, the hollow of your collarbone still glistening with sweat. When your breathing finally steadies, you turn in his arms, abandoning the heated reflection that witnessed your joining. You search instead for the oceanic blue of his eyes directly, no glass between you now.
"Thank you," you whisper, voice still rough at the edges. "I've never... I've never felt anything like that. I didn't know it could feel anything like that."
His smile blooms slowly and tenderly, crinkling the corners of his eyes before he captures your lips in a kiss that lingers like honey on the tongue. "Good," he murmurs against your mouth, "it means I did a good job and my studying was worth it."
"Oh, I would say you passed with honors." A laugh bubbles up from your chest, lighter than you've felt in months. "If every night is like this, I'll never fear our union again." Your shared laughter mingles in the candlelit air between you, a promise that the night stretches long ahead, and the weight of political alliance has transformed into something unexpectedly precious.
a/n: first night of kinktober is done! superbat never leaves my mind and once the idea of bruce being the one to teach kal about pleasure, it just never left my mind. Also, did you catch it? i phrased kal's explaination very particularly. anyways i hoped you all enjoyed it!
as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. i love you regardless, so here's a smooch from me 💋
ps: taglist is open for kinktober so lemme know if you wanna be tagged for the other parts! also: do you guys like the banner i made?!? i have a couple of new ones done for the different characters i write after kinktober is over!
as it's kinktober, makes sure to give all your favorite writers flowers and love!
The bar isn’t as busy as you’d expect for a Friday night. There’s by no means any shortage of people, but you were expecting to have to weave in and out of the crowd and spill your drink on at least two people before you made it to your destination.
Rather, when your boyfriend opens the door ahead of you, the level of commotion amongst the regulars isn’t as unbearable as expected. He walks in first, leaving you to hold the door open for yourself. For all his good qualities, chivalry was never one of them.
He makes his way to the bar without any mind for whether or not you’re following, and orders himself one vodka sour. You know he knows your go-to drink, and you wonder if him not ordering it is his way of telling you there will be a separate bill. No, it probably hadn’t even crossed his mind to tell you as much.
You stand shoulder to shoulder at the bar counter as he sips on his drink, scanning around the room.
You clear your throat, “So um, should we split up or stick together?”
He nods blankly, “Yeah, sure.”
His gaze is already caught on a target across the bar, and you know that he neither heard nor cared to hear your words. You similarly don’t have it in you to care that he’s already walking away from you, instead opting to drown your concerns.
With a sigh, you find a seat at the bar and order yourself a drink.
You’re thirty seconds into this and it already doesn’t seem to be worth it. Having a threesome was your bright idea, and yeah, maybe it originated from a place that’s a little self-serving, but you weren’t prepared to have that turned back around on you. Are you just giving him the chance to fuck another girl, no consequences?
You take a big swig and look down at the remaining contents of the alcohol, swishing the drink around.
This was really nothing more than a desperate attempt to keep something going but you’re beginning to fear your man isn’t much of a relationship man at all. You don’t have to look across the bar to find where he went, you don’t need to because you already know exactly what he’s doing. And to no one’s surprise, he’s probably doing it without a thought in the world about you.
So now you’re starting to wonder if the whole relationship is worth all the trouble. He’d been charming and funny in the beginning—and he still is—but now you’re seeing all these other parts of him that you weren’t expecting. Maybe calling it quits after such a short time is cruel, but it’s also starting to feel like the only option.
“You alright?”
A voice breaks you away from your deliberation and has you turning to meet a pleasant surprise.
A man that you couldn’t have dreamed up stands next to you, bourbon in hand, with nothing short of kindness in his eyes.
You stutter, “Oh, I’m—um…yeah. I’m fine.”
He nods, looking around casually.
“You’re not here by yourself, are you?”
“Uh, no. I’m not.” You hear the words as they come out of your mouth and they sound genuinely disappointed.
You can’t be sure exactly how he interprets that but he holds his hand out in front of him.
“I’m Dick,” he tells you.
You take his hand, shaking it, before telling him your own name.
He smiles upon the reveal, holding onto your hand for just a second longer than he needs to.
Truthfully, you never specified whether this threesome was going to involve a girl or a guy, but you’d been hoping that you’ll be able to convince him. That’s why you let yourself entertain a conversation with a very attractive man that you know your boyfriend would be too intimidated by to even consider.
“So who are you here with then?”
You look over your shoulder, quickly finding your boyfriend chatting up a pretty girl in a revealing dress. You point him out just long enough for Dick to see who you mean but not long enough for you to really have to absorb the scene taking place.
Dick peers over your shoulder with a furrowed brow and a frown. “‘S that your friend?” he asks.
“Boyfriend,” you correct with a nod, but your eyes are on the floor.
Dick copies your nod, processing. “You been dating him long?”
You lull your head to the side, looking back up at him. “A little over a month.”
You can see his eyes brighten hearing that.
“Must not be very serious then.”
You work to suppress a smile. “What makes you say that?”
“He left you over here all alone,” he says, looking around.
Your eyes scan him over quickly, “I’m not alone.”
You glance over at your boyfriend again, and even from where you’re standing, you can tell that he’s not going to get anywhere. His body language is all wrong on multiple levels. “And he’s just…doing something, anyways.”
“Yes he is,” Dick says, following your gaze with a nearly concerned stare. “What…would you call that? What he’s doing.”
“Um…he’s making a friend…”
Dick seems to understand the implication of your words without any help. “Without you?” He looks at you again, smiling knowingly. “Or are you doing the same thing?”
“I…don’t know what I’m doing,” you confess. “I’ve never done this before.”
“I have,” he assures.
You smile, “I assumed.”
He tilts his head, “Is that an insult or a compliment?”
“Not sure yet.”
He smiles at that, boyish and genuine.
He leans up against the bar, relaxing even more.
“Does he take care of you?” he asks casually.
“Yeah,” you reply, trying to size up where he’s going with this.
The nod of his head mirrors yours. “Yeah? He nice to you?”
“Yeah…”
“Mhm. How’s he nice to you?”
You can feel the blood in your cheeks now. “He kisses me…”
“Yeah? Good. What else?”
Your eyes flicker across his face, trying to will yourself to hold your gaze.
“He fucks me…”
He smiles hearing you murmur the words, “Does he fuck you good?”
You’re not nearly subtle enough, the way your gaze instantly averts and your face gets hot. To make matters worse, he seems to be able to read you like a goddamn book.
He smiles wider, tilting his head at you. “No? What, not attentive? Bad at head?”
He follows you with a smile as you tilt your head down, trying to avoid eye contact. He lowers his voice, “Not big enough?”
He grants you enough mercy to not have to actually verbalize it, but you get the feeling he knows the answer anyways. All of the above.
He just hums, soaking in your expression. “Was it your idea? To go out and find another guy to bring home?”
You look down at the floor, tongue between your teeth.
“Yeah…You need to get fucked good, don’t you?”
You do. But he has no business being able to tell that about you barely five minutes into this conversation. You take a deep breath, practically steeling yourself for the torture of hearing such blatant, unabashed words.
“You know, I have had threesomes before, and they’re fun but…” He looks at the floor with a soft smile, shaking his head. “Full disclosure, I’m only doing this so I can sleep with you.”
You feel blood rush to your cheeks that makes you automatically look down.
He chases after your gaze, “But you want to know something? I don’t think you want to have a threesome. I think you just need one person to show you a good time.”
You understand the implication of his words. He’s right, but your morality holds you back from saying so.
“He’s my boyfriend..”
He nods understandingly, “If you want to do it, I will. But I think I could make you feel even better on my own.”
You look up at him, eyeing his sincerity and measuring the weight of his promise.
“Come on,” he urges gently.
He leans in slightly, causing you to follow suit until you’re nose and nose with each other. Your eyes are practically closed and your inhibition is nearly gone.
His lips ghost over yours.
“Break up with him,” he says. “Break up with him so I can take you home.”
”Not exactly an even trade,” you say quietly.
He tilts his head.
“I’m losing a boyfriend.”
Barely.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises.
And that’s more than enough to convince the already convinced.
You pull back from him with a sigh and sit up straight. You plop down from your place on the edge of the barstool, glancing over your shoulder as you turn away.
“I’ll be right back,” you tell him.
As you approach your boyfriend, the girl he’s with sees you before he does, readjusting her position to let you into the conversation. He, upon seeing you, does no such thing.
Instead, he double takes like he’d forgotten you were even in the bar.
He splutters before introducing you. “...This is my girlfriend…”
This tidbit of information he’d forgotten to mention before you’d come over. You’d guess as much when the girl rolls her eyes and walks away. In return, he looks irked by your intrusion and therefore loss of a goal that he never had any chance of scoring.
You don’t give him the time to ask you what the fuck your problem is before giving him a dry smile. “I think we should break up.”
His face drops suddenly, before altering into something much more akin to anger.
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Yeah.”
He scowls. “This was your fucking idea. Don’t tell me you’re going and getting all jealous now.”
You nod blankly, not interested in prolonging this. “Okay. Have a good night.”
The last thing you see before turning away is the dumbfounded look on his face. And now that you know you have something better waiting for you, it stings just that much nicer.
Dick grins at you as you reapproach, clearly having watched that whole thing go down. He follows close with a hand on your backside as a means to help guide you out the door.
He leads you to his car, opening the passenger side door for you—something your ex-boyfriend never bothered doing—and helping you in.
When he’s sitting in the driver’s seat he takes your jaw and pulls you into a kiss. It’s sweet and gentle, but the intensity still has you pulling back and trying to catch your breath.
You catch his endeared smile, before he starts up the car and begins to back out of the parking lot.
You try to calm your body down as you ask, “Are we going to a hotel?”
He shakes his head, “Nah, I live close by.”
He turns to look at you, “Is that alright?”
You don’t need to weigh this out in your head to know the answer. After ten minutes you already trust Dick more than you trusted your ex after six weeks.
“Yeah.”
As promised, the drive back to his apartment doesn’t take long, it only ends up being a couple of blocks away. His right hand stays glued to your thigh throughout the entire drive, squeezing it once before he turns into the parking garage.
Once you’re parked, Dick unbuckles his seatbelt before looking over at you, who hasn’t moved a muscle yet.
He laughs as he takes in your unconfident posture, “Oh baby. It’s alright. Don’t need to be so nervous.”
He pulls you in for one more kiss before getting out of the car. He quickly opens your door for you and helps you out. He holds your hand all the way up to his apartment, stopping every once in a while to kiss you. You can tell he’s being more gentle with you than he maybe usually would, but you’re grateful for it.
As you round the final set of stairs, he nudges you in front of him. “Come ‘ere. It’s just up here.”
He unlocks the door and leads you into a lofty apartment, well-decorated and furnished. Significantly nicer than the studio with a mattress on the floor that your ex called home. You’re not given much time to look around before he’s got you pushed back and pressed against the now closed door.
He takes your face in both hands as he kisses you, getting completely in your space in the most welcome way possible. He leans down over you, pushing you further against the door. The kiss deepens and he slots his thigh in between your legs. He lets you grind a little against him, encouraging you via nips against your lips. But ultimately, he seems to decide that this isn’t enough.
He picks you up by your thighs, never breaking the kiss, and begins walking you towards his bedroom.
He sets you down in the middle of the room, kneeling down as he pulls your panties down. His lips ghost over your thighs in their wake, slipping them down and onto the floor.
You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks as he takes in the sight of your pussy.
“Oh, pretty baby,” he murmurs.
He backs you up to the bed, pulling your dress down as he goes. By the time you get to the bed, you’re completely bare and he’s sitting you on his still-clothed lap.
He spreads your legs over his and gently brushes his fingers across your clit with a feather-light touch.
“Dick,” you whine, not even sure what your goal is. You don’t know if you have it in you to ask him directly for what you want.
“What? You want me to rub your clit for you? Want me to make you come?”
You mewl, ”Please—”
“‘Please’?” He coos. “Of course, pretty girl.”
He reaches down and rubs languid circles against your clit, his touch so light and feathery that it does nothing but leave you wanting more in a way you’re wholly unfamiliar with.
“You don’t need to beg me,” he continues. “Not tonight anyway.”
He kisses you again with more and more passion as he works your body like he owns it. The way he lets you grind up against his hand and moan into his mouth only encourages you more.
He doesn’t need to keep this up for very long before he has you coming under him, sooner and harder than you ever have before.
And it must show on your face because he tuts as he brushes your hair away from your eyes.
“Aw, honey. Nobody’s been touching you right, have they?”
Your eyes are borderline watering as you shake your head, No.
He lifts you up, off his lap, and sets you back down against the pillows. He pulls his shirt off before tugging his pants down, and repositions himself back over you. He moves down to start kissing at your chest, paying each side some much needed attention before continuing down lower.
He trails his kisses down your stomach and against your inner thighs, just high enough to make you feel a burst of heat every time.
He looks up at you, “Such a pretty girl. Pretty girls should be taken care of.”
Somehow you only just realize where this is going, and you can’t fend off the look of anxiety that flashes across your face.
He clocks your hesitation immediately.
He frowns, “What’s wrong, beautiful?”
“I—I’ve never had…” you trail off but he understands the sentiment just the same.
He just tilts his head.
“Really? That’s a shame. We’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”
His sentiment surprises you, but to be completely fair: everything about him has surprised you. This has been a complete 180 from what you’ve been used to, even beyond your most recent ex-boyfriend. You honestly didn’t even know guys like this existed outside of the movies.
Dick kisses your thigh again before looking back up at you, eyes asking for permission.
Not a single thought runs through your head as you nod, only filled with anticipation and lust.
He places a gentle kiss on your clit, before following up with an experimental lick on the same spot. He looks up at you, checking in, and when he’s seemingly satisfied, he goes all in.
He makes out with your pussy like he’s been doing it for years, like he knows your body better than you do. It’s almost embarrassing how fast you fall apart like this, or at least it would be, if you had any energy to spend on thinking. No, right now, all you’re doing is feeling. For once in your life, somebody has been able to do the impossible and get you out of your head.
Your hand instinctually goes to grab at his hair and he fucking moans into your pussy. The surprise of it has you gasping this shocked choke that nearly makes you sit straight up.
You curse, forcing yourself to relax completely against the mattress—a task that is nearly impossible. Still you manage success, if only for the sake of keeping him doing what he’s doing.
He alternates between sucking on your clit and licking you up and down, and the combination has you seeing stars. He continues to lap at you as you’re coming down from your high, keeps going until you’re squirming away from sensitivity.
He relents, kissing his way back up your body and finding your lips again. As you’re making out, he lines himself up at your entrance, taking special care to distract you from the stretch with intentionally placed kisses.
He lets you adjust to the feeling of him being inside of you for a moment, scanning over your face for any signs of pain or discomfort. Finding none, he slowly starts rocking his hips into you. He’s easing you into it, and you’re grateful for it because everything up to this point has been so surreal and intense.
As he starts to move with more intention, you start to realize that you’re in a serious fucking situation. There’s no way in hell you’re going to be able to go back to the way you were living, having experienced getting fucked like you’re about to.
As he really gets going, you find quickly that his strokes are good. He’s fucking you so deep and hitting a spot inside you that you didn’t know existed. You couldn’t help it to moan out when he first hits it, and from that point on he’s a fucking dead eye. He rubs up against your spot after every stroke and doesn’t let up.
“Good girl. Good fucking girl. Taking me so well,” he praises, looking down in between your bodies.
You moan out and one hand grabs at the headboard, the other going for the nape of his neck.
He keeps at this slow and sensual pace, correctly finding it to be exactly what you needed. When you’re in a more coherent state of mind, you’ll have to wonder how he could read you like a goddamn picture book.
“Dick—”you moan, voice nearly breaking.
“No, I know. You need somebody to take care of you good, huh?”
His words in your ear have you squeezing your eyes shut, genuinely whimpering.
He pushes in and out of you over and over again with intensity that rivals any experience ever you’ve had before. Nothing, nothing has gotten you feeling this good before. Not your fingers, not toys, and certainly not your exes. You have half a mind to start wondering if this is your little slice of heaven granted to you by karma. Though no, you don’t think anything amounts to this.
He goes and goes until you’re spasming around him, and even then, he fucks you straight through your orgasm.
“Such a pretty girl,” he tells you as you come, sweeping hair out of your face so he can get an undisturbed view.
He only begins to slow his movements when the shaking in your legs begins to calm and your body relaxes.
He pulls out of you and kisses your shoulder, murmuring a, “Good girl.”
You sit up against your elbows with a furrowed brow, “But you didn’t—“
He huffs out a laugh. “You got somewhere to be? I’m not done with you yet, pretty girl.”
And with that he flips you over onto your stomach and realigns himself with you.
Turns out, asking your boyfriend for a threesome was the best decision of your life.
🫵 if you don’t reblog fics we are not friends you are not cool and you CANNOT come to my sleepover this weekend 🫵
Knight!Jason Todd who’s head over heels for his princess, though it is forbidden for a lowly knight like him to yearn for something as sweet and gentle as you.
Knight!Jason Todd who can’t keep his hands off you when you ask him to accompany you in the village. It can be a hand on the small of your back, or waist. It doesn’t matter. He’s just constantly touching you.
Knight!Jason Todd who gets angry when you tell him your father is arranging a marriage for you and another prince. Who isn’t worthy of you at all.
Knight!Jason Todd who sneaks into your chambers that night, confessing in the most nastiest way to you.
You knew if your father ever found out your knight was balls deep inside of you he’d have his head on a stick outside of your window.
His breath is muffled from the way his teeth sunk into your shoulder, peppering kisses to soothe the burn. “He doesn’t deserve you, he doesn’t burn for you. Not like I do.”
You cling onto him, careful to keep your moans in. The last thing you want is someone walking in on you getting your guts rearranged.
“I do not have a c-choice—hah Jason!” Your gummy walls flutter around him, gripping him like a vice, Jason feels like he’s going mad.
“Run away with me. Dunno’ where we might end up, but I’ll keep you..fuck..safe. Promise.” His thumb rubs tight circles against your clit, lips meeting yours in an attempt to silence himself as he dumps a load into you.
I don’t think Jason will be too thrilled to know Dick Grayson is set to marry you.
You didn't really check the time, but it must've been past midnight when you entered Jason's place for the first time this week, quietly closing the door behind you and tossing your keys back into your bag, which you placed on the hanger by the entrance.
Your steps were lazy and spaced out as you walked around the apartment, looking for him in the dark ─ turning the lights on would be too much of a splurge, so you simply settled for an almost blind search.
Approaching the bathroom, you heard the faint sound of water splashing, the noise recognizable as you'd heard that a thousand times, almost in the same situation.
"You always choose such ungodly hours for bathing." You said, walking into the small room in silent steps.
Jason was laying peacefully in the bathtub, his head resting against the wall beside him as he had his eyes closed, probably enjoying the comfort of the scented candles lit around the tub. You could smell the vanilla from the wax mixed with the scent of the peach bathbomb you gave him some time ago.
"I think this is the best hour for it." He murmured, not bothering to raise his voice. You liked seeing him relaxed like that.
You sat down at the edge of the tub, taking in his soft appearance. He looked very peaceful, his eyes shut and face relaxed. It was one of the few times you'd seen him with his jaw unclenched.
As you sat, his head immediately leaned closer to your thigh, resting against it like a pillow. Your heart warmed at the sight and at the feeling.
You two had just started dating. Things were still so new to both of you, but they were going well. You liked each other, more than either of you cared to admit, still too scared to pour your hearts out. But moments like these proved that the feeling was deeper than you thought.
Running a gentle hand through his damp hair, you let out a short sigh. "You look so peaceful." you murmured quietly, your voice caressing his ears.
"I am." he replied, leaning into your touch. "Even more now."
You smiled at that. He liked to say sweet things when you least expected him to. Jason wasn't one for sweet talk, but he made an effort for you. To see that pretty smile on your lips, to make you feel loved, to make you feel his love.
"How did tonight go?" You murmured quietly, your fingers still caressing his scalp, almost making him purr like a cat. He loved head scratches.
"Mhm..." he hummed, deciding if he should sugarcoat it or tell you the truth. He chose the truth. "It was... awkward. Like, very, but it wasn't the worst night ever. I'm still getting used to these things."
"You're still getting used to galas?" You smiled, your tone incredulous. "I thought you went to these things all the time."
"I did a few times when I was younger." He said. "But it's harder to adapt now. I mean, inside. Outside, I think I look... not that out of place, but inside, it's messy." He explained to you, his fingers coming up to gently caress your side, making your shirt wet. But neither of you cared.
"I get it." You nodded, offering him a more understanding smile now. "I'm sure you did well, though. You always do."
"Maybe... maybe go with me next time." He murmured almost sheepishly, his eyes opening for the first time. They drank you, your appearance, your messy hair, your sparkly eyes, your pretty, pretty nose. Every part of your face, your clothes, your arms, everything. "I think you'd fit in."
"Me?" you mumbled, your voice cracking a bit, making you wince. Suddenly, you felt a little shy from his gaze and from his proposal. The thought of him wanting you of all people to be his plus one at those fancy events made you feel some kind of warm anxiety, close to a good, excited feeling. "I don't think I would, honestly."
"I can already see it... a beautiful outfit on you, your hair pretty and styled, silver jewelry, the most glorious shoes..." he mumbled. He sounded almost like he was daydreaming. "And, of course, your stunning self to go with all of it."
You laughed at that, a genuine laugh, one of those he seemed to pull out of you anytime he did or said something remotely funny. You were down bad for that man. Shaking your head, you gave his shoulder a gentle pat.
"That sounds like an alternative reality." You said.
"I disagree." he said, looking over at you again. "In fact... wait a minute, I'll get all of that arranged right now for next month."
You stared at him in confusion, your eyebrows knitting together as he started getting up from the tube, and then your eyes widened.
"Jason-"
He got out of the bathtub, water splashing all over the edges and dripping down to the floor, as well as on you, your shirt and pants getting even damper.
You laughed again at his desperation, and at the fact that he didn't even bother to cover himself with a towel. He walked out of the bathroom in his full naked glory, droplets of water sliding down his chest as he padded over to the room, mumbling something about having to get on the phone right now.
You couldn't have chosen better.
✦
a.n: i feel like this is so stupid... also, i didn't proof read, I'm sorry!
Summary: Stuck at a shitty office party for your shitty job on Christmas Eve Eve, you’re at your wit’s end. The last thing you expect is to play vigilante for a night with the Red Hood.
Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader
Word count: 7.2k
Warnings/tags: panic attacks, reader has anxiety, creepy coworkers, office party shenanigans, canon-typical violence, jason being both a menace and a sweetheart, attempts at humor, fake relationship, silliness!
the divider
You’re grateful for a reason to escape. Someone announces that the lights on the obnoxious eleven-foot Christmas tree are burned out and you’re already on the elevator, volunteering to find spare lights.
You hate these office parties. They’re just a way to play politics, show off fiancés, and reaffirm cliques. You wanted to skip it all together. But Mr. Emerson, your boss, had insisted that attending tonight’s party was mandatory.
Alma had told you about a hundred times to skip tonight, but Alma’s worked here since the Reagan administration and has too much pull to be fired. You, conversely, have been here eight months, and if you get fired, your next job is going to be as a henchman for a B-list Gotham villain.
Being painfully ordinary and anxious is a toxic mix. Your doctor still thinks all your worrying is because of your menstrual cycle. He doesn’t believe in work-related stress.
So anyway. You’re just trying to get through tonight. And find some tree lights that work.
You unlock the spare office where all the holiday junk is stored and turn on the light.
The motherfucking Red Hood looks at you, one leg dangling outside of the window and one leg inside the office. He unclicks his harness.
"Oh my God,” you say, hand frozen on the light switch.
Red Hood pulls his leg in from the window and steps into the office. He puts the harness in a duffel bag and roughly zips it, then tosses it unceremoniously onto the floor.
"Oh my God.”
He glances at you, helmet eyes glowing. "No God here, just me.”
"Oh my God," you say again, near hysterics. "Oh my God, Red Hood."
"Always nice to meet a fan," he says irritably, brushing snow off of his jacket, flashing his holsters. Oh, fuck. That's a lot of guns.
"What, um—" You close your eyes, lick your lips, try to find your sanity. "To what do I—why—are you gonna kill me?”
"The fuck? You think I'd sneak into an office and kill someone in cold blood? What kinda operation you think I'm running?"
Your mouth opens and closes in horror. "Wh–I... I don't—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, Mr. Hood."
"Please, Mr. Hood was my father."
He laughs. You taste bile in your throat.
Hood sobers. "Damn. Tough crowd. Look, sorry to freak you out, but I got shit to do. If you'll just point me to Hershel Emerson's office, I'll be on my merry way."
"That's m-my boss. Are you gonna kill him?" You can’t handle murder tonight. You’ll have a breakdown for sure.
"Literally, what did I just say?" Hood throws his hands up. "Not one minute ago. I'm not killing anyone!"
"Yet?" you ask weakly, mind inundated with too many mob movies to watch your manners. You know what the Red Hood is all about. Everyone does.
"No. I'm not killing Emerson. But he is a bad dude, so I gotta take care of business. Actually, I should kill him. He deserves it."
You squeak in horror. He raises a hand.
"But I'm not!" he says gruffly. "Respectfully, get a grip. You live in Gotham."
You swallow. "What're you gonna do to my boss if not kill him?"
Hood shrugs. "Eh, maybe scare him a bit. Mostly get intel to take him down. He's currently sitting on five million dollars of stolen life savings from clients."
You blink. "What?"
"Yup. What I really wanna know is which of his employees are in on it. He didn't do this alone."
Hood takes out a small roll-up pouch of what looks like lockpicking tools. You release your sweaty death grip on the doorknob, causing it to squeak. Hood doesn't look up.
five million dollars is ringing in your head. That happened here. Where you work. Your boss is even scummier than you thought.
“Is that a lockpicking kit?” you ask.
“Yup. Good eye.”
"This seems... illegal.”
"Well, I won't lie to you, most of what I do is. You won't be implicated though.”
He looks at you. You flinch. Even with the lights on, the Red Hood is scary as shit.
"Yeah..." he says, shaking his head. "You wouldn’t do well in prison. I can tell."
Your chest hurts. "I don't think anyone does well in prison," you say, eyebrows scrunching. "Have... you been to prison?"
"Only to break out a friend. You ask a lot of questions."
"Sorry. Um, Mr. Red Hood—"
"Ah-ah. Call me Red. Or Hood. No Mister-ing."
"Okay.” You lick your lips, hoping he doesn't go back on his temporary no-kill policy. “Hood, do you think you could come later? After the Christmas party?”
He tilts his head at you. You keep talking.
“Not that I don't admire what you're doing! Because I think taking down my boss for stealing money is great, eat the rich and all that, but, um, I came up here to get lights to replace the ones that burned out downstairs because that's a normal thing that happens and now you're here, at my job, and I'm freaking out. Oh God, oh my God—”
You grab the wall for stability, feeling like you've been rocking on a boat for hours. Sweat beads on your forehead. This time, you really do feel like you’ll throw up. Throwing up in front of the Red Hood would be humiliating.
“Look, I got shit to do, okay? I'm sorry you're freaking out but your boss is gonna cash out in a few days and then I lose him and that five million. It's now or never."
You should've just stayed home and baked cookies. Fuck being social! This is what happens when you're social: you meet morally gray vigilantes who force you to be complicit with their crimes.
Your cheeks feel wet. Are you crying? Maybe it’s sweat.
Hood points to the hallway. "Is there a camera outside?"
"Y-yeah.” Your voice is weak. “I think I’m having a heart attack. Can you call security on your way out?"
“Does your left arm hurt?”
“No, but—”
“Are your limbs stiffening?”
“No, but—”
“You’re not having a heart attack. Your speech is fine.”
Hood takes out a few more things from the duffel, then kicks it under a desk with his foot. You wheeze and grab onto the doorknob again.
It’s quiet for a second. Then—
“Shit. You're having a panic attack,” Hood says.
"Mm, probably," you say, hunched over like an armadillo. Fuck your stupid doctor.
There's silence as you wheeze quietly. Then something small hits your head. You flinch and squeal.
"You don't need to throw things at me!" you say, beyond defeated, near tears.
"No, I wasn't—sorry. It's a Warhead. I have one when I'm feeling… not my best. They're s’posed to help occupy your other senses so the panic disappears."
You stare at the candy, confused and suspicious at once. "Is it spiked?"
"Again, what sorta operation do you think I'm running? It's not drugs. Look." Hood unwraps a Warhead and sticks it in his mouth underneath his helmet. You hear him suck on it. "Eesh, that's sour. Okay? No drugs."
So you take the candy from the floor, unwrap it, and pop it into your mouth. The sour taste immediately overwhelms you. It's like your brain resets. You pant through the sour.
"Ough," you say, face scrunching from the taste.
"Yeah, right? Life changing hack."
You suck on the candy desperately and close your eyes, trying to find your breath.
“It’s okay,” Hood says, stilted and awkward. “Just, uh, focus on your breathing. Exhale longer than you inhale. Breathe through your nose.”
It takes another few minutes, but the feeling passes. Your chest lightens. It’s the quickest you’ve ever recovered from a panic attack.
“I was just kidding about the prison thing,” Hood says. “You’re not gonna go to jail ‘cause of this, I promise.”
Yeah, but what if you lose your job?
You spit the Warhead into a trash can and smack your tongue a bit. “Are you sure you can’t come back tomorrow night?”
“No can do,” Hood says. “Your boss will be gone by then.”
“It's just that I'm really bad with keeping secrets and according to Google, that's how ulcers form and I really can't afford any sick days off, so—"
You yelp as the door suddenly swings open, hitting your shoulder. You spin around.
"Hey," Bill says, squinting at you. "Where have you been?”
"No!" you yell, and turn off the light.
Bill stares at you, illuminated by the hallway light. “Uh…”
You clear your throat. "Ahem. I'm fine. It's just taking me a moment to sift through all these decorations. Please return to the party.”
You hate Bill. He’s a sleaze and doesn’t do any work. More than once, he’s trapped you by the water cooler in a conversation about his “smokin’” imaginary lawyer girlfriend.
“If you wanted me to come help you, you could've just said so," he says, reaching for the light, way too close. You don’t like his tone either.
"No!" you yell, blocking the light switch with your hands.
"What the hell? Why not?"
"Because—"
There's a creak from the back. You wince.
Bill immediately whips his head toward the sound. "Is someone here? Hello?"
He reaches for the light. Again, you block him, swatting his hands away.
"Would you stop—is someone here?"
"My boyfriend!" you blurt.
Bill stops, looking at you. "Your boyfriend? You've never mentioned a boyfriend."
"Well, I have one and he's here."
"Okay. Why can't I turn on the light and see him?"
"Because he's... um..."
You spot the red Santa suit out of the corner of your eye.
Oh, this is a terrible idea.
"He's changing! He's our Santa for the party. Surprise!" You make weak jazz hands.
Bill looks into the dark where you're pretty sure Hood is hiding. You hope, anyway. Otherwise Bill is going to tell everyone that you're making up boyfriends. "Really?"
"Yeah, really," comes Hood's unmodulated, deadpan reply, and you jump. "Don't turn on the light. I'm naked."
"Oh..." Bill looks queasy for a moment. "Uh—" He looks at you and suddenly grins. "Oh, I get it. You two were having fun before going to the party, huh? Didn't know you were such a wildcat."
"That’s disgusting,” you say. “I would never do that in the office.”
Bill wiggles his eyebrows. "Me-ow. Does the Santa thing turn you on?"
"I'm right here, Bill, and naked or not, I'll kick your ass," Hood says.
Bill pales and quickly backs out of the room. "Right. Sorry. Uh, carry on."
He closes the door. You push your back against it and exhale, heart racing.
"Bill is a shithead," Hood says.
“How… do you know his name?”
“Employee background check,” Hood says mildly.
"Oh… yeah, he's been written up a bunch of times for inappropriate behavior, but he's close with Emerson, so he never gets fired."
"Want me to kill him for you? Free of charge."
"What? No! Hood—"
"Oh, relax. I was kidding."
"Uh-huh." You turn on the light. Hood has his helmet on, and his voice is modulated again. "What're we gonna do?"
"Well, I'm gonna go make sure Hershel doesn’t fuck off to Bermuda. The lights you wanted are here, by the way."
Hood tosses you a box of multi-colored tree lights. Then he walks toward you. You plaster yourself across the door.
"Wait! You can't leave. I said that my boyfriend is going to be Santa. Bill will tell everyone. They’ll expect you.”
"I appreciate your quick thinking, but that's a hard pass,” Hood says.
"You can't leave now! Bill's gonna tell everyone I'm a liar and they'll think I was up to something worse in here, like snorting coke."
"I mean this gently: I think you should look into anti-anxiety meds. My brother swears by Xanax.”
“My doctor won’t prescribe it to me,” you say glumly. “He thinks my anxiety is made up.”
“Huh. Want me to kill him? I know a better doctor.”
"Well…” You hesitate, then shake your head. “No! No. Hood, please. They’re all gonna expect a Santa. And when I don’t show up with Santa, they’ll remember that I didn’t participate in White Elephant or any of that other office nonsense that I don’t want to waste my money on. I need this job!”
“They’re not gonna fire you for not doing White Elephant,” Hood says.
“You don’t know them! It’s a popularity contest.”
But Hood is indeed disinterested in the fact that you'll be the office pariah. Probably because he’s never worked in an office.
Instead, he ushers you aside without a struggle. Then he turns the doorknob.
"Wait! Wait, listen. If you dress as Santa, you'll have access to the party and offices. You won't have to sneak around. And people get really drunk at these. They'll talk. You can figure out who's helping Emerson steal money."
His hand pauses. He looks at you. You look back, wringing your hands.
"You're pretty crafty," he says.
"...Thanks?”
Hood releases the doorknob. "Alright, fine. I'll do the Santa shtick.”
“You will?”
He tilts his head. “Should I not?”
“No! No, you should. It’ll be a good disguise.”
He hums. “Sure. But we're in this together now, got it? You blow my cover and we both go down."
"Y-yeah, got it."
Hood heaves a gusty sigh. "Next time, I'm sending Roy in to do this shit."
"Who's Roy?"
"Ah." He holds up a finger. "Too many questions."
He makes a beeline for the Santa costume and then looks at you expectantly.
"Yo. Boyfriend or not, you're not watching me change. Guard the door, Mrs. Claus."
"Oh, right. Sorry."
You turn off the light and go into the hall, shutting the door behind you. It's empty, luckily. You rap your fingers on the box of lights, leg jiggling.
This is insane. You should just tell Hood you can't do this and let him figure out his own plan.
But then... this would make it easier to find Emerson's crime partner. And you're really sick of Bill being a jerk. You don’t want to be called a liar, or get iced out for the rest of your time here because you didn’t bring Santa. Maybe having Hood be your Santa-boyfriend would make people leave you alone. Which is a crazy reason to stick to this plan, but still. You're trying to find the bright side.
And all those people that Emerson stole from... surely, you have a responsibility to help get their money back and bring him to justice, don't you?
The door swings open. You turn around.
“You wear a mask under your helmet?”
“As a precaution.” He sounds defensive. “Lots of people in my profession do it.”
You doubt that. “Don’t you think it’ll be weird if Santa has a mask on?”
He hesitates, evidently debating between protecting his identity and arousing suspicion.
“Fine.” He carefully peels off the mask and tucks it into his pocket. The surrounding skin is slightly pink from irritation. His nose and cheeks are dotted with freckles.
And wow. The Red Hood has beautiful eyes. So vibrant and clear, like seafoam. And young! How old is he, anyway? He doesn’t look much older than you, if at all.
His eyes are framed by thick, dark lashes, and it makes sense, Hood being a brunet.
“What?” he snaps, glaring.
“Nice eyes,” you blurt.
His brows furrow. You remember the guns.
“Um, anyway. Should we go?” you squeak out, backing away.
Hood huffs through the beard. It flutters. "We need to have some ground rules."
"Okay."
"First, you should know that I will shoot if there's a physical threat at this party. Two, you're gonna call me Todd at the party. Three, if you try to tell anyone that I'm Red Hood or that I'm taking down Emerson, I will make your life hell. And if you're his partner, you'd better tell me now or I'm gonna be a lot less jolly."
"I'm not!" you say. "I would never do that. And I won't tell anyone you're Red Hood."
"Good. Let's go. Keep your ears open for hints about Emerson's partner."
He takes off in long strides. You hurry to keep up. The Santa costume doesn't slow him down.
"So how did you find out that Emerson's stealing?" you ask.
"Got a tip. You really didn't know he was stealing?"
“I don’t have access to the finances. I work in user interface. Website design.”
"Yeah? That's pretty cool. I got a brother who's into that stuff," Hood says.
"The same one who takes Xanax?”
“Would you believe it?”
You try to picture Red Hood with a regular family. With a brother or a sister or a father. It's hard to imagine.
“How come you don’t take anti-anxiety medication?” you ask.
“I have Pit Madness Syndrome, and it has a weird chemical reaction with that stuff.”
“Oh.” Subject change. Quickly! "Do you celebrate Christmas?"
"Not really. I'm not a believer or celebrator of much. You can see what my plans are two days before Christmas."
"Your family doesn't celebrate?"
Hood just grunts, eyes suddenly stormy. You take the hint and stop talking.
The room where the party is isn't particularly special. It's big enough to fit about a hundred people. For all the money the company makes, you'd thought that they could afford to splurge a little and rent an actual hall. Now you know what the profits have been going toward. But the decorations are decently lavish.
"Oh, wait." Hood leans in to speak in your ear. Lightning shoots down your spine. "I don't know your name."
You give it. He repeats it, and you shiver, like your boyfriend just said your name.
"'Kay. Stay in this room. We don't know how much Emerson or his partner knows, but assume they’re willing to do anything to get away with the money."
You nod. “Got it.”
“Hey, it’s Santa!” Bill shouts from across the room. “He made it!”
You smile tightly. “As promised.”
A few people wave. Others cheer.
“These people really like Christmas, huh?” Hood asks.
“You have no idea,” you say, hyperaware of his hand brushing your back.
“Don’t think I got your name, man,” Bill says as he approaches. He sticks a hand out. “Bill.”
“Todd,” Hood says, taking his hand and shaking. Bill winces at the handshake. You hide a smile.
“Ah, Todd. Right.” Bill looks at you, trying to subtly soothe his hand. “You’ve never mentioned him.”
You shrug. “Never came up.”
“I’m pretty private,” Hood says, putting an arm around your shoulders. “But we’re very much in love. Ain’t that right, baby?”
“Th-that’s right… honey,” you say, face going hot.
“So what do you do for work?” Bill asks. “My girlfriend’s a lawyer.”
You roll your eyes. Hood snorts.
“There’s no way you’re dating anyone. You look like you got dressed in the dark, Billy.”
You cough your laugh into your arm. Bill’s eye twitches.
“Enjoy the party,” he says icily. He glares at you, then stomps away.
“That was amazing, but I think Bill might retaliate,” you say.
“Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Hood says. “I’ll take care of it.”
You look at him with big eyes. “Hood—”
“Not like that. Just… it’ll be handled. Okay?”
You nod. Maybe it’s insane, but you trust him. “Okay. Want some punch?”
Hood hums. “No alcohol. Thanks.”
You go to the punch bowl, a little relieved to escape Hood’s piercing ocean-eyed stare. He’s intense. Whoever dates him for real is in for a ride.
Then again, you can’t imagine Hood meeting someone for coffee or dinner. You giggle at the image of him showing up with his guns and helmet.
“Hey, IT.” A woman in a white sweater you’ve seen maybe once waves at you. “Cool idea, bringing a Santa.”
“Yeah, Emerson’s too cheap to,” the man next to her says. They laugh.
You smile. “Glad you like it.”
You serve yourself two cups of the alcohol-free punch. Then you turn.
Your smile falls. Across the room is Hood and Tanya Donaldson, resident shit-stirrer. She’s trying to cozy up to him. You sigh and walk over, bracing yourself.
“Hey, baby,” Hood says, practically dragging you into his side. He takes a cup of punch. “Just met Tanya.”
You can guess exactly how he feels about that.
"Oh, is he your boyfriend?" Tanya asks, eyeing Hood like he's a slab of steak. “I had no idea!”
"Uh-huh," you say. "This is Todd."
She wiggles her fingers, grinning. “So how often do you go to the gym, Todd?” She rests a hand on Hood's arm. "I didn't know Santa was so big and broad."
Your gaze drifts to where you're pretty sure Hood has a gun strapped to his ankle, and the temptation does appear, you won't deny.
But you need this job and it's going to be really hard to explain why Santa's armed and dangerous, so you just grit your teeth. Tanya's the worst for this kind of behavior and she doesn't respect you, so bringing your hunky boyfriend is like dangling a bunch of carrots in her face.
And it’s not like Todd is actually your boyfriend.
"Are you flirting with me in front of my girlfriend?" Hood asks, prying her hand off of his arm.
"Flirting?" She claps a hand over her mouth, the movement slightly delayed from all the wine. "No, oh my God! I was just saying—"
"That's really pathetic," Hood says. "Don't do that."
He walks away and you follow, leaving a wobbly Tanya on her own. You smile to yourself.
"Thank you for that," you say.
Hood gives you a thumbs up. "I can plant evidence on her and get her fired if you want."
"No, I don't want to feel damned for eternity. Thanks anyway."
"You have a lot of assholes at your job," Hood says. "But you're not one. I admire that.”
You sigh. "They're not all bad. Alma is cool. She keeps me from quitting.”
"And where is she?"
"At home. She's a sixty-two year old accountant who doesn't care about these parties. Her hip aches when it's cold."
"Mm. Maybe you should follow her lead," Hood says.
"But then who would help you with your spycraft, Hood?"
He allows himself a tiny laugh at that. You wonder how often he laughs. If ever.
“Well, suffering Tanya wasn’t in vain. She said this whole party cost twenty grand.”
“So?”
He gestures grandly. “Does this look like it cost twenty grand to put this together?”
It's true. The alcohol is the most expensive thing here. No food, except for some people that participated in the potluck, but you don't trust anybody's food here. The decorations are old. Not to mention the Red Hood as your Santa. Your boss might have spared a thousand for tonight. No more.
“So where did all that money go?” you ask.
Hood snaps his fingers. “Bingo.”
“That is so shitty. I got a chocolate-covered pretzel as my Christmas bonus,” you say.
“A bag of ‘em?” He shakes his head. “Pretty cheap.”
“Ha, no. No, I got one big pretzel. In a box. The box cost more than the pretzel, I think.”
His eyes widen. “Jesus. Even I give more than that to my guys.”
“Got any openings?” you ask, half-joking.
Hood snorts. “Don't think you'd like what we do. Why d’you stay?”
You shrug. “Nowhere else to go. I have to eat somehow.”
“Crappy boss, crappy coworkers, no Christmas bonus. Hell, I feel sorry for ya.”
The Red Hood feels sorry for you. Perhaps you've reached a new low.
He drinks the punch and coughs. “Ahem, wow. Did you make the punch?”
“No, some people mixed it here.”
“Oh, then I'll be honest. Tastes like a flavor that's not found in nature.” He throws his cup away. You trust him and set your still-full cup on a table.
“I won't even mention the potluck,” you say.
“Yeesh. Can't eat at everyone's house.”
“That's what I say!”
He winks at you. You look away, flustered.
The crazy thing is, you could get used to this. Well, not specifically Red Hood, but having a boyfriend to bring to these functions, who’ll warn you against gross punch and defend you against Tanya.
And Hood is surprisingly good at this. If you forget the past hour, you can almost pretend that this is just another office party that you happen to be spending with your new boyfriend.
"Hey, look! It's Santa! Dude, check me out with Santa!"
One of the finance guys who's very drunk—you want to say that his name is Matt—bounds up to you and Hood. Hood tenses, reaching for his hip (gun!) and you touch his elbow, reminding him to relax. He drops his arm.
Matt reeks of alcohol, the front of his shirt stained with bourbon. He laughs, forehead shiny with sweat.
"Santaaa, hey, Saint Nick, take a pic with me, man!"
Matt throws his arms around Hood. Hood does not like that and shoves him off accordingly. But Matt doesn't seem to notice and holds up his phone, camera facing front. Hood slaps the phone out of his hand.
"No pictures," he says.
You wince. The guy stares and blinks, taking three to five business days to process what just happened.
"What the fuck, man? That was my phone!"
"Sorry. I'm drunk." Hood sighs like he's physically in pain, then leans back and makes drinking motions with his fingers. "Fuckin' wasted! Did you try those rum shots? Lit, dude!"
The guy cheers up, forgetting all about the phone. "Oh, yeah, for sure! I'm gonna go get one right now! Thanks, Santa!"
"You do that!" Hood says cheerily.
As soon as the guy leaves, Hood returns to his resting scary face.
"Wow," you say.
"I know. I threw up in my mouth a little."
You laugh. Hood grins. Then it fades.
"Damn it. We're getting no closer to finding Emerson's partner. I should just interrogate Emerson until he tells me."
Interrogate makes you feel woozy. You're pretty sure you know what Hood's idea of an interrogation is.
"Wait! We just need to lure them out. If they think their money might be in jeopardy, they'll sneak out of the party to go check on it, right?" you ask.
"Potentially, yes. But how do we lure 'em?"
"There's an alert if someone withdraws more than ten thousand dollars from the company. But I don't have access to the accounts," you say.
Hood smiles slowly. "You don't need it. Remember I mentioned my computer whiz brother?"
"Yeah…” You grimace. “This sounds illegal again.”
"Hell yeah it is. He owes me a favor too. Lemme call him."
You two go off to the side while Hood dials.
"Yeah?" comes a voice on the other end. He doesn’t sound at all like Hood, more like a one percenter from the Diamond District. This is Hood’s brother?
"Aliases only. I need you to withdraw fifty grand from Emerson Corp,” Hood says.
"Why?”
“‘Cause you owe me a favor. Just do it.”
“Zombie breath.”
“Shortass,” Hood says, voice taking on a distinct older brother tone.
“You’re such an asshole,” the voice says. He yawns. “B’s wondering if you’re coming tomorrow.”
“I’d rather die again,” Hood says. “And you can tell him I said that.”
“The broody emo bullshit is getting old, dude,” the voice says.
You giggle. Hood looks at you sharply. You press your lips together, properly chastened. Sorry, you mouth.
"Who's that?" the voice asks.
"No one," Hood says. "Did you do it?"
"Chill out. I'm getting past their firewall. So who is that?”
“It’s the TV,” Hood says.
“No, it’s not. That was a lady's laugh, IRL. And you wouldn’t lie if it was someone we know…”
“Mind your damn—”
“I’m helping him with a case,” you blurt.
Hood throws his hand up, glaring at you. It’s silent on the other end of the phone for a solid ten seconds. Then…
“Holy shit,” Hood’s brother says. “You do have a girlfriend. Wait. Hold on. This is wild. You don’t even have a social security number.”
“I do not have a girlfriend!” Hood snaps, drawing the attention of some coworkers. You nudge him. He exhales through his nose.
“I don’t have a girlfriend, you little fucker,” he says, quieter. “She’s telling the truth.”
“Can I ask your girlfriend a question? Respectfully, what were you thinking? You can do so much b—”
“Text me when it’s done,” Hood growls and hangs up.
You look at each other for a moment.
“You didn't hear any of that,” Hood says. “Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Good. Let's see who gets scared. He should do it right about…”
His phone beeps. You look around the room.
Soon, your culprit reveals himself. Matt!
Holy shit.
"He didn't want a picture," Hood says slowly. "He was frisking me! Motherfucker."
"But isn't he drunk?" you ask.
"No." Hood sighs in disgust. "How did I miss that? Br—someone I know does that all the time, spilling alcohol on himself so he smells like he's been drinking. God. Oldest trick in the book!"
"Do you think he knows you're the Red Hood?"
"No. But he might suspect something. Let's go.”
You follow Matt out of the party. He's walking fast. Yeah. Definitely your guy.
Down the hallway, Matt turns around and makes direct eye contact with you. You panic.
“Hood!” you whisper.
“I know,” he says. “Follow my lead.”
Loudly, he laughs and puts an arm around your waist. “C’mon, baby, no one’ll know.”
And then you're being herded into a janitor’s closet.
You stumble in, confused and reeling from how easily Hood plays the affectionate boyfriend role. He follows you in, shuts the door, and pulls the chain dangling from the ceiling. The single light bulb turns on.
You take care to not knock over any cleaning supplies. You don't see the mop on the floor, however, and you trip backwards on the handle.
Hood's reaction time is impeccable. He jerks forward to catch you, tugging you back on your feet with his hands on your arms.
“Y’alright?” he asks.
“Uh-huh,” you say, mildly mortified. “Thanks.”
He lets go. You shift on your feet.
“How long are we gonna stay here?” you ask.
Hood checks his phone. “Well, he should've moved on by now. Let's—”
The doorknob jiggles. You look at Hood in fear. His expression is similar.
“Pretend!” you whisper, and that's all he needs to understand and move.
You're expecting your arms around Hood, maybe exaggeratedly feeling him up. You are not expecting Hood to hoist you up by the backs of your thighs and press you against the wall. You squeal, arms shooting out to hold onto his neck. Hood's beard ends up in your mouth and you spit it out.
The door swings open, revealing a very tipsy couple.
“Oops!” the woman says, grinning. “Sorry. Carry on.”
The guy gives a thumbs-up. “True love.”
You smile awkwardly. Something is pressing into your hip.
“True love,” Hood deadpans. “Rock on.”
As soon as the door closes, you're squirming.
“What is that?” you hiss.
“My gun! Oh my God, it's my gun,” Hood says, quickly setting you down. “It's not…”
He trails off and backs away. You stand there, processing what just happened.
“That wasn’t—”
“I didn’t—”
You both stop. Hood adjusts his beard.
“You're really strong,” you say, wringing your hands.
Hood nods. “Sorry about the, uh…”
“Yeah, let's just not talk about this.”
“Yup. Find Matt?”
“Absolutely.”
You open the door and peek out. The hallway is empty. Glory be.
“All clear,” you say, and Hood is on your heels as you sneak out.
“Any ideas on where he'd go?” Hood asks.
“Matt works in a cubicle like the rest of us. Emerson’s office is on the twelfth floor.”
“Fine. We'll hit Emerson's office first. More privacy, and maybe they'll both be there. Two birds.”
“Emerson's office is protected by a password lock. He changes it every night,” you say, scurrying to keep up with Hood.
“That's fine. I got a key right here,” he says, patting his holster.
“Wait! If the lock is tampered with, it sets off an alarm and security will come. You can't shoot it, Hood.”
He stops and sighs. “Why is everything so goddamn complicated? Alright, new plan. I'm gonna get my stuff from where we were and I'll break in the old-fashioned way.”
Fifteen Minutes Later.
“This seems really unsafe!” you say, watching Hood dangle outside a three story window on a wire. He's attached to a grappling hook but still. Still!
“Eh, I died once. Didn't stick. Hold the hook.”
“I am!” As if you'd do anything but. You don't want the Red Hood to become Red Goo.
Chilly December wind makes your eyes water and your nose cold. Still, you hold on.
“Almost there!” he says.
“Hey! What're you doing?”
You whirl around and close your eyes due to the flashlight shining at them. Even though the lights are on.
An elderly security guard glares at you. It's a good thing you're not an actual criminal… though after tonight, you're not so sure.
“Um.” You try to hold onto the hook while hiding it behind your back. “Bird watching?”
The guard turns off the flashlight and tucks it into his belt. He slowly walks to you.
“If you're doing something illegal, Miss, you're in big trouble.”
Well, this is fantastic. Of course it would be you that gets caught.
The guard is getting closer. Your grip is sweaty. He peers over your shoulder. You let go of the hook, praying to every spirit out there that Hood is as good as everyone says he is.
The guard looks around and scratches his head. You shrug, heart in your throat.
“See?” you say. “Bird watching.”
He frowns at you. “I've got my eye on you.”
“And I commend you for that.”
“Are you sassing me?”
Are you? You might be. You've been spending too much time with Hood.
Hood! You turn and look out the window. You don't see any red goo below, but it's also cold and foggy. Shit. You hurry to the elevators.
“Okay, happy holidays, bye!”
The elevator doors open. You press twelve and close the door before the guard can consider getting on with you and shooting you a hairy eyeball all the way down.
You hurry out and run down to Emerson's office. The door has been left ajar, which is good, right?
Bang!
You throw yourself against the wall. Shit. Maybe not.
Ugh, you told Hood no shooting! Son of a bitch.
“We're doing this tonight!” That's Emerson's voice. “I don't care if I have to shoot my way out.”
Shoot? Oh no.
You carefully peek through the crack. Hood is standing with his hands behind his head. His beard has blood in it. Emerson is in front of him, gun to his head.
Hood catches your eye. He gives you the tiniest head shake. You swallow.
You can't just leave him there.
Okay. Think. Emerson's back is to you. You can't see Matt, but you figure he's far enough away to not immediately shoot you. Hopefully.
Anyway, what's your other option? The feisty relic upstairs? You can't risk any civilians getting hurt.
Technically you're also a civilian but not tonight. Tonight you might as well be Batman.
You slowly pull the door open further. You sneak in, then hide behind the secretary's desk.
“Is it done?” Emerson snaps.
That's when you see Matt in the corner on a laptop.
“It takes time,” Matt says, obviously stressed too.
“Well, hurry up!” Emerson looks at Hood. “Then we'll dispose of Santa here.”
Hood shrugs. “You can certainly try. Many have. ‘M still here.”
“Lots of bravado for a man in a costume,” Emerson sneers. “What are you, police?”
Hood groans. “As fucking if! I'm not a cop.”
He hums. “Perhaps not. Otherwise this place would be crawling with them already. But you're alone.”
“How d'you know I'm alone?” Hood asks.
You're glad he's calm because you're feeling the beginnings of another panic attack. But you can't panic, not now. The adrenaline pulsing through you is the only thing keeping you from going catatonic.
You have no weapon, no plan. How the hell are you supposed to help Hood?
“You're bluffing,” Emerson says.
“He has a girlfriend,” Matt says. “Some IT girl. She might come looking for him.”
“Then we'll take care of her too.”
Matt looks uncomfortable but he doesn't say anything. Hood is still cool as a cucumber.
“She won't look for me. We had a fight. I forgot to buy the candy she likes.”
Candy? Why would—oh!
On the secretary's desk is a glass bowl filled with mini candy canes. You wrap your hands around it.
“She knows my favorite,” Hood says, locking eyes with you.
You throw the bowl with all your might. Emerson is too slow—Hood grabs the bowl one-handed and swings it, knocking the gun from Emerson's hand. The candy explodes into pieces. Hood swings again, this time into Emerson's head. The bowl cracks. Emerson crumples to the floor.
“Are you o—”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
In a blink, Hood wraps one arm around your waist and yanks you to the floor, covering your body. You curl into him on instinct.
“I got you, I got you,” he says, patting your shoulder. “You okay?”
You nod, words not coming right now. You squeeze his hand. Hood seems to understand and he scoots you both behind Emerson’s desk. Then he loads his gun and cocks it.
“Stay here,” he says, then fires six shots.
“Goddamnit!” Matt yells across the room. “This wasn't the plan! You're not supposed to be here!”
Hood laughs, which is absolutely terrifying. “Don't talk to me about ruined plans, buddy. I've been waiting all night for an excuse to shoot somebody. Please make my night.”
Matt fires four more shots.
“Fuck you, cop!”
“What the fuck? Fuck you more! I'm not a fucking cop!”
“Maybe it's the way you stand,” you say, teeth chattering from anxiety.
Hood squeezes your shoulder comfortingly. “I stand like a cop? Gross. I gotta work on that.”
“You're somebody!” Matt yells. “You're not just some guy, Todd, don't lie to me. You and that chick from IT are in cahoots.”
You huff. “He knows your name but not mine?”
“I’d take it as a compliment.”
Matt fires again. Hood tucks you behind him.
“He won’t kill anybody,” he says, with way too much confidence, in your opinion.
“Oh, is that why he's peacefully shooting at us?”
“He's scared, sure. But he can’t kill. Trust me, I know. Hey, Matt!”
“What?”
Hood stands up. Your eyes bug out of your head.
“Hood!” you hiss. “Hood!”
He ignores you, of course.
“You won’t hurt anyone,” Hood says. He starts walking toward Matt. “You're not a killer, Matt.”
And all this time you thought Hood was sort of sane. Nope.
“I will shoot you!” Matt warns.
“Aw. You wouldn't shoot Santy Claus, would you?”
Matt pulls the trigger. You gasp. It clicks. The magazine is empty.
Hood closes the distance between them and grabs the gun, then elbows Matt in the face. Matt sprawls onto the floor.
“Yeah, I don't risk my life on human emotion,” Hood says, loud enough so you can hear. “People can be so unpredictable. I will take a chance on a gun that only fires seven rounds, though. For a guy in finance, you're not very good with numbers, Matty.”
You sigh in relief, slumping against the desk. After tonight, you're retiring.
“Y'okay over there?” Hood asks.
“Yeah.”
It's quiet for a bit. Then Hood returns and offers you a hand to help you stand. You do so on shaky limbs.
He's got a cut on his eyebrow and a bruise on his cheek. You frown.
“I'm sorry I let go of the hook. I thought—”
“You let go of the hook?”
You stop. “Um. No?”
Hood squints at you. “Choosing to forgive you for that.”
“I knew you were inside the office!”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I'm not the only one taking risks,” you say. “Matt still fired at you.”
“Eh.” Hood shrugs. “He’s a crap shot. And I counted the rounds. I maintain my point. Factually, he could not shoot me.”
“You could've told me the gun was empty,” you say.
“I wanted you to think I was cool and brave.”
You laugh. “I already think that.”
Hood looks at you for a moment, like he’s trying to see right down into your soul. Intense. You cross your arms.
“So, um, ready to ditch this party?” you ask.
“With pleasure.”
“What about them?” you ask, pointing to Matt.
“I have backup arriving soon. Let's get your coat.”
You get your things while Hood changes back into his usual garb. He meets you at the back exit, the one that leads to an alleyway, Santa suit gone. The party's winding down and most are getting into their cars. You're grateful no one stops to ask where you disappeared to.
There's police outside, but they're not here for Emerson. It's Bill that's being questioned by Commissioner Gordon. You stop short at the sight.
“Hood… what did you do?”
“Hm? Oh! There might have been some discrepancies in Bill's finances and he might have committed fraud to pay off his gambling debts. All circumstantial, though.”
“Please don't tell me you framed my coworker because he's a jerk,” you say.
“No, but I'm not above that, for the record. I recognized Bill from when I was casing the Iceberg Lounge. That's where he racked up all that debt.”
You nod slowly. “That's how you knew his name.”
“Yup. He was a nobody, so I didn't bother with him. Had I known he was such a menace at work, well…”
You grin. “It's okay. I appreciate it now.”
Hood nods. The silence is awkward for a few seconds.
“So—”
“You don't have to keep working here,” he says. “You can leave if you wanna.”
“Hood…”
He puts up a hand. “Hear me out. I have a contact at Wayne Enterprises. I can get you an interview. Hell, I can get you the job.”
“And what would I owe you?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Think of it as a thank you for tonight. You didn't have to help me but you did.”
You open and close your mouth. “I don't… I don't know what to say.”
“Don't gotta say a thing,” Hood says quietly. “If anyone deserves a new year, it's you.”
“Oh.” Your throat feels tight suddenly. “Oh, Hood, that's really—that's nice of you.”
“It's been known to happen. Don't spread it around though.”
“But I don't want the job without interviewing!” you say. “I want to get it on my own.”
Hood nods. “Deal.”
You want to hug him but that seems like too much, even with all you’ve done tonight. So you take out a candy cane instead.
“I salvaged one from the bowl,” you say. “Merry Christmas, Hood.”
He takes it, tucking it into his pocket. “Merry Christmas. Need a ride?”
You shake your head. “I'm fine. See you around?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Stay safe, alright?”
“Oh, I will. Will you?”
He laughs. “No promises.”
Then you blink and he's gone. You shove your hands into your coat pockets.
In each pocket, there's a handful of Warheads. You smile.
Summary: The war between the humans and the vampires has lasted for a year now. When you fled Gotham, you thought that would be the last time you'd see the Vampire King and the love of your life, Dick Grayson. You were wrong.
Pairing: vampire king!Dick Grayson x fem!reader. based on the dc vs vampires comics
Word count: 1.9k
Warnings/tags: smut!!! 18+ only. oral fem receiving, manipulation, romantic dick, me retconning whatever smarmy little bastard they wrote in dc vs vampires bc that is NOT my dick. dick is literally so gone for you, vampire king or not. themes of death, war, vampires killing humans. if i missed any warnings lmk!
happy almost halloween! follow your dreams and fuck that superhero turned vampire. it'll definitely fix them this time.
the divider
If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡
Tonight, you dream.
You don't usually have good dreams. Not since this whole war began. Your dreams are filled with red. Always red, always terrifying.
Except when he's in them.
The first few times it happened, you yelled at him for intruding on your subconscious. For warping your emotions and making you miss him. He'd laughed at that.
You should look at yourself a little harder before blaming me. I just appear. You do all the dirty work of missing me, my love.
You're in Gotham in tonight's dream. The old Gotham, of course. Before any bastard undead creatures could suck the life out of your city. Before Dick Grayson haunted your dreams.
You're on a rooftop ledge, legs dangling. You stare at the harbor. The city's wet from the rain and alive. So alive. You start to cry.
"Oh, honey," he says, and you cry harder because he sounds exactly like the Dick you knew.
He keeps his distance, sitting a few feet away. You refuse to look at him, because this is exactly how he gets you to miss him. Dick makes a soft noise when you scrub at your face.
"Have you been eating enough?" he asks, and he almost sounds tender. But you know better. "I'll track down a produce shipment, tell my men to intercept the boat for you."
"Fuck you," you say. "I don't take food out of people's mouths."
Dick edges closer. He feels big in your dreams, looming over you.
"You wouldn't take food out of anyone's mouth. There's no longer a faction on the planet that requires all that food."
Because the vampires have all but wiped humans out. You snarl.
"Why can't you leave me alone?" you snap. "I know you're cruel, but the least you could do is let me dream in peace."
"Have I been cruel to you? I don't mean to be, sweetheart. I visit to check on you."
"Bullshit, Dick." Saying his name makes you shake. "You visit to manipulate me. I'm not going to give up my location, I'm not going to turn against my team, and I'm definitely never going to be your queen."
Dick is next to you on the roof ledge, now. He leans in and you stiffen at his eyes. You still aren't used to the absence of blue.
"Of course not. I wouldn't make you do anything you don't want to," he says, hand slipping across your jaw. You immediately slap him away. He makes a displeased sound.
"Why don't you find someone else to manipulate? I'm sure you've got countless minions who'd leap at the chance to be with you for eternity."
"I don't want anyone else," he murmurs. "I've thought of nothing but you since we parted. I wish you hadn't run, my love. Things would be better if we were together, you’d see.”
"Hah. You used to be so much better at compartmentalizing, Grayson. Guess vampires aren't so good at controlling their own desires."
He laughs, tosses his head back. His fangs glint. Dick's smile is deceiving; underneath the charm, there's unimaginable power. Vampirism has treated him well: he's always filled out, lean with muscle, carrying an easy strength everywhere he goes.
You, on the other hand, suffer from poor nutrition. You didn't sleep well before this mess; now, it's nearly impossible.
(Except when Dick visits, you feel rested the next morning. You'd never admit such a thing to anybody, but it's the truth.)
"Oh, sweetheart, but why would I bother controlling my desires now? There's no one stopping me from having what I want."
You stew in silence, turning away from him. Dick sighs.
"What do you want, hm? Tell me. I'll give you anything."
"I want you to free every human you're holding captive," you say. "And I want you and your people to stop this war."
"Such a golden heart," Dick says. "That's what I love about you. Always so good."
"You used to be good too," you shoot back bitterly.
"No, I used to be obedient. There's a difference. I used to be Bruce's little, golden cow."
“He treated you well.”
“When I fell in line,” he says.
You fall quiet again. Dick scoots closer. You scoot away.
"You know I've already let a few of the humans go. For you, honey. As a sign of goodwill. I'm not totally heartless, you know."
You roll your eyes.
"Right. Well, us cattle don't find it merciful when we're sent out on our own to die, so you'll have to excuse me if I don't thank Your Highness on my knees."
"You are not cattle," Dick says fiercely. "Don't talk about yourself that way."
"My life is no less human and no more important than theirs," you say, temper flaring. "So, yes, I am."
"That's—"
You fall off the roof before he can say any more. Your stomach swoops similarly to how it would if you were awake. But then the stars bleed into the skyline, and there's a flash of golden light.
And now you're in a bedroom. It's not one you recognize, richly decorated with golden accents and silk sheets and curtains. You'd almost mistake it for a room at Wayne Manor.
"Now this is much better, don't you think? You're wearing my favorite color."
You look down and see that your pajamas have been swapped for a long, blood red, chiffon nightgown. It hugs every curve and dip of your body, the sleeves and collar trimmed in soft fur. The neckline is somewhat modest, but the fabric is totally see-through past your thighs.
It's something a queen would wear.
"Beautiful," Dick murmurs, voice rough. "Fuck, honey. This is the sort of thing you should wear all the time."
"Change me back," you demand. "I am not a doll for you to dress up, Dick."
"No, of course you're not. This is just a taste of how you'd live if you were with me, my love."
"I will never live with you. I'd rather die."
Dick hums, then draws closer. You back up until your legs hit the edge of the bed. He prowls further, eyes sharp like he's hunting prey. Your pulse quickens and you have to remind yourself that this is just a dream.
"What happened to us?" he asks softly. "I know that, at one point, you loved me."
"Yeah, that was before you turned into a monster. I loved a man."
"I'm no more monster than any of the men you've known," Dick says.
You scoff. "God, where'd you get that one? Jason?"
Dick smiles, and it almost looks human. "No, that was a Grayson original. And it's true. Man has never been good. You don't like me because now I drink a little blood?"
"I don't like you because you used to be good, and now you're not."
He hums. "I'm not all bad, my love. I can be subdued, tamed. You want me to be tame? I can be good for you. I can give you anything your heart desires. Our wants are the same.”
Dick eases you backwards onto the bed. You shouldn’t let him. Shouldn’t like the cold press of undead flesh against your heat. Shouldn’t like how he holds you, how convincing he sounds. You know your wants aren’t the same, that Dick is playing you, and you’re being easy.
But… but it's not like you'll ever see him for real again. No one will know.
And God, it's been so long since anyone touched you. You pined for this, what seems like forever ago. Dick Grayson wanting you had felt impossible, until it wasn't… but by then, he'd become the very thing you'd sworn to hate.
"This–” You swallow. “This isn’t right.”
But your legs part for him to kneel between.
"Tell me to stop and I will. I serve you first."
Dick hovers over you, hands planted on either side of your head. You're getting wet. You ache in more ways than one.
"This is cruel," you whine.
"I don’t mean to be cruel,” he says gently. “Do you want me to stop, my love? My beautiful queen, who hasn’t been touched in so long. You’ve needed me, haven’t you?”
“Not–not your queen,” you say, panting, but you let him in, let him settle above you.
“If you say so, my love," he says, nuzzling your neck. You tense even though he can't actually bite you.
His fingers thread with yours. The position is unbearably intimate. You’d forgotten how romantic Dick was. How loving. Briefly, you wonder if he kept that through the shift.
It’s impossible, you insist as he kisses your jaw.
"You're a dream in red," he purrs. "I might prefer it to you in blue, but it's a close call."
"Your ego is ridiculous," you say, and Dick unlinks one hand to pet the apex of your thighs with two fingers. You're still clothed, and you're still dreaming, but the heat and pressure and slick feel so real.
"The sounds you're making certainly don’t keep my ego in check," Dick says with a proud grin, fangs on display.
Then he rips your underwear off, ducks between your legs, and licks you until you cry.
You arch off the bed, and even in the dream, his strength is easy, one hand keeping you pressed to the bed. Dick pushes one of your legs up to get a deeper angle, moaning into your cunt. Your leg goes up easily even though in real life, it would pinch. You’re not as flexible as he is.
"Dickie," you cry, tears slipping down your cheeks because it's so good, it feels real, you wish this was real, wish you had him back.
He nips your thighs, groans into your sex. Dick ruts the mattress, the first loss of control he's shown. It makes you wetter, knowing that he's so gone for you. It's sick to like such a thing, but you never stopped loving him, not really. You can't seem to reckon the man from the monster.
You come hard on his tongue, and he keeps licking until you push him away.
"You haven't been touched in ages, I bet," he says, lips shiny with your arousal. His eyes are a brighter red. His chest heaves. He looks hungrier than before he started.
"Been a bit busy,” you say when your brain comes back online. “End of humanity and all that."
His eyes go soft. You hate that he can still make that look.
"Why are you so stubborn? Why won't you let me take care of you? You belong at my side."
You scowl. "I don't belong anywhere, Dick. Certainly nowhere near you."
His eyes glitter and he grabs you by your hips and kisses you. You let him, because you're absolutely pathetic and because you haven't been touched in ages.
Dick laughs against your mouth and peppers kisses on your throat before pulling away.
"I'll send your team food. They won't even know it's me," he says, half-lidded. "My beloved queen. You'll never starve. I didn't know it was so bad."
"I am not your queen and I don't need your charity. In fact, you know what? I'm waking up. Right now."
Dick smiles, and kisses your hand. Then he gets off of the bed, and fixes his collar. He must be aching in his slacks, dream or not, but he straightens up like he has all the time in the world to fuck you. Like he knows you’ll be back.
"Of course, my love. Whatever you want. Till next time."
The dream fades from a golden bedroom to your dark, tiny hole of a room you've camped in for a few months.
You turn your head and look at the clock. It's still late.
Your thighs ache. Your mouth tingles where he kissed you.
You swore to never pledge yourself to the Vampire King. But you never made any such promises about Dick Grayson.
This includes Multimuses with Marvel characters!
Personal blogs please do not share, this is for roleplay specific blog please and thank you!
Ideally please put muse names and sources (IE. Steve Rogers/616/headcanon) in the tags to help people find characters they want to interact with when looking through the reblogs!
OCs welcome to reblog - just specify 'OC' in the tags, maybe something along the lines of 'shield agent', 'Guardian of the Galaxy', 'Mutant', etc. if you'd like to add additional info!
izzy806
gracieabrams
andulkaphoto
baratheonpilled
