jason was already halfway armored when you entered the room.
“you’re late,” he said without turning around, tightening a strap across his chest.
“and yet,” you replied calmly, tossing your keys onto the table, “here you are, still standing.”
he huffed a laugh and finally glanced over his shoulder.
you's just gotten back from work, still, you looked gorgeous. lipstick perfect. hair done. that effortless, dangerous kind of put-together that made people stare even when they knew better.
jason swallowed. “you do this on purpose?”
“do what?” you asked.
“show up looking like that right before i go out.”
you pushed off the table and crossed the room, stopping right in front of him. one hand rested lightly against his chest plate.
“i’m saying goodbye,” you said. “you’re the one making it dramatic.”
he tilted his head, watching you closely. “this feels like a trap.”
you smiled. “relax.”
then you kissed him.
just a deliberate press of your lips against his cheek, right under his eye. you pulled back just enough to look at him, then leaned in again, this time along his jaw. another at the corner of his mouth. one against his temple.
jason’s hands hovered, unsure whether to grab you or let you finish.
“you gonna let me breathe?” he muttered.
you kissed his forehead last, slow and firm. “stay safe.”
that was it. no fussing. no wiping. no second glance.
you stepped back, already turning away, like you hadn’t just left a trail of lipstick stain's behind.
jason tugged his helmet on and headed out, heartbeat louder than usual.
---
patrol went long. by the time jason was back in the cave, adrenaline still buzzed under his skin as he popped his helmet off and dropped it onto the worktable.
silence.
not the usual batcave silence. the everyone-is-staring-at-you silence.
jason frowned. “what?”
dick’s mouth was hanging open.
tim had frozen mid-typing.
stephanie squinted. “is that… lipstick?”
jason blinked. “what?”
bruce cleared his throat and turned away a little too fast.
jason reached up, touching his cheek, then his jaw. his fingers came back faintly pinkish-red.
“oh,” he said flatly.
duke was grinning from ear to ear, clearly already imagining a million scenarios. “oh. ohhhhhh. oh my god, he’s dating someone?!”
damian crossed his arms, scowling, nostrils flaring. “explain. immediately. why is your face contaminated with what appears to be—” he paused, disgusted and fascinated at once. “a woman’s lipstick?”
dick couldn’t handle it. “you never told us! not even a hint!” he shook his head, laughing nervously. “and now there’s evidence!”
damian scowled deeper, trying to maintain composure. “this… is unacceptable. jason todd. this… woman… she distracted you?!”
jason shrugged, smirking. “she’s keeping me alive. that’s all that matters.”
damian’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “keeping you alive… by marking you like some… trophy?!”
bruce finally intervened, arms crossed. “enough. the important thing is, jason, make sure this person doesn’t get you killed. that’s all.”
damian huffed, muttering something under his breath about the “irresponsibility of personal entanglements,” clearly simultaneously annoyed and intrigued.
dick, still laughing, clapped jason on the shoulder. “man, i can’t believe you kept this from us. we’re your family! and now we have proof.”
jason leaned back, running a hand across his face, smirk wider than ever. “relax. you should be thanking her. she’s good for me.”
steph smirked. “ohhh, she’s definitely the type to leave lipstick marks as a warning. i can feel it. i love it.”
“and now it all makes sense why your patrol efficiency dropped slightly tonight. you were… distracted.” tim added.
jason groaned, pretending to be exasperated, but deep down, he didn’t mind the chaos. not one bit.
damian just shook his head, muttering, “…i will not allow this to undermine our operational focus,” though a small smirk betrayed him.
jason wiped the faint lipstick from his face slowly, savoring the stares, the chaos, and the little reveal that no one in the batfam could have predicted.
and he was already looking forward to the next time.
–batfam x batsis!reader(platonic obviously) headcanons
Synopsis: you got into a fight at your new school. Your family reacts in a... variation of ways.
A/n: first time writing hcs... the reactions of the characters are based off my version of batsis!reader I have in mind from other fics I've already written. English is not my first language. Enjoy!!!
Bruce Wayne
When he got the call that his daughter had gotten into a fight, he was taken by surprise.
Bruce could've expected this from his other kids (Dick and Jason) when they were your age. (Because Tim was just a few months older than you). But he didn't expect you, out of all people, to actually get into a fight.
He knew you could fight. He'd seen you in the manors training room late at night, practising punch combinations and hitting the punching bag like your life depended on it. He was aware of your ability at that. But, usually, fighters like that did not go around getting into fights if it wasn't strictly necessary. He knew this better than anyone.
When he entered the principals room, he took in your appearance. Messy hair, a bloody nose, split knuckles... then he looked at the other kid, and felt something strangely like pride swell in his chest before forcing himself to stay serious. The boy looked as if he'd been to hell and back. His eye was black, both his nostrils were still bleeding, and his face was full of bruises. Some still forming.
You looked unbothered, but it gave you away the fact that your hands were still shaking. From adrenaline and hitting repeatedly.
He sat next to you, and gave you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.
After getting out of the building, you explained to him the situation. He understood, and assured you it was all right. He only warned you to not get caught hitting someone next time.
Jason Todd (and Dick)
In normal circumstances, you wouldn't just have dropped by Jason's apartment without telling him. But staying in the manor meant having to deal with Dick asking a shit ton of questions, Tim's silent worried gaze and Damian's witty comments.
And you really didn't want to patch yourself up alone.
You knew Jason would not force you to speak. He would help you clean the blood, and offer a place to stay if the outside world was too loud. That is all you needed at the moment.
You stood outside and knocked on the door. You heard rustling inside, muffled voices. The door slid open.
A red-headed man stood holding the door open, with a beer in his hand. For a moment, you stood staring at each other. You realised then, that you didn't even brush your hair nor clean your own blood from your face.
To not make it awkward any longer, you spoke to the guy.
"Is Jason home?"
"Uhm yeah- wait a sec"
He looked back to the couch, and Jason looked to the door. When he saw you, he stood up and walked to the door.
"What happened to you, kid?" He scoffed "you look awful"
You didn't respond, and he could recognise himself for a moment in you. The same quiet regret and stubbornness.
"Come in"
.....
"So let me get this straight" The guy hanging out at Jason's, Roy, spoke, "Bat adopted another kid"
You were sat on the kitchen counter, Jason was bandaging your bloody knuckles.
"Is that your blood?" Jason asked, ignoring Roy. You looked at your other hand.
"Ehhm- I don't think so" you srhugged "It's probably from the other guy's nose"
"Well shit" Roy mumbled "you beat him up good, huh?"
"Well, at least I tried to" you replied "But yeah, I guess so"
Jason finished bandaging your knuckles, then desinfected a really ugly looking bruise on your cheek.
"Does B know?" Jason questioned.
You scoffed, "Who do you think the school called, huh? Damian?"
"Okay, fair"
Roy laughed a bit, and Jason just glared at him.
From the kitchen table, Jason's phone rang.
Roy looked over to see who was calling, and turned with a smirk "It's good ol' Nightwing"
"Pass me the phone" Jason walked to where Roy was standing.
He pressed the green button on the screen, and Dick's voice was heard trough the speaker in Jason's beat up phone.
"Hi, Jay" his usually happy voice was laced with worry "Is-" he said your name with a empathic voice. Big brother worry "- by any chance at yours? Do you know where she is?"
Jason responded immediately "I have no idea" he knew better than to just give you away like that. If you had come to his apartment out of all places, you probably did not want to be found.
Still, Dick was asking out of pure courtesy. "Yeah, sure. I know she's there. Bruce tracks everyone's phones." he hesitated for a moment "I just wanted to ask if she was okay"
Dick ended up convincing Jason to let him in. Of course he did.
He gave you a big hug and asked if you were okay. Kinda offended you didn't seek him first, but deep down understood you.
You ended up watching a movie with them (Roy too because he had nothing else to do)
pairing: baby daddy!jason todd x reader
word count : 1.3k
content: fluff, milf reader x dilf jason, exes to lovers, babies and their shenanigans, coparents to lovers
a/n: im sorry if theres any mistakes guys, i dont proofread anything...also i do gaf abt leo guys, i promise im not forgetting him. its just so much fun to make sofia say silly stuff. anyways thank you for reading, i really hope you guys enjoy!
“Mama, you know something?”
You’re redoing her hair for the third time because, according to her, the pigtails need to look exactly like Bubbles from Powerpuff Girls and so far, you’ve failed every attempt.
“What is it, baby?”
“So you know how I go to school?”
A small smile tugs at your lips. “I do know. I drop you off and pick you up every day.”
She turns to look at you, her little forehead creased in mild offense. “No, not every day. Jason picks me up sometimes.”
Then she turns back around, as if correcting you was just a minor interruption in a much bigger thought.
“So, my teacher at school said they’re doing a daddy-daughter lunch.” She pauses, then asks casually, “Do you think Jason would wanna come with me?”
Your hand freezes mid-motion, the brush still caught in her hair.
“You want Jason to go with you to the daddy-daughter lunch?”
Oblivious to your reaction, she nods. “Yeah. The teacher said we can bring any daddy, and Jay’s the best one I know.” She swings her legs slightly. “What do you think?”
You force your hand to move again, gently brushing through her hair.
“I’d have to ask, baby.”
“Okay,” she hums softly. “I want our clothes to be matching.”
You finish off the pigtails, trying to keep your hands steady even though there’s a sinking feeling inside your chest.
“So the lunch,” you ask, trying to keep your voice light, “Is it soon?”
“It’s on Friday,” she replies immediately. “Miss Teagues said that we gotta ‘rsdv’ or something before Tuesday.”
Despite your other feelings, a laugh bubbles out of you, “It’s ‘RSVP’, babe.”
She crinkles her nose but accepts your correction. She stops swinging her legs and cranes her head up to look at you. “D’ya think he’ll say yes?”
“I don’t know, baby,” you admit. “He might be busy.”
“He’s always busy,” she says, unconcerned. “But he still comes when I ask.”
She’s so certain of it, like it’s a fact. Your heart aches at that. She has so much faith in the unspoken role Jason has created for himself in her life that she doesn’t doubt him for a second.
Once her hair is completely to her liking, you help her get down from the stool and she announces she needs to find a dress and runs off to her room.
You’re not as sure as her. You know Jason cares for Sofia but by agreeing to go to this, they’ll be giving a name to his role in her life. Even if it’s true, you're not sure if he’s ready for that. Hell you’re not sure if you are. But Sofia seems to be and you owe it to your girl to be brave and just ask.
The next time you see Jason is a few days later.
He said he’d stop by to drop off the school supplies Leo left at his place last week. Nothing out of the ordinary. Yet you can’t stop the anxiety from creeping up your entire body
The kids are sprawled out on the floor, cartoons playing loud enough to fill the apartment, when the knock comes.
It’s not even a full second before both their heads snap up.
They’re already scrambling to their feet before you can say anything, socks slipping against the floor as they race each other to the door.
“Hey guys slow down—” you start, but it’s pointless. You don’t know how they know it’s him, but you know there’s no stopping them.
The door swings open.
“Jay!” Sofia beams, practically vibrating.
“Did you bring my stuff?” Leo adds, already trying to peek around him.
Jason barely gets a word in before they’re both talking over each other.
“Alright, alright,” he huffs, holding up the bag in one hand. “One at a time, gremlins.”
Leo snatches the bag immediately, digging through it like it contains buried treasure. “You forgot my blue pen last time.”
“I didn’t forget it,” Jason mutters. “You left it.”
Sofia, meanwhile, has already attached herself to his side, hugging him like it’s routine.
“Hi,” she chirps.
“Hey, bug.”
His hand comes down to her head automatically, ruffling her hair just enough to make her squeak in protest.
“Jay! My hair!”
“You’ll live.”
You lean against the hallway wall, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a quiet sort of familiarity that still catches you off guard.
“You guys wanna let Jay in or what?” you say after a second.
They scatter back to the living room, the big man in tow. Leo dumps all the contents of his backpack in the corner, going through everything. Sofia makes him sit down on the couch before she suddenly gets very shy.
“Um Jay,” she says extremely softly, a complete contrast to her usual tone and volume. “Mama wants to ask you something.”
You narrow your eyes at her as she looks up at you, “Mama wants to or Sof does?”
She blushes and you feel bad for putting your baby on the spot and you’re about to ask her question to him, when he gently pulls her close to him, in the space between his legs, and asks, “What’s wrong bug? You know you can ask me anything, you don’t have to make Mama do it.”
“My school’s doing a daddy-daughter lunch on Friday,” she finally says, her head turned downwards no longer looking at his eyes. “And Miss Teagues said we can bring any daddy we want.”
Jason goes very still.
You see it, the way his shoulders tighten just slightly, the way his breath sharpens.
Sofia doesn’t notice.
“I was gonna pick you,” she continues, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “If… you wanna come.”
There’s a pause.
Not long but long enough that your girl feels it and panics.
“Bug–” he starts, then stops.
She rushes to fill the silence. “It’s okay if you’re busy! Mama said you might be busy but I just thought ‘cause you pick me up sometimes and you help with my homework and you’re the best Daddy I kn—”
“I’ll be there.”
Sofia freezes. “…Really?”
“Yeah,” he says, softer now. “Course I will.”
Her face lights up so fast it almost hurts to look at.
“I knew it!” she cheers, throwing her arms around him again.
He lets out a quiet oof but wraps an arm around her anyway, holding her there for a second.
His eyes flick up to you over her shoulder.
Something unspoken passes between you.
You mouth ‘thank you’ to him and he replies with an ‘always’.
Sofia pulls back, already bouncing again. “You gotta wear something nice! And we need to be matching! And I’m gonna introduce you to everyone!”
“Whoa, whoa,” he mutters. “Slow down, what kinda nice are we talking?”
You can’t help it, you laugh a little.
And for a moment, it almost feels… normal.
Sofia keeps talking, rambling about cupcakes and streamers and how he has to sit next to her, and Jason listens like every word matters.
At that moment, you don’t even know why you felt nervous to ask him. He was so assured in his answer. So certain. Not allowing Sofia to doubt his love and care for even a second.
Leo calls her and his baby sister rushes over to him, content with her grown ups, more excited to play with her brother now.
You plop down beside him on the sofa, and the two of you just stare at each other for a moment.
“Thank you, I mean it really.” You start saying, even though he’s already waving you off like you knew he would. “You didn’t have to say yes but I’m glad you did, it means a lot to her. You mean a lot to her.”
He takes your hand in his palm, his hand warming up your cold one. “She means a lot to me too. You all do.”
You don’t know what to say, your chest overwhelmed with love, so you just stick to squeezing his hand and moving closer to him. You put your head on his shoulder and the two of you watch your kids as they play together.
Pairing: Dick Grayson x Batsis! reader (platonic duh)
Summary: Dick being your older brother
CW: Brief mention of fear of heights/ mentions of a migraine/ sickness
Note: I've literally never had an older sibling so idk how accurate this will be
Tries to teach you acrobatics all the time
Is genuinely one of the most supportive of your siblings, listening when you need it and giving advice
Dick is also the most affectionate of your family, willing to give a hug when needed (or not) even if you're NOT a hugger
You constantly call him "old man" for being nearly 30
"Did you just use the word '"'rizz?"
"What? I think Babs would agree. I have plenty!"
"Look at grandpa over here, trying to speak the words of the youth."
"You're going to regret this when you're my age. I won't stop making fun of you."
These annoy you to no end, even if you deep down know it means he cares
So sometimes you come up with your own nicknames
"Aww, hey there, Little Bat!"
"How are you, Birdbrain?"
"You still love me"
"Duh, idiot."
Dick was also the one who taught you how to drive
Okay, so technically, he did so behind Bruce's back by letting you take a spin in the Batmobile without a permit yet- some sort of tradition he had with all his younger siblings
Taught you everything from parallel parking to traffic rules, and took you for your tests and was much more fun than Bruce
Unfortunately, the two of you got caught one night by Gordon and had to get bailed out by Alfred (Alfred kept quiet by making you both agree to help with the chores more for the next month)
"I'm too young to go to jail, Dick!"
"Jail?! Why are you worried about jail? If Bruce finds out about this I'm dead and you'll be grounded until college!"
"Never say a word of this?"
"Nope."
"To our graves."
Dick tries to hand over his "wisdom" at times from his years of experience
Truly, you know you can go to him for advice when life gets to life-ing, and he's genuinely a good listener.
When you're down, you can text him or call him up. If it's really bad, he'll drop everything and head back to Gotham to check on you
One time when your powers were acting up, he stopped for a visit, helping through every migraine and keeping company while you were too sick to patrol or go to classes.
Except....sometimes his advice is terrible ESPECIALLY when it comes to dating advice
And you make sure to tell it to his face
"Okay, so if I know anything women love puns! I'm sure guys are no different, so you should be funny."
"Puns are not funny, especially yours."
"Excuse me? I'll have you know Barbara loves them."
"Sureeee she does. Seriously, how have you had so many relationships?"
The two of you should practically be banned from attending galas together because you are absolute menaces to society (or high society, at least)
Once the two of you swapped out the champagne with sparkling water and took bets on which socialites would pretend to be drunk first (You won $200 by the end of the night)
If you notice any weirdos hitting on your brother, you "accidentally" spill your drink all over them
"Give you $50 to do a backflip onto the table"
"I'd do it for free"
You crash his apartment all the time
This very much annoys Dick, considering you show up without notice
No matter how much security he adds, you still find a way to break in and steal his snacks
Yet, he lets you stay because it only happens after you've had a big fight with Bruce
"How did you get in here?"
"I let myself in"
"That's breaking and entering, which is a crime."
"Oh, and that shade of blue on your walls isn't?"
"STOP BREAKING INTO MY APARTMENT"
At the end of the day, he's still your big bro, and you know he has your back
Just as much as you have his, such as when you're there for him when a mission calls for being up high
Even if you have very, VERY different personalities, you both have one thing in common:
Feeling the weight of the family on your shoulders, as if you're the only ones keeping things from unraveling
Maybe you're not as openly soft as him, but even the hardest shells need cracked sometimes
"Hey Dick? Patrol tonight, it was hard, could I? I just-"
"What do you need- Mhph! Thought you weren't a hugger?"
"I'm not, and I dare you to tell anyone about this."
"Wouldn't tell a soul."
I hope you guys liked this! This is my first time making a post/ fic (idk what you call this) in this style before!
WHAT’S NEXT FOR GOTHAM’S HOTTEST COUPLE? FIND OUT AND READ OUR LATEST ARTICLES HERE .ᐟ PART TWO.
BRUCE WAYNE. you already know him. every person in this city does. gotham’s former most desired bachelor, billionaire philanthropist bruce wayne can’t seem to get enough of his much younger girlfriend. suddenly, they’re together everywhere and they’re all about pda. events and galas, restaurants, high end luxury stores, always holding hands and finding a way to touch each other. who could’ve expected that? when did bruce wayne become a pda king?
this week, our photographers spotted the two lovebirds sharing a heated kiss against wayne’s lamborghini revuelto, barely a minute after exiting a coffee shop— billionaires go to coffee shops now? we need to learn a thing or two from his girlfriend. let’s just say we caught him red handed, his palms wandering lower than his girlfriend’s waist, not shying away from our paparazzi in the slightest.
what’s more delicious than a billionaire who couldn’t seem to settle down, but gets dragged inside every store and place in gotham city by a girl half his age? we can all agree that we’re dying to find out more about their story. and we’re all curious about how this young girl managed to win the heart of bruce thomas wayne.
they can’t keep their hands off each other! we spotted the young woman all over her billionaire boyfriend, perched up proudly in his lap, sipping out of a pornstar martini on a rooftop bar. we think we’ve got it all clear now. the former playboy abandoned his old lifestyle and is now devotedly obsessed with his stunning girlfriend.
sources claim there’s even a ring on the way!
yesterday, our photographers managed to catch a scandalous glimpse of the two lovers! the stunning couple, inside a luxury boutique! based on our sources, the store had been reserved for a “private appointment” by the billionaire.
one particular photo went viral and gothamites are going absolutely crazy over it!
BRUCE WAYNE, on his knees, right in front of his girlfriend, fastening the strap of a stunning pair of blush pink sandals, his lips deliciously close to her ankle. his other hand seemed to have other plans, hiked up her bare thighs, almost slipping under her skirt.
we don’t know what happened after, as the couple decided to sneak away from the cameras, but we can all take a quick guess, right?
STAY TUNED FOR MORE!
“we’re buying these.”
this isn’t a suggestion, it’s an order.
bruce rests in a leather wingback chair, his index finger tapping against his leg with perfectly controlled rythm. his posture, impeccable, just as the two-piece suit he wears, black wool and linen on, a light blue shirt hugs his chest slightly unbuttoned after a long day of business and a vacheron constantin shines around his wrist. no matter where he goes, the billionaire businessman looks as handsome as ever, tall and broad, always immaculately styled.
his blue eyes follow you around the store, how delicate the touch of your fingers seems against all those pieces around you. bruce devours you with his gaze, shamelessly so. and when you turn around, his eyes dart straight to the hem of your skirt, delighted at the sway of your hips and at your pretty curves, hugged by the soft fabric of the skirt. as you strech on your toes to reach a pair of pumps, your skirt rides up your butt just slighly, your pink thongs peeking underneath. totally inappropriate.
bruce adjusts himself in his seat, debating wether to sit down and watch your shopping spree or bend you against those racks and shove his cock right inside your pussy. he should allow you to play princess this evening. the voice inside his head tells him to pick the former.
plus, the paparazzi are practically waiting for a new scandalous headline. he might give it to them, but he would never expose you in front of them like that. himself? sure, he’s no stranger to eccentric displays. you? absolutely not.
despite the disgusting amount of dirty thoughts plaguing every corner of his mind, bruce takes pleasure in watching you shop, mindlessly messing around and making outfits as expensive as an apartment, waltzing around with a huge smile on your face.
if you’re happy, he’s happy. he’s satisfied with the fact that he can provide you a life where you don’t miss a thing, creating an environment where you can enjoy the riches without feeling remotely guilty.
you’re spoiled, it’s true. you’re a brat. also true. but the man wouldn’t have it any other way, indulging you is a guilty pleasure. it’s something he is perfectly capable of managing with a spank or two, each time you decide to misbehave too much, he can discipline you. ( it won’t work. he knows that!)
he scheduled a surprise private appointment as a small apology for being horribly busy in these past few weeks and leaving his needy girlfriend alone (with alfred) at the wayne manor for longer than he should have. this evening, he picked you up himself from gotham university on his way back from the wayne tower, after a horrid afternoon of meetings.
everything inside the boutique is stunning and it’s all for you to try on. displays stacked with luxury high heels, jimmy choo and tom ford, some as expensive as your college tuition. beautiful dresses, oscar de la renta, hèrmes and chanel displayed on racks, for your eyes only; the latest collections and exclusive vintage pieces, all at your disposal. the pieces you’ve tried on so far, very few ended up not being instantly purchased and bruce never glances at the price tags.
bruce demanded all personnel to leave, so the place is entirely quiet, the faint jazz tunes elevating the sophisticated air of the boutique. everything about it emanates pure luxury, from the white marble floors to the tall walls and windows, the crystal chandeliers brighten up the store with warm, rich lights.
“what do you think, baby?”
with a giant smirk plastered all over you face, you lift your leg up and press the sole of your stiletto on his clothed thigh— golden leather and gorgeous crystals, a heel so sharp and high, you could use it as a weapon of destruction.
“they’re beautiful,” bruce murmurs, leaning down to press his lips in a kiss against your ankle, hand riding up and down your leg. the stuble growing on his face creates friction on your skin, but you’ve come to like it and moreover enjoy this bearded look of his. it makes him look older and so handsome, it grew on you quicker than you expected. “do they come in white? you should get them in white too, then.”
“baby…” you gasp for air when he places a kiss higher, “there’s paparazzi out there. they’re watching us, i- i can feel them.”
“let them,” he assures promptly, moving his hand towards your inner thigh, drawing tingly motions up and down your skin that send shivers down your spine.
“i didn’t take you as such a public man.”
“am i not allowed to show off?”
“wanna show you pretty young girlfriend off, hmm? i didn’t sign up for this.”
“you love attention, sweetheart.”
you roll your eyes at him and let out a quick tsk “from you!”
as you step away from his reach, you move to the next display, brushing your manicured fingers over a gorgeous pair of high heels with giant pink silk ribbons tied in the back.
“these? are they too much?”
“no, not at all. they’re very… you,” as he tell you there’s nothing to extravagant about your choice in high heels, bruce leaves his leather chair and closes the distance between you. much to your surprise, he sinks down on his left knee, right in front of you, “allow me.”
you give him the shoe and he makes sure to gently pick up your foot and let it perfectly slide inside the high heeled sandal. he’s always so careful with you, a true gentleman— like you’re a princess and he is your devoted knight. then, he fastens the delicate silk strap. he repeats the same process with the other shoe, making sure to plant another soft kiss on your ankle.
his hand roams freely up and down your thigh, fingers delicately brushing on your skin; everything feels utterly soft and beautiful. bruce wayne has a way of capturing you in the most intimate moments, blue eyes piercing through the depths of your heart; it’s almost intimidating how intensely romantic your life with him is, how easy everything seems to be when you’re in his presence. you let your fingers tangle in his hair, messing it just slightly, never letting go of his gaze.
his palm it roams gently on the curve of your ass, warning to go lower, and when he does, the touch against you clit forces you to gasp softly— but you stop him, palm pressed against his hand, “bruce! not here!”
he smiles, “don’t worry, sweetheart, i wasn’t intending to do it here.” he gets up, his frame towers over you and if you didn’t know him, you’d feel terrified by his height or by the way he imposes himself by solely existing, in such a manner no common person could ever dream of.
but you’re not and you’ll never be.
“come with me,” with your hand in his, he guides you with slow steps towards a long hallway, at the end of which resides a closed door and your high heels clank on the marble floor. he’s scanned the place thoroughly, considering the posibility of there being a room or at least a place good enough for him to go down on you, all while moving around and adjusting in the leather chair.
he’d go down on you right in the middle of the store, but then again, the paparazzi.
bruce pushes you against the double door with a hand sharply slammed against it, caging you so close to his body. it’s nearly impossible not to feel like you’re going to melt so suddenly under the heat he emanates. one thumb brushed against your lip and a passionate, devouring kiss, that’s the way he wants to have you.
bruce is a patient man, he can wait, but now, he can allow himself to completely lose it and go against every other thought that tells him to wait.
he’s not going to wait.
he devours you right there, down on one knee, just like he intended to do earlier— with you holding your skirt up, back pressed against the door and panties pushed down your ankles, hanging on the bows of your pink high heels. he savors everything you offer him, sucking on your clit just enough to make your vision go blurry and knees completely weak. he adds two fingers to stretch the wetness of your cunt, pushing deep inside and curling them enough to reach your sweet spot.
“bruce… please, i need you.”
“i know, sweetheart. i know.”
“i need you… inside me.”
no, just not yet— the sweetness of your pussy is dizzying and he can’t get enough of it, swirling his tongue against your puffy clit and using his fingers to make you cry; all in a desperate urge to get more out of you; a sweet bruce moaned out loud, or the pretty i love you you breathe out so ecstatically. he lives on it, it’s pure energy, the way you moan so sweetly when he puts all of him into you. the more bruce touches you, the more he craves to offer. you’re so pretty.
he knows every inch of your body with methodical perfection, not because that’s what he should do, but because he wants to know you in and out to the point there’s nothing left of you undiscovered or unexplored.
he wants you for hours, he wants you now, he wants you forever. bruce turns you around and you press your palms against the white door, arching your ass up, preparing for the stretch his thick cock. you’re already dripping wet and the more bruce delays the moment, the more you hate him and that’s the last thing he wants. but he can’t help himself, he analyzes you, your trembling lower lip and wet, flushed cheeks, that look in your eyes you only have when you need him badly to fuck you, with mascara dripping down your face. that itself will make him cum.
he’s burning hot and he can’t stand it, his cock twitch hard and painful under his boxers. he throws his jacket on the marble floor and he unzips his suit pants almost immediately. a low grunt betrays his mouth when his tip streches past your entrance and you almost scream in pleasure, releasing that feeling you’ve been holding ever since bruce pushed you against the door. he always knows how to fuck you, his pace, so perfect, just enough to keep you wanting and begging for more.
“mmm… harder, please!”
bruce always listen. such a good older boyfriend he is, making sure the strech of his cock makes you feel so full and perfect. there’s nothing in this world that you could ever love more— not those clothes, the money, the cars— just you and bruce together, filled up to the brim with his load, fucked dumb and dirty by your older boyfriend until there’s nothing left of you.
you manage to sneak inside the room hiding behind the double door and you find an office, where bruce keeps his cock warm inside you cunt. he bends you over against the desk and turns you around so you he can crash his lips into yours, nails digging into his strong, muscular arms. he makes you come, more than you’ve ever expected to finish inside a boutique.
“will you forgive me for being so busy?”
“i’ll think about it!”
you’re such a brat.
🕷️message from ivy ! should i make a part 2? LISTEN. i’ll make a part 2 and i’ll use the same layout for other pieces? have so many ideas and i wanna keep it ): <3 thank you for reading, mwuah !
DO NOT COPY MY LAYOUT OR IDEA ! ! ! i will find you :)😘😋
꒰ groceries ꒱ civilian life and jason todd did not mix. but you hate grocery shopping alone, so it’s not like he had much of a choice.
It took a lot longer for Jason to adjust to a simple lifestyle with you. One of those bigger adjustments was doing something as simple as grocery shopping. After he came back as the Red Hood, he’d survived off of take out, mini mart reheat-able foods, and diners.
Now with you, he was eating at least two fully prepped and cooked meals a day. The downside to said meals, happened to be the shopping for the ingredients.
He liked spending time with you.. just not walking around a grocery store for well over an hour.
You’d be walking down the bread isle, bottom lip tucked firmly between your teeth as you debate whole wheat or sourdough.
“Hey, Jay?” You call over your shoulder, eyes darting between the two. He answers with a short, ‘hmm?’ But that was to be expected.
It was—to your great displeasure, his response to most things.
“Sourdough or whole wheat to go with Spaghetti?” You grab both options, turning around to face him. He looked cute hunched over the shopping cart, scowl on his face.
The scowl softened the moment he met your eyes, taking on a softer, more light side that you adored so dearly. “I don’t care. Couldn’t tell you the difference.”
Face falling almost comically fast, you narrow your eyes. “Wha—you know what! Never mind. Sourdough it is.”
You two dance around the same questions every time you are stuck between options. Half of the time, Jason wondered if you continuously asked him things simply to keep him awake.
By the end of the excruciating shopping, you always rewarded him with a kiss and first dibs on the movie you watched before bed—that is, your bed time, not his.
Likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. Lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future posts. This is just a thought post ngl idk half of what i wrote.. credits to @uzmacchiato for the divs!!
everybody knows that i'm a good vigilante, officer (part 1)
part one part two part three
summary: working as a detective in gotham city is never boring, especially when a certain masked vigilante keeps annoyingly butting his way into your cases
contains: slowburn rivals to lovers, jason todd is whipped, fem!reader, reader is a little cuckoo bananas when it comes to solving mysteries, special appearance by cop!dick grayson, no use of y/n
t/w: graverobbing, mentions of murder and death, brief mention of domestic abuse, human trafficking, drugs, death of a father figure, breaking and entering, police and cops in general
author's note: so this is less than half of what i've already written, and there's still more to come. i was originally gonna post this all in one part, but a 30k+ word oneshot seems a bit excessive, and also i desperately need motivation to actually finish this damn fic, so comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! i'd also like to thank @euvicodin for beta reading <3
w/c: 10k
Red and blue lights flashed all around you, a familiar sight that may have even become a comfort if it wasn’t for the scene they normally accompanied. Before you even stepped out of your car, you could see how much of a crowd had formed at the scene. Yellow tape sectioned off a large portion of the road and sidewalk, and people dressed in various dull colours of winter clothes were gathered around it, each one standing on their toes, trying to see past the gathering of wool-covered heads and into the crime scene, as uniformed officers tried to instruct everyone to stay back and disperse. As much as you would have liked to deny it, a scene like this was all too common in Gotham.
You stepped out of your car with your partner, Andrea, the cold hitting you the second you opened the door. You pulled your coat a little tighter around yourself and sighed softly, your breath visible in the chilly air. It would snow soon, you could tell. Gothamites could always tell when the first snow of the year would arrive. They could feel it in the sudden rise in humidity as the snow-carrying clouds approached, hear it in the eerie calmness of the air, and see it in the clouds—darker and gloomier than usual, looming with the promise of snowfall.
“Any idea who it is?” Andrea asked as she closed the car door, tying up her thick, jet black hair into a ponytail, like she always did before entering a crime scene.
“Maybe it’s a Wayne,” she joked.
She was, of course, talking about the victim. You didn’t know much about the scene yet, but you knew from the call on the radio that it was a high profile case. Someone famous or important.
You raised an eyebrow as the pair of you walked towards the yellow tape, pushing past the small crowd.
“Guess we’re about to find out,” you responded.
You reached for the badge on your belt to show the uniformed officer standing at the yellow tape. “We’re the homicide detectives assigned to this case,” you told her.
The officer—whose name tag, you noticed, read “Jordan”—nodded, allowing the two of you to pass.
“Witnesses say they saw her be pushed,” she told you. “It checks out. With where she landed, and where she fell from, just jumping wouldn’t have been strong enough to create that distance. In fact, it’s more likely that she was… Well, thrown.”
Andrea nodded along as you neared the body. You winced slightly at the sight.
See, that’s something you always hated about cop shows. Hardened cops on TV always seemed to have this certain imperviousness to crime scenes, even the most gruesome ones. In reality, it never got easier. Each new homicide weighed just as much on the heart as the last one. The weight would linger, never really getting lighter until the killer was brought to justice, but even then, it hung around just loosely enough to be impossible to forget. In a lot of ways, that weight was what drove you to be a great detective, to give your all to every case, but you often found yourself wondering whether the persistent impression of the crime scene was worth it.
The woman appeared young. Too young to have died so soon. She was dressed in expensive clothing, and the jewellery that adorned her wrist, fingers and neck spoke to her high status.
“Lacey Holland,” Officer Jordan said, putting a name to the victim. “She was 19 years old, an up and coming pop star born and raised right here in Gotham. Her parents are socialites and philanthropists that live up on the West End. We’re attempting to contact them as we speak.”
“Shit,” you murmured to yourself.
Your mind immediately occupied itself with finding details in the crime scene. Things people often missed at first glance. One of her heels was unbuckled, you supposed that could have happened during a struggle. As could the large tear on the back of her dress, but what it revealed was more curious—a dainty tattoo of the initials, T.M.
A partner, maybe? You considered. As you knelt down to observe the body at a different angle, you could hear Andrea gathering more initial information from the responding officers, the two of you falling naturally into your discovered roles in the partnership. You weren’t as good with people as Andrea was. It was good to have her around to run point on things like this.
You reached for the pen in your pocket to carefully lift the bracelet around Lacey’s wrist to examine it more carefully. A charm bracelet. Most people put personally relevant charms on their charm bracelets. You took a mental note of the charms—a gold microphone, a crystal daisy, a silver soccer ball, and a gold book. Most of the bracelet was bare, a testament to the amount of life Lacey should have had left to live.
As you worked, your mind pulled you back to over half a decade ago, to memories of another case, another partner, another time entirely. Against your will, you recalled what had been taught to you by the first and only father figure you’d ever had, and how it had all been cut short so brutally.
No. Not now, you told yourself, shaking off the memories. You needed to focus on the case.
You sighed and stood, dusting off your clothes and catching up with Andrea. “Well, it’s not a Wayne,” you said.
Andrea gave you a small yet heavy smile, the kind she always gave you when you were around crime scenes. “Did you find anything?” she asked.
“Not much,” you answered. “Just that she liked daisies, soccer and reading. I’d have someone look into the people in her life and try and find someone with the initials T.M., though. You?”
Andrea nodded as you responded. “I didn’t find much either. But—...” Her voice drifted off as her eyes focused on something in the near distance behind you. “Your best friend is here again.” One side of her lips quirked up in an amused smirk.
“My best—?” you began to ask, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before you turned around and your face fell. “Fucking hell.”
Red mask. Dressed from head to toe in tactical gear. And an invisible smirk you’d bet money was hiding under that damn helmet. Red Hood.
You grumbled angrily under your breath as you made your way over to where he stood, leaning against your car, just a few feet away from the crowd at the yellow tape. You ducked beneath it, pushing back past the group of people to get to him.
“What are you doing here, Red?” you said, glaring at the Red Hood as you came to a stop before him, crossing your arms impatiently.
He shrugged in a way you wer sure was designed specifically to piss you off. “Heard on my police scanner that you got a homicide on your hands here.”
You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Is that so?”
“Mhm,” he hummed, the sound slightly distorted through the filter on his helmet. “Thought you might need my help.”
You scoffed in response, rolling your eyes. “And why would I need your help?”
“Because I knew the girl,” Red Hood responded. “Well, I knew of her. And I think I have a pretty good guess at who killed her.”
“Let me guess, it was you?” you responded sardonically.
“Detective, please,” he responded with a scoff of his own. “I kill criminals, not 19-year-old wannabe Britney Spearses.”
“Jesus Christ,” you muttered exasperatedly under your breath as you rubbed your temples. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t cuff you and shove you in the back of a squad car right now.”
The Red Hood only laughed in response. “Well, for one, you wouldn’t be able to, but you’re cute for thinking you could.” Your blood boiled, but he went on. “And secondly, if you did that, I wouldn’t be able to tell you who killed little Miss American Idol there.” He nodded towards the crime scene.
You gritted your teeth as you glared up at him, tapping your foot to try and stay calm. As… unpleasant as your feelings towards him were, Red Hood had given you reliable information in the past, and it helped that Commissioner Gordon was all about maintaining a good relationship with the Bats. In fact, he wouldn’t shut up to the GCPD benefactors about how yes, indeed, the Red Hood is one of his top detectives’ confidential informants. Of course, the act of bragging about a CI sort of negated the “confidential” part of that agreement, but you supposed Red Hood was a special case.
Nevertheless, he wasn’t one of your CIs. You had tried on numerous occasions to make that very clear, to no avail. He wasn’t a CI. Just a really annoying vigilante who kept showing up at your crime scenes.
But besides that, your brain once again involuntarily brought you back to your first partner and mentor, and as you closed your eyes to try to calm yourself, his warm, approachable face materialised on the back of your eyelids.
You knew what Healy would’ve said. People can be difficult, but it doesn’t mean they aren’t helpful.
“Fine,” you relented, though your glare didn’t let up. “What information do you have for me?”
You could practically hear the satisfaction rushing through his veins like a cheap high. It made you want to gag, and you never were too good at keeping disgust off your face. You were sure the look on your face was only feeding into Red Hood’s sick amusement.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
“Well, this is the place,” Jason told you.
Him and you were standing in front of the one place in Gotham that didn’t look like somewhere drugs would be exchanged.
He looked over at you with a proud grin, only to be greeted with that death glare of yours that he both loved and feared.
“I’m arresting you for wasting the time of an officer of the law,” you told him.
“What?” Jason responded with a scoff. “I’m telling you, this is the place Lacey got her drugs!”
“This is an old age home, Red!” you yelled back. “Unless she was buying Viagra from someone’s senile old grandfather, I highly doubt this is where she was getting drugs! In fact, I shouldn’t have been stupid enough to believe you about the drugs at all. Everyone in her life said she was straight as an arrow.”
You groaned softly, and checked your watch, rubbing your temples with frustration as you turned to leave. Jason felt something within him fall out of place as you attempted to leave.
“Stop!” he called, his gloved hand instinctively reaching to clutch your wrist and keep you from leaving. “Detective.”
You turned your head to look back at him with that same adorable exasperated look on your face you seemed to always have when he was around. Jason couldn’t help but smile under his mask, grateful you couldn’t see it. He always felt this giddy around you. He wasn’t sure why it was, but something about you was addicting. It was why he went out of his way to look out for your name and callsign on his police scanner. Why he scrounged around in the lowest of the low places in Gotham to find something, anything that might help you with one of your cases. Sure, his methods were questionable, but his heart was in the right place.
“Just trust me,” Jason said, his voice falling a few decibels, betraying his sarcastic, cool persona. He was desperate to keep you around, and if you looked closely enough, it was painfully obvious. “Please. If we don’t find anything here, I promise you I’ll let you kick me in the balls.”
You let out a rare, restrained huff of laughter. “What?”
“I’m serious!” he responded. “I just need you to trust me on this one, okay?”
He watched as you raised an eyebrow at him, as if deciding whether or not to trust him. Your eyes darted over his figure, no doubt looking for signs of dishonesty, although he let himself revel in the fantasy that you might have been checking him out. Your eyebrow fell as you let out a relenting sigh.
“Fine,” you murmured. “But I expect you to do good on that deal when it turns out that you were wrong about this place.”
Jason restrained himself from letting out a sigh of relief, though his shoulders visibly deflated from tension. “I’m not wrong about this place,” he said, reluctantly letting go of your wrist as he walked towards the entrance.
He didn’t look back at you, but he could practically hear you rolling your eyes at him.
“This sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, huh?” Jason said playfully as the two of you walked. “A cop and a vigilante walk into a retirement home…”
He didn’t receive a response, yet Jason was certain he heard the quietest, amused exhale escape your nose.
The receptionist, a middle aged man with hair that grayed at the roots, dressed in purple scrubs, glanced up from his magazine, half expecting one of the usual visitors, Jason guessed. He had to do a double take, as if he couldn’t quite believe the sight before him. After all, Jason didn’t think vigilantes were particularly regular visitors to the retirement home.
You reached for your badge and sighed as you showed it to the receptionist. “GCPD,” you said. “We’re here investigating the murder of a Lacey Holland? Did you ever see her come through here?”
The receptionist, still visibly dumbstruck, stumbled over his words. “Well, I can’t say I recall the name, but I don’t normally work the reception…” he murmured, reaching into a drawer to grab a thick record book. “But you are welcome to look through the records.”
“Oh,” you responded, clearly surprised. Probably about the fact that the receptionist hadn’t asked for a warrant. Still, you shrugged and thanked the man.
Jason followed your gaze as you flipped through the book. Each visitor from the beginning of the year to now had signed in. He smirked in triumph as he noticed Lacey’s name repeating over and over again. Almost every week.
“Fuck,” you muttered before looking up at Jason, before narrowing your eyes. “This doesn’t prove anything, alright? Maybe she has a family member here.”
“The girl’s family were millionaires, Detective,” Jason said, rolling his eyes and leaning against the reception counter. “I don’t think they’d stick their elderly in a cheap nursing home.” He glanced at the receptionist. “No offense,” Jason told him.
“A friend, then?” you said, unimpressed, turning your attention back to the record book. “Looks like she came every Thursday to meet a Molly Reefer.”
Jason burst out laughing, earning a few stern looks from the attendants and residents around him, and an even sterner look from you.
“Molly Reefer?” he laughed. “Are you serious? Come on, that’s obviously a cover name for someone she buys drugs from. They haven’t even tried to make it less obvious.”
You closed your eyes for a few seconds and took a few deep breaths, presumably to keep yourself from strangling him. Jason’s amused grin grew at the sight.
Eyes still closed, you asked the receptionist, “What’s the room number for Molly Reefer?”
Jason turned to look at the receptionist, who quickly looked through the records on his computer and answered, “806.”
“Alright then, Detective,” Jason said, already turning towards the elevators. “Off we go to prove I was right about this whole thing.”
You glared at him for what felt like the hundredth time that day, and Jason felt his insides stir again for what felt like the hundredth time that day. It wasn’t long before the pair of you stood before room 806. You knocked on the door.
“Ms. Reefer?” you called, and Jason stifled laughter again, earning a swift elbow to the midsection from you. “GCPD! We need to talk to you about Lacey Holland!”
When there was the response, Jason shrugged, feigning cluelessness. “Maybe Molly Reefer had a little fall.”
“I really hate you,” you muttered as you flagged down an attendant to ask for a key.
“Oh, the door shouldn’t be locked,” the attendant responded, swinging the door open for you. “This room has been unoccupied for months.”
“Has it?” Jason said, his voice laced with victorious amusement.
The attendant, also obviously surprised at the presence of the Red Hood next to a GCPD officer at her place of work, nodded. Her eyes betrayed an air of confusion.
“Thank you, miss,” Jason told her as he walked into the unoccupied room with you.
You looked around, taking in the sterility of the room. The sheets were perfectly made, the desk empty and free of any memorabilia or personal items one would expect in an occupied room. It was a complete blank slate.
“Now will you admit I was right?” Jason asked, raising an eyebrow as he sat on the bed, bouncing on it listlessly.
You didn’t respond, but Jason watched as you grit your teeth unhappily, a sign of defeat he loved to see more than almost anything else in the world. You carried out a methodical search of the room, and beneath the mattress, you found what you were looking for.
“Well, fuck,” you muttered.
“Language, detective,” Jason responded teasingly, just to get you riled up. He turned his head to look over at you on the opposite side of the bed. “What is it? What did you find?”
You let the mattress down and put on a pair of gloves from your pocket before lifting it again and pulling out the item in question. A little zip-lock baggie filled with white powder. You held it up and sighed in defeat.
Jason grinned wickedly beneath his helmet. “Say it. I want to hear you say it.”
You grit your teeth again. Your lips hung open for a second before you spoke, as if it was physically painful for you to say the words you said next. “You were right.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Over the next 2 hours or so, the nursing home had become swarming with police. Each worker was interviewed. Well, each worker except for one, a Thomas Melrose, who had apparently clocked into work at the start of his shift, but was suddenly missing.
Red Hood had been particularly smug about the whole thing, using every possible opportunity he got to gloat to you, and it was making you want to tear all your hair out. He was also certain that Thomas Melrose had been Lacey’s killer. You finally had a few moments of peace when he took his leave to ask his contacts if they knew any drug runners with the name.
“Thanks for that, old man,” you murmured to yourself in the silence of the station’s elevator as you rode up to your office. It was silly, but sometimes you liked to pretend that Healy could hear you from wherever he was now.
It had been almost three years since he’d died, but Healy’s advice and wisdom still guided you through the job.
You sighed softly when you got back to your desk at your station and sank into your admittedly quite uncomfortable office chair. Andrea looked over her computer screen at you from her own desk opposite to yours.
She gave you a knowing smile. “Heard the Red Hood gave you a good assist.”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I hate you.”
Andrea laughed. “That bad, huh?” she asked.
“No,” you responded stubbornly. “No, I can admit when I’m wrong, you know? It’s just… He’s such an asshole, Andy.” You sighed, rubbing your temples.
“I don’t know,” Andrea replied. “Maybe you’re too tough on him.”
“Whose side are you on?” you said, defensively.
She just rolled her eyes in response. “Anyway,” she said. “I looked into Tom Melrose like you asked me to. He’s a GothamU student. His parents are pretty wealthy bigshots in the business world. He works at the nursing home for a social service credit. The only connection between him and Lacey is that she also went to GothamU before dropping out. But the tattoo is too big of a coincidence to rule out.”
You nodded along, propping up your elbows on your desk and resting your chin on your fist as your mind reeled with the facts of the case.
Andrea sighed before she added. “There’s more. The autopsy came back,” she said. “Lacey was pregnant when she died. And there were injuries that showed signs of abuse.”
“Oh,” you said quietly. “Shit. That changes things.”
Your heart broke for that poor girl. You wished you could say a situation like this was uncommon, but the truth was in a city like Gotham, almost every other 911 call was a domestic disturbance, and most of them were ugly situations. Times when the abuser nearly killed or did kill their victim. Every cop in the city knew the feeling of being assigned to a domestic disturbance and the silence in the squad car as they drove over, both them and their partner silently praying they wouldn’t be calling in a homicide unit that day.
Andrea nodded solemnly. “If we can get one of Melrose’s parents to agree to a DNA test, or get a court order for it, we’ll be able to tell if he was the father or not.”
“So, a frat boy decides to rebel against his rich parents by selling drugs. Definitely not unheard of,” you hypothesised. “He meets a girl at college and gets her into drugs and starts abusing her. She finds out she’s pregnant and gets clean. She tells him about it and threatens to go to the press about it or tell his parents, or something else that would effectively ruin his life or get him cut off by his parents. He panics and kills her. Then he realises the cops are onto him and makes a run for it.”
“Makes sense,” Andrea affirmed. “But where would he run?”
You sighed and leaned back in your chair. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” you murmured. “Where is he now?”
“Have you heard back from your red friend yet?” Andrea asked.
“No,” you answered. “I’m hoping I won’t either.” You rolled your eyes.
“He wouldn’t be of any help, trust me,” you added. “He’s an arrogant dickhead who thinks he’s god’s gift, like he’s saving the world. I mean, buddy, you run around town in a silly costume shooting people. You’re not Batman or Superman, you know. I don’t even know how the other Bats put up with him.”
She smiled and chuckled softly to herself, turning her attention back to her computer screen, no doubt hitting refresh on Melrose’s bank records to see if a new expense had popped up.
You narrowed your eyes at her. “What’s that laugh about?”
Andrea shook her head. “Nothing,” she answered with a cool shrug. “Just that you seem awfully wound up about him.”
“No,” you said with a sarcastic laugh. “Oh no. I know what you’re implying and that’s not it.”
She only laughed again. “No? You seem awfully obsessed with him, though,” Andrea teased.
You scoffed. “Me?” you said. “Obsessed with him? Come on, you and I both know that’s crazy. He’s the one that’s constantly showing up and undermining our crime scenes. No, if anyone is obsessed with anyone, it's him that’s obsessed with me.”
“So defensive…” Andrea murmured playfully.
You glared. “Again, whose side are you even on?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m an adult, babe, I don’t play sides.”
You rolled your eyes right back at her. “I’m going to find out who this asshole is,” you declared.
“Is that so?” Andrea responded sarcastically.
“Jesus, Andy, you could at least pretend to be supportive,” you responded, crossing your arms defensively.
“I don’t like it when you get this obsessive,” she answered frankly. “You get a little cuckoo.”
“I am not obsessive!” you huffed. “And I do not get ‘a little cuckoo’.”
Andrea only shook her head again in response, deciding that this was a battle she’d never win. “I’m emailing you Melrose’s bank records,” she said. “Make yourself useful and help me go through them, will you?”
A few weeks passed. Melrose had been missing for long enough to be considered an official missing person, and after obtaining a court order for his father’s DNA, the GCPD had been able to conclusively state that Thomas Melrose was the most likely father of Lacey Holland’s baby. The press coverage around the murder had been relentless, and despite Melrose already having lost in the court of public opinion, the unsolved case ate away at your mind slowly but surely, like all your unsolved cases did. When it came to unsolved cases, you learned fairly quickly that you’d be better off taking a few days off to get your head back on right, otherwise you failed to give your all on other cases.
Still, staying home was its own special kind of torture. You tended to spend so much time at the station and in the field that home was really just a place to sleep. You never really took enough time to make it your own. It was like living inside an interior design magazine cover. Beautiful, spotless and tidy, but unwelcoming, and soulless. It wasn’t cozy the way Andrea and her wife’s house was cozy, or homey in the way that your parents’ house was homey.
It didn’t help that the last time you’d stayed at home for so long at a stretch had been right after Healy’s funeral. The death of your mentor had been so emotionally and physically taxing that for a week, you struggled to leave the house, surrounded by the pristine, almost sterile, environment of your house that now only served as a reminder of your immobilised state at the time.
You sighed faintly as you trudged out of your bed one morning to get a start on breakfast, but as you reached your door, you noticed a shadow moving around through the crack between the door and the floor.
What kind of an idiot breaks into a cop’s house at 7 in the morning? You thought to yourself, instinctively reaching for the place on your hip where your radio would have been before realising you weren’t on duty.
You let out a quiet, undignified curse in frustration and reached for your phone to call 911 for backup before arming yourself with your gun and preparing to confront the intruder. Whoever it was, you knew, was about to be a very sorry boy.
“GCPD!” you yelled, bursting through the door and pointing your gun at the intruder. “Get down, put your hands behind your head!”
“Jesus, Detective,” the intruder said with an all too familiar laugh. “Didn’t realise you were kinky like that.”
Red Hood. Again. You sighed and put down your gun at the sight of his quintessential red helmet. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you yelled.
“Well, I had to see you, and I couldn’t find you at the station,” Red Hood responded with a shrug, as if breaking into your house was an obvious next step that anyone would have taken.
“So you broke into my house?!” you rebutted. “Are you actually nuts?”
Red Hood didn’t respond, only watching as you called 911 again and let the dispatcher know your previous breaking and entering call was a false alarm.
“You called the cops on me?” he asked.
“What did you expect me to do, Red?” you shot back. “Again, you broke into my house!”
“This is hardly a house, you know,” he said, looking around, running his fingers over various pristine surfaces and looking up at the art you had hanging from the walls. “Well, I guess it is a house. But it’s definitely not a home. For a while there, I was worried I had the wrong address. Thought this one was staged for an open house or something.”
“Are you just here to insult my interior design choices, or what?” you scoffed, though you had to admit, his snide remark had hit a bit too close to home.
“Of course not,” Red Hood responded, turning to look at you with what you could only assume was the biggest smirk mankind had ever seen. “I also wanted to compliment your PJs.”
You looked down at your faded sleep shirt—an old Star Wars graphic t-shirt—and pajama shorts, before looking back up at Red Hood and angrily throwing a beige couch pillow at him.
“Get out of my apartment!” you yelled.
He flinched at the pillow attack and relented. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry,” Red Hood said, even though he was laughing as he spoke. “I need your help. I’m serious this time.”
“Take it down to the station, Red, I’m not working today,” you said.
“Come on, you know I don’t trust cops,” he responded.
“News flash, Red,” you retorted sarcastically. “I’m a cop. Yeah, a real, live cop. Believe it or not.”
“Yeah, but you’re different,” he responded, a hint of something that sounded awfully close to sincerity in his voice.
You exhaled exasperatedly, finally relenting. “What do you need?”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
“This is insane,” you murmured as you drove to Blüdhaven. “If you already have a cop friend in Blüdhaven to help you with this so-called trafficking case, why do you even need me?”
Jason leaned back in the passenger side carseat, getting comfortable for the long drive to Gotham’s sister city. “I told you,” he said. “Because you arrested three of their goons a year ago. You know more about this case than my other guy.”
You sighed gingerly, but didn’t respond. Jason looked over at you to try and read your expression. Your eyes were fixed straight on the road ahead, and your shoulders, which had been tense since this morning, were slowly relaxing. So slowly, in fact, that he wondered if you were even aware of it.
Of course, Jason was bending the truth, just a little. He probably would’ve been fine without you. Maybe you could have shot a quick email to Dick at BPD with the arrest records and information from your previous arrests, but Dick was a perfectly capable cop. He would’ve been fine with or without you.
Jason just wanted you around. For some inexplicable reason, he wanted to do this with you. Maybe if you saw him do this, take down this trafficking ring—preferably without killing anyone, since you seemed to have a bit of an issue with that, as did Dick and Bruce—maybe you’d see him in a different light. Maybe you’d see him as more than just some annoying vigilante that always followed you around like some sort of pathetic puppy.
God, he really did feel pathetic. But he couldn’t help it.
The need to be around you grew greater with every second he spent around you, his heart never quite satisfied with however much of you he was getting already. He wanted all of you, in a way that he’d never wanted anyone else. He knew now how Dick felt about Kory and it sucked that Jason couldn’t tease him about it anymore. It was a silly feeling, really. The silliest.
Jason just couldn’t get enough of you.
Of course, it helped that he didn’t really know what adult feelings were supposed to feel like. The last time he’d liked a girl was before he died. He was fifteen and hormonal and incredibly stupid. Everything felt like it was so much bigger than it was. He supposed it was possible that a little bit of that fifteen-year-old boy was still inside him and he was just making whatever he felt for you out to be much bigger than it actually was.
Surprisingly, it was you who broke the silence, interrupting him from his thoughts. You cleared your throat somewhat awkwardly.
“I hate driving in silence,” you confessed. “Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”
Jason shook his head. “No,” he answered. “No, of course not.”
You gave him an amusing expression, with your lips slightly quirked upwards, like you were trying to smile but weren’t quite there yet. Despite himself, Jason found it adorable. Baby steps, he told himself. You were getting more comfortable with him. He wouldn’t take that for granted. Jason smiled beneath the helmet as you reached for the centre console to turn on the radio.
It wasn’t long before you were parking in Dick’s building’s parking lot. Jason led you down the familiar path to the elevator, and up to his brother’s apartment.
“Dickie bird!” Jason announced as he burst through the door with a key that Dick had given him for safekeeping.
“Jason?” he called back from somewhere within the apartment. Jason froze at the sound of his name—his real name—being called. Beside him, you raised an eyebrow and looked at him curiously.
“Jason, huh?” you murmured with a playful lilt. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a Jason.”
“Jesus Christ, Dick, I’m with company!” Jason yelled frustratedly back into the apartment. He’d never been more grateful for the helmet than now, knowing you couldn’t see the bright red flush that had most likely taken over his face.
Dick walked out of the bedroom, and narrowed his eyes at Jason. “Well, maybe if you’d fucking knocked instead of barging into the house, I’d have known that,” he shot back, hitting Jason over the back of the head. “I gave you that key for emergencies, not free reign over my apartment.”
“Ow!” Jason complained. It hadn’t hurt, not really, thanks to the helmet, but it was more about the bruise to his ego than anything. Jason continued to glare at Dick as he introduced you to him. You smiled politely. The same smile you had in all your police and government photos—the one that never quite reached your eyes. Dick shook your hand.
“So this is the famous detective,” he said with that stupid, shit-eating grin on his face.
“You know of me?” you asked curiously, raising an eyebrow. “Does Red—or, uh, Jason—talk about me?”
Dick’s grin grew wicked as he glanced at Jason.
God, please no. Jason thought to himself.
“He’s… talked about you before,” Dick said. “Quite a bit, actually.”
Jason resisted the urge to tackle Dick and shove his face into the stupid green carpet in his living room.
“Huh,” you responded, looking over at Jason. “Interesting.”
Jason cleared his throat, desperate to talk about something, anything, else. “Can we please talk about why we’re actually here?”
“You’re no fun, Jaybird,” Dick teased. “Besides, we should get to know each other a bit more before we begin, wouldn’t you say? After all, you never told me you’d be bringing someone along when you told me about the trafficking ring.”
You raised an eyebrow at the nickname. Jason’s face burned even brighter. What was he thinking, bringing you right to the lion’s den? Dick loved embarrassing him. He should’ve known better.
“No!” Jason insisted, bringing Dick over to sit down at the couch, shooting him a glare from behind the helmet that he prayed his brother had somehow telepathically sensed. “We need to get to work. Start explaining the plan, Dicko.”
“Bummer,” you said with a small smile—a real one this time. “I was hoping to learn a little more about how you got that nickname, Jaybird.”
“You should come over when he isn’t around,” Dick said playfully. “Boy, I have the best stories. Like this one time—”
Jason cut Dick off. “She doesn’t need to hear any stories, Dick,” he insisted, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.
You rolled your eyes and snickered tacitly before playfully mouthing the words “next time” to Dick.
For a moment, Jason seriously contemplated throwing you over his shoulder and dragging you back to Gotham, but he decided you’d probably tase him. Or bite him. Or kick him in the balls. Or all three.
To his relief, Dick began to actually explain the background of the trafficking ring, talking about how it seemed to have migrated from Gotham to Blüdhaven. Together, the three of you were able to pinpoint the place their headquarters, where they kept all their victims, would most likely be. A warehouse at the docks, down by The Narrows, where one would easily be able to load a bunch of beaten and bloodied girls into a ship bound to Europe or South America in the cover of night, without anyone ever batting an eye.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
“So, uh… You and Dick know each other pretty well?” you asked carefully, not wanting to step on any toes, as you and Red Hood—or, as you’d recently learned, Jason—sat on the rooftop of another warehouse near the one the three of you were scoping out. Dick was waiting on the ground, in case he needed to jump into action.
Jason sighed, as if he was expecting this question, but didn’t quite know how to answer it. “You could, uh… Well, you could say we’re like brothers,” he responded. His tone indicated there was more to the story than he was telling you, but you knew better than to push.
Still, the cop in you wouldn’t let up.
“Right.” You nodded. “It’s just that you have a key to his house and everything.”
Jason groaned this time. You let out a soft laugh. “How’d you meet him?” you asked.
He was quiet for a few moments, as if debating how much to tell you. “Through family,” he responded curtly.
“So he knew you as Jason before he knew you as Red Hood?” you questioned curiously.
“He did, yeah,” Jason answered.
You took a quick peak through the binoculars and stiffened up. “Heads up, there’s an armed man walking into the warehouse…”
You absent-mindedly passed the pair to Jason so he could look too, letting out a light laugh when you realised he was wearing a helmet that covered his entire face, and therefore couldn’t use the binoculars.
“My bad,” you said through soft snickers, reaching for the radio to alert Dick. “One entering the building. He is armed, repeat, he is armed.”
“Copy that,” came Dick’s response through the warm crackle of the handheld device. “I see him.”
“Should we call for backup?” you asked.
“Negative,” Dick answered. “We’ll wait until we see some concrete signs that they’re holding the victims here.”
“Copy that…” you responded, sighing and placing the radio back down.
There were a few more minutes of waiting before you could hear a gruff voice yelling commands in the distance, getting closer. As the man’s voice got louder, you could hear it accompanied by soft, crying whimpers.
“Shit,” you cursed under your breath. “I really hope that’s not what I think it is.”
Jason reached for the radio to alert Dick as you chewed your lip nervously. Indeed, soon enough, a line of girls who couldn’t have been older than twenty came into view, their hands bound with zip ties and mouths covered with duct tape, wearing clothes that were dirty and ripped from struggle. They were led by a large, burly man with an automatic. Your eyebrows furrowed together, the looks on the girls’ faces were haunting. The fear for their life, the desperation for a miracle to come save them. You tugged at Jason’s arm before even realising your hand was moving.
“Let’s go,” you said softly.
“We have to wait for backup,” he whispered back. “We’re seriously outgunned and outnumbered.”
“If we wait, those girls could be gone already!” you retorted. You didn’t sound strong, or frustrated, or stubborn in the same way you normally did. You were desperate to save these girls. Jason could hear it in your voice.
“It’s too risky,” he said, reluctantly, like the words hurt him to say as much as they hurt you to hear. “I can’t lose you, alright? We’re gonna stay here, where it’s safe.”
You’d already failed Lacey Holland. You couldn’t fail these girls too. This was why you got into the force. To be the protector that these women needed. If you didn’t do everything you could to save them, then you’d be failing not just them, but yourself.
“Jason,” you said hushedly. “Please.”
The sound of his real name must have softened him, because Jason sighed under his breath, shaking his head and looking out towards the girls being shoved into the warehouse. “We wait until he brings them back out,” he conceded. “If we go into that closed space with guns ablazing, it’s almost certain death.”
You nodded, grateful that Jason had trusted you with this. “Okay.”
A short pause, and then you added, “Thank you.”
Sure enough, before too long, the man returned, accompanied by a few compatriots, although he seemed to be the boss amongst them. He stood at the front of the line, with two other men, followed by the girls, moving in a single file line, hands and mouths still bound. You counted 6 of them, with two more men at their tail end.
“I’ve only got a nine millimetre," you murmured. “It’s a cop gun. Can’t shoot that far.”
“Yeah, I don’t exactly carry around sniper rifles either,” Jason muttered back, grabbing the radio with one hand and your hand with the other. “Come on, let’s go in.”
“Dick, we’re moving in,” Jason told Dick over the radio.
“Copy that,” came Dick’s response. “Backup is 3 minutes out.”
3 minutes.
A lot could happen in 3 minutes.
The pair of you rushed down the stairs to the ground, and Jason led you swiftly, yet soundlessly to duck behind the wall of the warehouse, only a few short metres away from where the girls were being led onto the docks. He peaked out to scope out the fire power the men were carrying.
“All five have automatics,” he murmured. “We might stand a chance, but only if we can even the playing field and take at least two of them out.”
You knelt down to shoot from a lower angle. “Andy and I used this move once during a tactical training session. You shoot together on three, it takes down multiple suspects and only alerts them once. Never actually done it out on the field.”
Jason looked down at you and chuckled breathily. “Will it work?”
“Depends,” you answered, taking aim at one of the men. “How good of a shot are you?”
Jason shook his head, as if the question was redundant. “Detective, please,” he murmured, his tone that of the familiar cockiness you’d grown to expect, taking aim.
You smiled. “Three,” you began the countdown. “Two… One..”
Two gunshots, so precisely timed that one might have mistaken them for a single gunshot. But the pair of immobilised bodies on the floor would beg to differ. Their ringleader and the two at the front of the line immediately turned at the sound as the girls began to whimper and huddle together in fear, each one still too terrified to seize the opportunity and make a run for it.
You stood back up as quickly as you could, pressing your body against the wall as the burly man sent the other two to investigate. You took a deep breath, and your nostrils filled with the all too familiar scent that thickened the air whenever a gun had recently been fired nearby. The bitter, metallic smell of gunpowder paired with the rush of adrenaline through your veins.
Jason grabbed the barrel of their gun as the braver of the two, the one in front, turned the corner. Jason pushed it away from the pair of you as the man began firing reflexively, as did his friend. You ducked, instinctively covering your head at the sound of the bullets as Jason managed to wrestle the gun out of the lackey’s hands and aimed it back at them, firing back at them. His quick, clean and precise shots were a stark contrast to the incessant firing of the other two.
“Grab the other one!” Jason instructed as Dick managed to shoot the remaining ringleader in the leg, giving him an opportunity to disarm him as well.
By now, the sound of bullets had alerted the rest of the goons inside the warehouse to join the ensuing fight, but the sound of sirens in the distance assured you that your own backup was close.
“I don’t know how to shoot an automatic!” you yelled back over the sound of gunshots.
“Then use your handgun!” Jason responded, firing at a group of maybe five that emerged from the warehouse. “Stay down!”
You nodded, your grip on your gun tightening as you shot at the group, who were still yet to pinpoint the location of the gunshots. You took advantage of their cluelessness and fired thrice. Only one of them hit, but you effectively took down one of the men.
“Stay here, I’m going to run around the warehouse and get them from behind,” you told Jason.
Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Dick engaged in hand to hand struggle with the ringleader. He’d managed to disarm him and kick away his weapon. You didn’t see much, but you’d definitely seen enough to tell he didn’t fight like a cop. A curious observation, but one you didn’t have time for at present.
You could hear your heart pounding in your ears with adrenaline as you made the long run around the back of the warehouse. The sound of sirens in the distance getting closer and closer was interspersed with the sound of gunfire behind you. The smell of gunpowder still lingered in your nose as you took deep breaths, like you were trained to do. In and out through both your nose and your mouth, to stay cool and run faster.
You were out on the other side of the warehouse within seconds—a new record you might have celebrated if not for the circumstances. You shot the man in front of you in the leg and tackled him from behind when he buckled down, kicking away his weapon and grunting with effort as he struggled beneath you. The impact of the tackle had definitely hurt your knees, an ache you’d feel the next day, but you supposed you could’ve been shot, like the man beneath you, and that would definitely have been worse.
You managed to get handcuffs on his wrist and looked back up to shoot a few more similar shots at the legs of the two men Jason was fighting. A quick glance back at Dick would tell you that the two men had eerily similar styles of fighting, except for the fact that Dick was perhaps a bit more flexible.
What was his last name again? Grayson? It was a peculiarly familiar name. You wondered if you’d met before.
You didn’t have much time at the moment to ponder the question though. You aimed your gun at the chest of the ringleader and Jason raced to help in the fight, waiting for a clean shot that wouldn’t hit either of the other two.
Bingo.
You squeezed the trigger just as the police cars arrived.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
You’d left not long after the ordeal at the docks. You’d offered Jason a ride back home, but he’d declined, preferring to find his own way. Well, that, and the fact that he’d been wearing the helmet for nearly 12 hours straight now, and wouldn’t you know it was getting dreadfully stuffy in there.
Back at Dick’s apartment, Jason breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled the helmet off, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling how the sweat had caused his hair to stick to his skin.
“God, that thing is suffocating,” he murmured.
Dick laughed, shaking his head lightly as he walked into his kitchen to fetch two ice cold bottles of water, tossing one to his brother. “You should have Tim install some A/C in there,” he joked.
Jason rolled his eyes affectionately, catching the bottle and twisting the top open. He brought the bottle to his lips and thirstily guzzled sip after sip, almost finishing the entire bottle in one go.
Dick stretched his back out and yawned, coming to sit next to Jason on the couch. “So that’s her, huh?”
Jason shot his brother a sideways glare. “You could’ve been a bit more subtle about the whole thing, you know,” he grumbled unhappily.
Dick only laughed harder this time, placing his bottle on the coffee table before turning to face Jason on the couch. “I had to give you a hard time, come on,” he said playfully. “That’s what big brothers do.”
“You’re evil,” Jason replied. “That was the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever had to sit through.”
Dick waved a hand dismissively. “Come on, you’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not!” Jason insisted, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at Dick.
He only rolled his eyes in response, instead changing the subject. “She’s pretty, you know,” Dick said. “I guess I just didn’t expect you to go for a cop. Seeing as you seem to have plenty of reservations about people in my line of work.”
“She’s one of the good ones,” Jason responded, his expression and his voice softening as he talked about you. He let out a quiet sigh. “You know, despite everything, I actually trust her. She makes me feel lighter, like I’m… normal.”
He watched as Dick’s brows knitted together and his pursed lips parted to say something, but Jason interrupted him.
“I know what you’re going to say,” he said. “That I am normal. But I’m not, Dick. Nothing about my life or what happened to me is normal. I’m not even supposed to be alive right now.”
“I know,” Dick conceded with a soft, concerned exhale. “I’m just worried about you, you know? I’m glad you feel a sense of normalcy around this woman, but I don’t want you reliant on someone else for that.”
Jason smiled, one that actually reached his eyes. “Thanks,” he murmured, not quite sure how to express his gratitude. “It’s… It’s nice to know someone cares.”
Dick smiled back, his bright charming smile that Jason knew lit up every room he walked into. “Don’t get all sappy on me now, little bird,” he teased, patting his brother on the back.
Jason rolled his eyes again, chuckled softly to himself as he shook his head and playfully pushed Dick away.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Back in Gotham and out of your rut, you’d found yourself inexplicably drawn down another rabbit hole, and in true you fashion, it had consumed you. You couldn’t sleep at night, your thoughts racing about this new mystery to be solved, and of course, you had to drag your partner into it, like you always did.
It was a habit you’d inherited from Healy. He was the kind of detective to become obsessive over his cases, especially when they were of personal relevance or interest. You’d been around him so much during your formative years as a detective that you’d adopted the quirk yourself, something that Andrea, who had a much healthier work-life balance, was forever cursing.
“Andy, there’s something very fishy going on here,” you said, greeting her at the elevator when the doors opened and welcomed her to your floor. It couldn’t have been past 8 a.m. “With the Red Hood and his cop friend, I mean.”
Andrea groaned and yawned tiredly. “Good morning to you too,” she murmured sarcastically.
You rolled your eyes, not letting her tiredness deter you. You’d been bouncing off the walls with caffeine since three in the morning, and you were just itching to present your findings to someone, much like a child wanting to show off her newly designed dance routine to her mother.
“So this guy, Dick Grayson, I knew the name sounded familiar, right?” you said. “Well, I looked it up, and of course, this guy is Bruce Wayne’s first kid!”
Andrea raised an eyebrow, unimpressed as you scampered after her into the bullpen, watching as she fixed herself a cup of coffee in the kitchenette. “Bruce Wayne has plenty of kids, doesn’t he?” she responded. “He’s like Brad and Angelina. Collecting those damn children like they’re Pokémon or something.”
“Well yes,” you continued. “It wouldn’t be significant, if it wasn’t for the fact that Jason, or well, Red Hood, said that they met through family.”
“Is this going anywhere?” Andrea asked with a tired sigh, grabbing her cup from the coffee maker and going to sit down at her desk, with you once again scrambling after her at her heels.
“Come on, Andy, think about it,” you said. “They met through family, and Dick Grayson’s only living family is Bruce Wayne and his menagerie of adopted children.”
“Maybe Dick knew Red Hood before his parents died,” she responded with a shrug. “Did you consider that?”
You rolled your eyes as you walked around her desk to sit at yours. “Of course I thought of that,” you said. “It’s an entirely plausible possibility, I suppose, if it wasn’t for the fact that Jason told me they were like brothers.”
Andrea raised an eyebrow at you again. “When was the last time you slept, sweetheart?”
“I’m onto something, Andy!” you insisted defensively. “I’m not crazy, will you just listen?”
She sighed, putting two hands up in concession. “Fine,” she said cynically. “I’m listening.”
“Thank you!” you said, taking a sip of the coffee on your desk, brewed almost an hour ago and gone cold already. You’d been at the station longer than you’d have liked to admit, caught up in the need to investigate. “So, Dick Grayson and Jason, a.k.a Red Hood, are like brothers.”
“This is relevant, of course, in the fact that Dick Grayson is the ward of Bruce Wayne, a man known for his habit of adopting children,” you continued. “So, I’m thinking… This Jason is somehow related to Bruce Wayne. Specifically, I think he’s his adopted son.”
“Great theory,” Andrea responded sarcastically. “Except for the fact that I think if Bruce Wayne had a son called Jason, we’d know about it. I think all of Gotham would know about it, actually. The Waynes are practically royalty in this city.”
“Aha!” you said, pointing at her. “And that’s the question, isn’t it? Why hasn’t anyone heard of a Wayne called Jason?”
“Probably because he doesn’t exist?” she guessed, sounding as unimpressed as ever.
“Except…!” you said with a victorious grin tilting your computer screen towards her, the wires connecting your monitor to the rest of its components twisting around its base. On it was an article, titled “Young life taken by the Joker.”
“This article talks about the death of a boy, Jason Todd, almost 15 years ago,” you said. “He was 15 when he died, and there’s a picture of the funeral. Right here, see.”
You zoomed into the picture, at a shadowy figure in attendance. “Doesn’t that look an awful lot like Bruce Wayne?”
Andrea blinked at the photo, and then at you. “You know, I think you should really get some sleep—”
You interrupted her. “How many random children’s funerals do you think Bruce Wayne goes to?” you said. “Come on, Andrea, are you telling me you don’t see where this is all leading?”
“I’m telling you that that photo could be of literally anyone!” she responded. “And besides, even if Jason is Bruce Wayne’s kid, according to your theory, he should be dead, which, clearly, he’s not.”
“Exactly,” you said. “Jason Todd should be dead. Unless Bruce Wayne faked his death and paid the media good money to keep word from getting out about it, for whatever reason.”
“And why would he do that?” Andrea asked with another sigh. “Also, what exactly do you want to do about it? Storm up to Wayne Manor and confront the man?”
“Well, I don’t know why he’d want to do that,” you said. “But I do know what I want to do about it. I’m going to prove my hypothesis.” You smiled proudly.
“I don’t like that expression,” Andrea muttered. “What are you thinking?”
“I need your help, Andy,” you said.
She narrowed her eyes at you. “I don’t like where this is going either.”
“I want to dig up Jason Todd’s grave.”
Andrea took a deep breath, closing her eyes and attempting to steady herself. “Are you nuts?” she asked, clearly restraining herself from an outburst.
“Think about it!” you urged. “We’ll just hit up the cemetery tonight, and then we’ll have concrete proof about this whole conspiracy! You don’t even have to do anything, just be a look out for me.”
“I’ve put up with a lot of your crazy ideas, but this is actually a goddamn crime,” Andrea responded, whisper-screaming at you, looking around the room to make sure no one was listening. “You want to dig up a dead kid’s grave so you can, what? Satisfy the tinfoil hat-wearing conspiracy theorist weirdo inside you? And worse, you want to make me an accessory to that crime? I mean, fucking hell, we could lose our jobs over this!”
“Well then, let’s hope we don’t get caught, yeah?” you said.
Andrea rubbed her temples. “You’ve gone insane,” she said to no one in particular. “You’ve actually lost your marbles. There’s no way in hell a sane person would come up with this plan.”
“You owe me a favor, remember?” you coaxed. “Please, Andy.”
She glared at you in response. “You are way too much like the old man, you know that?”
You only grinned triumphantly in response, knowing you’d worn her down. Besides, it wasn’t like being compared to Healy was an insult—at least, not to you.
And so that’s how you ended up at Gotham City Central Cemetery in the dead of night with a shovel, standing before the tombstone that read Jason Todd’s name.
Andrea stood just a few feet away from you, perched on a slightly higher hill that gave her a better vantage point as a lookout.
“How much longer are you gonna take?” she whispered impatiently.
Her arms were crossed and her foot tapped nervously as she looked around, making sure no one was nearby.
“I think I just hit the coffin!” you whispered back. “I’ll need your help prying it open!”
“I’m missing Disney night with my toddler for this…” Andrea murmured unhappily.
“Camille and Dana will be fine without you for one night, Andy, Jesus,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “Besides, Dana is one and a half. She won’t remember a thing. This is important work we’re doing. We’re uncovering the truth. We’re carrying out justice, Andrea. Don’t you want your daughter to know her mother carries out justice?”
Andrea rolled her eyes right back at you as you shoveled away at the dirt around the coffin. Beads of sweat pooled at your brow and dripped down your face as you worked, your arms burning with effort as you looked back at the large mound of dirt forming behind you. You’d been digging for at least 45 minutes now, and its effects were starting to wear down your body.
“God, my back is killing me,” you muttered.
Andrea glared at you. “You’re graverobbing a child’s grave right now. I think you deserve a bit of a backache.”
“We’re not graverobbing!” you retorted. “It’s not like we’re stealing his body. We’re just… checking to see if it’s there. Now come on, help me pry this thing open.”
She groaned softly as she walked over, carefully climbing down into the pit you’d just dug.
“Alright, grab this shovel, and we push together on three, okay?” you instructed.
Andrea sighed. “Okay.”
“One… two… three…”
The two of you grunted with effort as you used the shovel to pry open the coffin. The lid fell out of place and you bent down to grab it and lift it open fully to reveal…
“It’s empty,” Andrea murmured, her voice dazed and disbelieving.
You smiled with the adrenaline of victory and knowing you were right charging through your veins. “It’s empty.”
You looked over at your partner, her hands covering her mouth in shock. “I think you owe me an apology, Andrea,” you told her.
i'm just jealous, i'm just human / bruce wayne x wife!reader
warnings: none
a/n: so many beyonce songs remind me of bruce its crazy. heres a normal little fic for him. new dividers ayyyyy
Bruce didn’t do jealousy—or, at least, he tried not to be jealous often. He’s pretty even mannered, is able to control his temperament. But some things he can’t ignore, like how right now your laugh slices through the commotion of the gala and grabs his attention in the midst of the loudness.
Your laugh is loud and he could point it out in the nosiest of rooms with the sureness of a surgeon in the middle of an operation. He often hears you before he sees you, and tonight is no different. He’s watched you from afar since the first note of your cackle of a laugh caught his attention; another type of bat signal to him. His eyes found you then, your head thrown back with your hand in front of your mouth, and some male attendee he didn’t recognize. Seeing you smile made Bruce smile, and he thought nothing of it until he heard it again, and saw your hand move to the attendees arm.
It’s an innocent gesture on your behalf, deep down Bruce knows it—you laugh with your entire body, and he’s often on the end of being jostled around by you. But he saw how the mans eyes lit up briefly, taking your natural mannerisms as an invitation. Bruce kept a watchful eye on the two of you—the man mostly, seeing how he took a step or two closer to you and his eyes often raked up your frame.
“You’re staring, Master Wayne,” Alfred says, coming up beside Bruce. Bruce doesn’t jump at the sudden presence, nor does he pull his eyes away from where you stand talking to that guy.
“Just surveilling the party, Alfred,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing when the man touches your elbow. He watches you glance down at his hand and subtly pull your arm out of reach, putting some distance between the two of you.
“That’s what cameras are for, sir.”
Bruces lip twitches with the ghost of a smile before settling back into a firm line. “Alfred, should I go over there?”
“I think Mrs. Wayne can handle herself, sir.”
Alfred is correct, extremely so. But at that moment, the man decides to lean down close to your ear and says something that makes your eyes widen for a second before you relax your face and force out a chuckle, taking a tentative step back.
“If you’ll excuse me, Alfred,” Bruce murmurs, already taking a step away and buttoning his suit jacket to give his hands something to do. Bruce beelines towards you, sidestepping a WE employee with a tight lipped smile and holding up a single finger to signal that he needs a minute.
An awkward chuckle leaves your lips as Bruce approaches, your hand placed strategically on your chest, covering some of the cleavage that shows in the dress you’re wearing. Your eyes scan the room, and when they land on Bruce relief washes over you. “Mr. Wayne,” you greet, giving him a genuine smile.
“Mrs. Wayne,” Bruce replies, tipping his head down and smiling bashfully at the bit you started doing a few years ago, right after the wedding.
At the title, the man seems to straighten up, swallowing nervously when Bruce places a hand on your lower back. “Honey, this is Michael Humphrey,” you say, raising your eyebrows.
“Bruce Wayne,” your husband introduces, extending his hand. The man gives him a nervous smile and grabs Bruce’s hand, wincing a little at Bruce’s grip.
“Michael works for Axion, he does the analytics,” you say, discreetly reaching your hand back and squeezing one of Bruce’s fingers. Bruce glances down at you and decides that Wayne Enterprises won’t be needing their analytical services anymore.
“Really? Great work you guys do," The compliment is laced with undetectable sarcasm to the regular ear, but you catch it; you know your husband.
Michael smiles. “You know, we projected that Wayne Enterprises stocks would go up but they’ve remained relatively unchanged. I was thinking that, maybe we could…” you almost laugh out loud from the audacity of this man, how bold he managed to still be in front of Bruce.
You nod mock-encouragingly for him to keep going, mostly for the entertainment and to watch him blow any opportunities Axion will have in the future with Wayne Enterprises. “Excuse me, Michael. I hate to interrupt, but I need to steal my wife away for a moment,” Bruce says, the slight twitch in his eyebrow giving way to his annoyance.
“Oh! Totally. It was great talking to you, y/n. Nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne,” Bruce gives him a tight lipped smile, masking his irritation at the improper addressing of you, before whisking you away.
“Oh my God, he might actually be crazy,” you mutter, wrapping your hand around Bruce’s arm, chuckling to yourself at the absurdity of it all. Bruce doesn’t say anything, just walks you back to where he was previously standing. “I’m gonna get some water, you want anything?” You ask, releasing him from your hold, smoothing your hands down the front of his tux.
Bruce doesn’t want you to leave, even though the waiter carrying flutes of water is mere feet away. He wants you right where he can see you, where he can reach for you if needed. You’re looking at him expectantly, hands resting against his solid chest. “No, honey, I’m alright,” he says, easing his tone into that moderate, even timbre. You smile and press a quick kiss to his cheek before bounding off in search of water.
For the rest of the night, Bruce has you hanging off his arm. And every time a man at the gala talks to you—including his longest business partners—he keeps a possessive hand on your back. He stops removing it completely at some point in the middle, and you took mental stock of each time he put his hand in you. He was quieter too, which you also added to the list of things to debrief with him afterwards.
Sliding into the back of the car, you immediately roll the partition up. Bruce slides in next to you, letting out a soft sigh and sliding off his suit jacket, setting it on the middle seat. “Did you have fun?”
“Mm. If you want to call it that, then sure.”
You almost roll your eyes at his broodiness, but let it slide. “Lots of people wanting to do business with Wayne Enterprises, baby. I don’t know how many business cards I passed along to Alfred,” you say, leaning back against the leather seats, lolling your head to the side to look at him.
“Good. We’ll need some new investors anyway,” he says, undoing his cuff links. You raise your eyebrows, feigning shock. “Really? Let me do it, honey,” you say, moving his jacket to the other side of you and sliding next to him, taking his wrist in your hands. “Which companies?” You ask absentmindedly, pulling the cufflink out of his shirt and dropping it in your purse.
Bruce snorts, glancing down at you before returning his gaze to the window, voice a little sheepish when he says, “Axion, and a few others I’ll need to review.”
You smile to yourself and pull out the second cufflink. “Thought so,” you say. He grunts in response and props his chin on his knuckles, elbow resting on the edge of the window. “Bruce, stop being so quiet.”
“I’m always quiet.”
“Not with me,” you place a hand on his arm and tug on him. “Brucie, talk to me.” He sighs, giving into you easily because how could he not? You’re his wife, the apple of his eye, the light of his life and the fire in his loins. Trying to give you the cold shoulder ultimately punishes him more than you.
Bruce open his mouth, trying to find the proper words, only to fail and close it. It’s not often he has trouble finding the words to say to you. You sit there, cheek pressed against the muscle of his arm, waiting however long it takes for him for him to get the words out.
“You… you never laugh like that with me,” is all Bruce can come up with, his voice suddenly quiet and small. He watches your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you sit up slightly, pulling your face from his arm.
They’re not even the proper words, and he knows it. His frustration is misplaced, and now the blame is somehow on you, and that’s not what he intended.
“The Axion guy,” Bruce adds when the confusion stays plastered on your face. He refuses to say his name—Michael. It’s petty, but he feels like his vulnerability is with you makes up for it.
A smile forms on your lips at his words, and you laugh. Bruce is mortified. “Him? Honey, he was ridiculous! You heard him,” you say, gently hitting him on the arm. "He was genuinely ridiculous, there's nothing more to say about him."
"But he made you laugh," He feels like a child the moment it leave his mouth. Bruce almost juts out his bottom lip on instinct, but manages it. You stare up at him, eyes narrowing despite the smile playing on your lips. "I saw you–I heard you."
"Bruce, you make me laugh."
"Not like that."
And now he's putting it on thick, forcing you to think about a time where Bruce had you in stitches. Both of you know Bruce isn't a comedian, but he does make you laugh. "Now you're being ridiculous. He was funny, I can admit. But you heard him. It was one joke, and I guess my laughing blew up his head," You say, fingers gently squeezing around his arm. Bruce just grunts and turns his head from you, making you gasp. "Mr. Wayne!"
He knows he can't not do the bit, so when he mutters Mrs. Wayne back to you, you hardly hear him. "Are you really upset with me over laughing? Or is it something else?" You ask, your voice softer than before, a hint of insecurity slipping through in your tone. Bruce's heart clenches in his chest, and once again he turns to look at you and feels like the biggest asshole in the world when he meets your worried eyes.
"It's not you, y/n. I promise," Bruce says, trying to put out the fire.
"Then what is it?" You press, fingers digging into the skin of his arm. You silently plead for him to just say it, so you can fix whatever is bothering him.
"I don't like how he was looking at you. That's all," Bruce says, refusing to say the J word. The ghost of a smile teases the corners of your lips, a small sense of pride blooming in your chest at the realization that you husband was overtaken by that green-eyed monster called jealousy for the night. "Not your fault." He adds, placing his hand over yours.
You lean your head against his shoulder and snuggle up to him, quietly chuckling to yourself the rest of the ride home.
