"My name is Dick Grayson Nightwing. You tried to kill my father, prepare for the beatdown of your life."
Look at Tim trying to restrain him! And how he throws a desk at Strange for hitting Tim with a chair. He gets so mad when someone else than Bruce dares to call themselves Batman or wears his suit. Don't touch his dad, don't touch his loved ones.
divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources & thecutestgrotto
word count: 5.6k
synopsis: All it took was a shove and one of Strange’s machines—and now you and Jason Todd are living each other’s lives. Call it Gotham’s Freaky Friday.
a/n: Another one of my 3 am crack fic ideas. I didn't have time to properly edit so I hope it reads okay and isn’t as rushed as I’m worried it is. Oddly, this idea didn't come to me because I was watching Freaky Friday but because I was watching Wednesday.
The two of you really shouldn’t have touched it.
The Bats had just wrapped up another one of Strange’s lunatic schemes, and the Cave was crowded with confiscated devices—half-finished weapons, machines that looked more like torture machines than projects of science but you supposed when it came to a mad scientist like Hugo Strange they were one and the same.
There was one particular hulking contraption covered in wires and blinking green lights that caught your eye. Against your better judgment, curiosity tugged you closer. You found yourself stepping closer to study it, wondering what exactly it was designed to do.
Bruce’s order was clear: don’t touch anything until it’s catalogued.
Which would’ve been fine if Jason hadn't suddenly stormed towards you crowding your personal space.
“You don’t take this seriously,” Jason snapped, tossing his helmet onto a table beside you with a clang. “You almost got yourself killed back in that lab! Not everything is sunshines and rainbows, Princess!”
“Well, I wouldn’t have had to jump in if you weren’t so damn reckless, Mr. Doom and gloom!” You hissed back.
Your words only made him scowl harder, jaw tight. The two of you were nose to nose, his towering frame shadowing your smaller one. The tension built and built until, without thinking, you shoved him in the chest.
It wasn’t much—just enough to get him out of your space. You realized your mistake the second your hands left his chest and reached forward to pull him back, but it was already too late.
Jason staggered, boots skidding against the Cave floor before he collided hard with Strange’s newest contraption. Sparks leapt across the wires the instant his back hit metal. Your palm was still pressed against his chest when the machine roared to life—green lights flaring, and the next thing you both knew the world went white.
Electricity crackled through the Cave, static raising the hair on your arms. Jason shouted something you couldn’t hear, and then—nothing. The lights dimmed and the machine went dark.
Both of you staggered, breathing hard. When it became clear no one was fried or bleeding, you glanced at each other.
“…see?” Jason grumbled, much calmer as he rubbed his shoulder. “This is why you don’t touch things.”
You rolled your eyes, not bothering to argue as you tried to steady the thundering in your chest. “Whatever. Let’s just call it a night.”
Jason grunted in agreement, grabbing his helmet off the table as the two of you turned your backs on the mess.
Neither of you noticed the faint hum that lingered in the air.
You woke with a groan, the heaviness in your limbs immediately noticeable and strange. When you rolled out of bed, the floor creaked beneath a weight you didn’t remember having. Your hand brushed across your face, rougher, larger than it should’ve been.
...that wasn’t your hand.
Blinking hard, you stumbled toward the mirror.
The breath caught in your throat. Jason Todd’s reflection stared back at you—it was his strong jaw, his broad frame and messy black hair. The usual hard expression you tended to see on him was morphed into one of wide-eyed shock as you stared your borrowed face.
For a moment you couldn’t move. Then the panic hit. You grabbed your hair—feeling the short strands that definitely were not yours—and your voice came out low, gravelly, like you’d swallowed smoke. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”
The door burst open.
You spun around just as your body stormed in. Jason froze in the doorway, glaring with your wide eyes, wearing your silk pyjamas that you went to bed in.
“What the fuck,” Jason snarled—in your higher much more feminine voice. “What the actual fuck is this?”
You shrieked. He cursed. You shrieked louder, pointing at him. “You’re me!”
“No shit, sunshine! Which means you’re—” He jabbed a finger at you. “—me.”
Your—well his hands balled into fists, but they looked absurdly small as you stared at well... you. Seeing your own body across from you, animated with Jason’s scowl, was more disorienting than the mirror.
Right now, you were Jason. You had his size, his bulk, the weight of muscle and height that came with him. And compared to that, compared to the way he now filled out your much smaller frame, you were only just beginning to realize how tiny you actually were. The difference was staggering, and the longer you stared down at yourself, the more wrong it all felt.
He continued, “This has to be Strange. That damn machine last night—”
The two of you locked eyes, realization dawning at the same time.
“…we switched,” you whispered.
Jason groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “We’re screwed. I cant believe you would push me into it!”
“You wouldn’t back off!” you shouted back. “And now I’m—you! And you’re—me!”
For a long beat you just stared at each other. Then, at the same time, you both screamed. “FUCK!”
The panic didn’t ease. Twenty minutes later, you were pacing Jason’s apartment, clutching your stomach and muttering to yourself. Finally, you froze in the doorway, eyes wide.
“Jason—Jason, I have to pee.”
He looked up from the couch, utterly unimpressed. “Congratulations.”
You flailed your arms, voice pitching higher. “No, you don’t get it! I don’t—I don’t know how to do this in your body. I don’t know how to use—” You waved vaguely downward, cheeks burning. “The equipment!”
Jason groaned, dragging your—his—delicate hands down his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m not! What if I do it wrong? What if I break it?!”
He stared at you flatly. “You’re not going to break my dick.” Then, as if the thought had just hit him, his eyes narrowed. “You better not break my damn dick.”
You let out a pitiful whine. “Can’t you—I don’t know—hold it?”
His jaw dropped. “What the fuck? No!”
“It’s your dick!” you cried, throwing your arms in the air.
“For god’s sake, Y/N, just go to the fucking bathroom!” he shouted, exasperated.
“Jason!” you begged, bouncing on the balls of your feet.
That did it. He let out a vicious string of curses, storming past you toward the bathroom. Which was how the two of you ended up in the most humiliating situation imaginable: Jason—wearing your body—standing behind you, holding his own equipment in your smaller hands, while you buried Jason’s scarred face in his palms so you didn’t have to watch.
Relief finally hit, and you sagged against the counter with a groan.
“This is the only time I’m doing this,” Jason muttered darkly.
By the time the afternoon rolled around, you were still rattled. To make matters worse, it was Sunday—which meant mandatory brunch at the manor.
You sat stiffly at the table, coffee clutched between Jason’s rough hands, trying your best to imitate his usual brooding silence. The problem was that instead of looking cool and detached, you looked like you were one bad word away from crying into your mug.
“Jay?” Dick frowned from across the table, fork halfway to his mouth. “You okay? You look… off.”
“I’m fine,” you muttered too quickly. The word cracked at the end, betraying you immediately.
Across from you, Jason was already floundering. Alfred approached with his usual steady grace, offering a warm “Good morning.” Jason—stuck in your body—panicked and tried to slap on your trademark smile, which definitely looked more unhinged than intended.
“Morning, Alfred!” he chirped.
The cheerful tone was so loud and jarring it made a half asleep Tim choke on his coffee. Damian, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes, suspicion already flickering in his sharp gaze.
You ducked your head and started chugging your coffee. The mug trembled faintly in Jason’s hands as you avoided everyone’s stares, praying the caffeine would drown the panic clawing up your throat.
Under the table, Jason’s foot shot out, catching your shin in warning. You didn’t hesitate to retaliate, shoving your leg out with more force than intended. The kick landed harder than you’d meant, and Jason winced—clearly not expecting the strength you had and weren’t yet used to in his body.
“Will you act normal,” He hissed, teeth clenched but still plastering your too-bright grin across your face.
“I am acting normal,” you whispered back fiercely, forcing the mug down and squaring your shoulders as if you were ready to fight the entire table.
“Not like that,” he snapped.
By now the whole family was watching, forks and cups paused midair as the two of you not-so-subtly bickered in you mismatched bodies. Something was very clearly wrong—and everyone knew it.
By the time Bruce finally walked in, both of you were sweating bullets. You sat hunched over your plate, chewing toast with a stiff scowl that was supposed to look like Jason’s usual brood. Instead, it just made you look constipated and miserable.
Across the table, Jason—trapped in your body—was still smiling so hard that it looked more psychotic than friendly.
Bruce’s eyes swept over the two of you once, then again. His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. With a weary sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t have the patience for this,” he said flatly. “Which one of Strange’s experiments did you touch?”
Silence fell over the table. You froze, toast halfway to your mouth. Jason’s grin slipped clean off your face.
Neither of you answered. Not that you had to. The jig was up. Now that Bruce had called you out, the strange behavior suddenly clicked into place for the rest of the family. Detectives, every one of them—they didn’t need much more than a pointed look to piece the situation together.
Within minutes, you and Jason were marched down to the Cave, the entire family circling like vultures as you tried to explain.
“So let me get this straight,” Tim deadpanned, already scribbling on his tablet. “You two idiots got into an argument, you shoved Jason into Strange’s new machine, it zapped you both, and now you’re… body-swapped?”
You shifted uncomfortably under the weight of everyone’s stares, rubbing the back of your neck. The short, prickly hair there still felt alien against your fingers. “Well… when you put it like that… it sounds pretty irresponsible.”
“Because it was irresponsible!” Tim shot back, throwing his hands up.
“Oh, stop being dramatic, Wonder Nerd,” Jason huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Can you fix us or not?”
Tim blinked at him a few times, clearly fighting the urge to strangle him—your body—on the spot. Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh. “The second I figure out how the machine works, I can maybe start on a reversal. In the meantime…” His eyes flicked between the two of you, exasperated. “You’re stuck like this.”
Jason groaned. You, meanwhile, wanted to sink through the floor.
“Tim’s right,” Bruce said, his voice low with disapproval. “What you two did was extremely irresponsible. Until Tim can find a way to change you back, you are both banned from patrol.”
“What?!” you and Jason shouted at the same time, voices echoing off the stone walls.
“You can’t be serious,” Jason snapped—though it came out of your mouth, making the effect far less intimidating. “I can still fight. It doesn’t matter what body I’m in.”
“So can I!” you argued, your voice rough with Jason’s growl. “This isn’t fair!”
But Bruce’s expression didn’t shift. He stood there, arms crossed over his chest with a look saying he wouldn’t budge. The decision was final before the words even left his mouth.
“Enough. You’re both a liability like this. You’ll sit out until Tim finds a solution.”
Your protests filled the Cave, bouncing around the stone and metal, but they fell on deaf ears. With a single gesture, he dismissed you both, sending you back to your apartments like unruly children grounded for the weekend.
The two of you trudged back to Jason’s apartment in silence, the walk heavy with frustration. The second the door shut behind you, Jason didn’t bother with words as he collapsed onto the couch, sprawling across it without care.
You, however, lingered in the middle of the room, shifting from foot to foot.
Jason cracked one eye open and groaned. “What the fuck is wrong with you now?”
“…I have to pee again,” you admitted, cheeks burning.
He let out a long, suffering sigh. “Then go.”
“But—it’s weird if I touch your dick.”
Jason sat up just to glare at you. “It’s weirder if I hold it.”
You wrung your hands, squirming. “I feel like I’m violating you!”
“Jesus, Y/N,” he huffed, dragging a hand down your—his—face. “You have full permission to touch my dick. Go fucking pee.”
Mumbling under your breath, you trudged toward the bathroom. The jeans felt heavy on your hips, the zipper stiff beneath your fingers. You tugged them down with the underwear, heart hammering in your chest. For a second, habit almost had you turning to sit—then you realized you could just… stand and aim.
You glanced down to grab the package and nearly squeaked out loud. Jason was… well. Jason was huge. For a dick it was pretty nice. Heat flooded your face as you fumbled, nervously wrapping your hand around the foreign weight.
“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, focusing like it was a mission. “Just aim. Just… aim.”
It was awkward, clumsy, but you managed. By the time you zipped up again, your blush had reached your ears.
When you emerged from the bathroom, Jason looked up from the couch, one eyebrow arched in silent question.
Without thinking, you blurted, “You have an objectively very nice dick.”
Jason blinked, stunned. Then his mouth twitched, somewhere between confusion and amusement. “…Thanks?”
Before you could embarrass yourself further, your phone buzzed on the coffee table. Jason grabbed it before you could stop him, squinting at the screen.
“Uh… someone named Jess is asking if you’re still coming over?”
You cursed, smacking your forehead. “I forgot about that! Jason, you have to go!”
“What? No!” His protest was immediate, his—your—arms folding across his chest.
“Bruce said we need to act completely normal,” you reminded him, words tumbling out fast. “Jess just broke up with her boyfriend and me and the girls promised we’d hang out in support tonight. I can't bail! You need to go.”
Jason groaned like you’d asked him to walk into a hail of bullets. Still, he got to his feet. “Fine.”
But the second he made for the door, you shot out a hand to stop him. “Wait! What are you doing? You can’t go out like that!”
Jason looked down at himself—yourself—and frowned. “What’s wrong with this?” he asked, gesturing at the silk pyjamas he was currently wearing. Then he gave your chest a pointed look, muttering, “Aside from the bounce. How do you girls even live with these? Sure, they’re soft and squishy, but they’re a total pain in the—”
“Jason, have you been touching my boobs?” you gasped, horrified.
He shrugged, deadpan. “I had to keep them from bouncing around somehow.”
“You do that by wearing a bra!” you snapped, throwing your arms up.
“I couldn’t figure out how to put it on!” Jason shot back, defensive.
You groaned, dragging both hands down Jason’s scarred face. “Oh my god, you’re going to ruin my life.” With a huff, you grabbed his much smaller hand—your hand, technically—and tugged him down the hall toward your apartment and into your room.
“Clothes off,” you ordered, already rummaging through your dresser for something passable.
He shrugged and did as you ordered, but the second he looked down, mischief lit his expression. “Heh, these are kind of fun to play with,” Jason chuckled, lifting one breast experimentally and watching it bounce.
“Jason!” you snapped, scandalized.
“Hey,” he shot back with a grin, “you checked out my dick. Fair’s fair.”
You groaned, rolling your eyes so hard they nearly stuck that way. Grabbing the bra from your hands, you wrangled him into it, which earned you the deepest scowl you’d ever seen on your own face. “This is uncomfortable.”
“Welcome to being a woman,” you said dryly. You thrust a dress at him. “Now get changed into this.”
Jason grumbled but obeyed, shimmying into the clothes with all the grace of a drunk elephant before standing there stiff and uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot with his arms crossed.
“I’m feeling oddly objectified right now,” he muttered.
“You pass,” you said with a sigh, giving him a once-over. “Now for the love of god, please don’t embarrass me.”
Jason rolled your eyes, then nearly tripped as he stomped toward the door in the heels you’d forced him into.
“Stay at my place, in case someone comes looking for me,” he ordered, tugging your door open. His muttered curses echoed down the hall as he disappeared, each click of the heels punctuating his irritation.
Meanwhile, you trudged back to his apartment, your shoulders sagging in relief the second the door closed behind you. You finally felt as if you were able to breathe again now that you were alone. But the moment you thought you could relax, there was a knock on the door.
“Jason,” you groaned, already rolling your eyes. “You’ve been gone for thirty seconds!” You yanked the door open—only to freeze when you found Roy Harper standing there, grinning wide.
“Jaybird!”
Roy’s voice was loud enough to make you wince hoping the neighbors weren't home as he pulled you into some kind of chest-bump, shoulder-pat combo. You stumbled through the motions, hitting a beat too late, but Roy didn’t seem to notice. He grinned, clapping your shoulder hard enough to make you sway.
“Man, you would not believe the shit show in Qurac,” he said as he tossed his duffle bag onto the floor. “I haven’t had a hot shower in days, I swear I’m sweating gunpowder.”
You laughed weakly. “Yeah, uh… sounds rough.”
Roy kicked off his boots and headed straight for the living room, talking the whole way. “Some idiot on the ground thought they could take me out in one on one combat, Jay! Please. Took him down in under two minutes. You should’ve been there, you would’ve had a blast literally!”
“Sounds fun,” you said, trying to deepen Jason’s voice but only succeeding in sounding like you were faking a sore throat.
Roy dropped his duffle onto the couch, and was already tugging his shirt over his head. “I’m using your shower. I smell like death.”
Your eyes went wide. “Wait, right now—?”
But it was too late. His shirt hit the floor, followed by the thud of his cargo pants. You nearly squeaked, slapping a hand over your mouth to keep the sound in.
Roy stood there in nothing but boxers, stretching lazily like it was the most normal thing in the world. Say what you wanted, but Roy Harper was very nice to look at. The long lines of his arms were carved in muscle, every ridge of his abdomen defined, every part of his body was honed from years of vigilantism. He was strong without looking bulky, balanced, built for speed as much as power.
Heat rushed to your face as your gaze darted over him—then just as quickly shot upward, fixing on the ceiling as if it might erase what you’d already seen. But the damage was done. The sight of Roy Harper, nearly naked was burned into your brain.
“Yep,” you said, your voice too high, too fast. “Sure. Shower’s all yours. Totally fine.”
Roy didn’t notice a thing. He just wandered down the hall, calling over his shoulder, “Gonna grab something from your closet after, cool?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever!” you croaked, voice cracking like a teenager’s.
The moment he disappeared into the bathroom, you noticed that your pants were suddenly tighter and looked down—and froze.
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no.
The front of Jason’s jeans was tented, unmistakable and undeniable. You’d just got a boner from staring at Roy Harper’s damned abs.
“Shit,” you whispered, fumbling for your phone. You dialled Jason’s number with shaking hands. He answered on the third ring.
“What now? It's been barely ten minutes,” His voice was tired, annoyed, and very much not prepared for whatever problem you had now.
“I—I’ve got a situation,” you hissed. “Like a serious situation.”
“Define serious. Are you bleeding out?”
“No! Worse!” You were whispering so loudly your throat hurt. “Roy decided to drop by, and he wanted to take a shower and... and just stripped in front of me and now your—your dick won’t go down!”
There was dead silence on the other end of the line. For a heartbeat, you thought the call had dropped.
Then Jason burst out laughing so hard you had to yank the phone away from your ear.
“Oh my god,” Jason snorted.
“Jason!” you begged. “This isn’t funny! What if he sees?! What do I do?!”
Jason was full-on breathless and wheezing. “You’re pitching a tent over Harper? That’s rich. God, I wish I could see your face right now.”
“Stop laughing!” you snapped, clutching the phone tighter. “Tell me how to make it go away!”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Jason drawled on the other end of the line, far too entertained, “if I knew the secret to that, my teenage years would’ve been a hell of a lot easier.”
“This isn’t helping!” you wailed, pacing a tight circle in the middle of the apartment. “Remember, I’m in your body! I’m you! He’s gonna think you’re the one perving after him!”
He sighed, but the amusement that was in his tone made it clear he still wasn't taking you seriously, “Try cold water. Or math. Think about, I don’t know—Bruce’s disappointed face. That’ll kill it real quick.”
You groaned, dragging Jason’s hands down his borrowed face. “You are the worst person alive.”
Jason was still chuckling when the sharp click of a door opening froze you in place. Panic shot through you.
“Shit, he’s coming back!” you hissed into the phone. “Jason, I swear to god, if this doesn’t go down—”
The line went dead. Jason had hung up on you.
Your head snapped up just in time to see Roy poking his head out of the bedroom, hair already messy from pulling off his clothes. “I almost forgot, do you mind ordering something to eat? I’m starving.”
“Mhm,” you managed, nodding so fast your neck ached.
Roy grinned at your easy agreement and vanished back into the room. A moment later, the sound of the shower roared to life.
You let out a long, ragged sigh of relief, sagging back against the wall. At least you had ten minutes—ten minutes to deal with your problem, calm yourself down, and order some damn pizza before Roy came out and caught you red-handed.
You’d managed it. Barely. After ten minutes of pacing, breathing, and following Jason’s deeply unhelpful advice, you finally calmed his mini him down. Thank God.
Pizza was ordered—extra-large, just to buy yourself time and hoping the fact it wasn't early delivery would have Roy take his time and not rush. You were sat stiffly on the couch when Roy finally padded out of the bedroom. He was wearing a pair of Jason’s sweats, towel draped over his shoulders, a t-shirt dangling from his hand.
He dropped onto the far end of the couch with a satisfied groan, stretching until his spine popped.
“Damn, your water pressure puts mine to shame,” Roy said, running a towel through his damp hair. “I swear, I could live in that shower.”
“Uh. Yeah,” you muttered, clutching one of Jason’s novel’s in both hands like a lifeline.
Your eyes were fixed firmly on the pages in front of you even though you hadn’t read a single word. Every nerve screamed not to look, but your gaze still flicked up at the worst possible time—just as Roy tugged the t-shirt over his head, covering the ridges of his defined abs.
Don't pop a boner. Don't pop a boner. Don't—
Roy glanced at you, brow furrowing. “You’re kinda quiet tonight, Jaybird.”
“I’m fine,” you answered too quickly, wincing at how stiff it sounded as you slowly lowered the book.
Roy leaned back, studying you with those sharp, green eyes that had probably seen through more lies than you wanted to know. “You sure? You’re usually the one giving me shit the second I walk through the door.”
You forced what you hoped was Jason’s trademark smirk. “What, you want me to tell you that you look like shit?”
Roy barked a laugh. “There he is.” But his gaze lingered a second too long, like he wasn’t fully convinced. “You sure you’re okay? Is it about that chick that’s been twisting you up?”
Your head nearly snapped up. “What chick?”
Roy rolled his eyes. “Seriously? The one across the hall. Cute little thing, she is. I just don’t get why you don’t go for her already. You like her—just ask her out.”
Your stomach dropped. You fought the urge to blush, your pulse spiking with hope as Roy casually spoke Jason’s secret out loud. Was it possible that Jason likes me?
This—this was definitely something you weren’t supposed to be hearing. Ever since you’d known Jason, the two of you had fought like cats and dogs. Sure, he was hot and you’ve had the biggest crush on him since you’ve met him, but the second he opened his mouth, you wanted to punch his teeth in. He was infuriating, stubborn, impossible. And yet…
Before you could scramble for a response, the doorbell rang.
“Pizza is here!” you blurted, bolting upright. You muttered something about paying the delivery guy and all but fled the room, grateful for the excuse to escape before Roy could press you further.
Meanwhile, Jason wasn’t doing much better. In fact, Jason was dying. Slowly and painfully. Scratch that. He’d already died once, and he’d rather go through that again than sit here surrounded by wine-fuelled women.
He was currently lounging on a plush rug in Jess’s apartment, surrounded by three very drunk women, with more wine bottles than he cared to count and they were getting progressively more louder and vocal by the minute.
Jess slammed her glass down, face flushed and eyes glossy. “I can’t believe he cheated on me with her! Like—like what does she even have?!”
The others didn’t hesitate as they began to comfort her and trash her ex-boyfriend in equal measure. From the sounds of it, the asshole deserved every word. But Jason was not the comforting type. He was the kick a door down, put a fist through the guy’s jaw type— something he wouldn’t mind doing as the Red Hood when he got his body back.
Rubbing at your temples, fighting off the pounding headache, he muttered, “Sounds like a dick.”
“Yes!” Jess cried, pointing at him. “That’s exactly what he is—a dick! I should’ve listened to you when you told me.”
The other two nodded in agreement, one of them nudging Jason with a wine bottle. “Y/N always knows when a guy’s a dick. You’re like a bloodhound. But seriously, how come you haven’t found someone for yourself yet?”
“Probably because most men are dicks,” another one of them slurred, and they all collapsed into laughter.
Jason smirked faintly—finally, something I agree with.
“Actually, that’s not true,” Jess chimed in suddenly. She turned, eyes bright with mischief. “What about that hunk you were telling me about?”
Jason froze, every muscle in your body going stiff. “Uh… what?”
Jess laughed, leaning closer. “Oh, come on. You know exactly who I’m talking about. The six-foot giant you live across from. Jared? Jack?—”
“—Jason?” he blurted out, voice strangled.
Jess snapped her fingers. “Yes! That’s it! Jason.” She grinned, “I know you said you don’t think he feels the same way, but I think you just need to go for it! Guys are horrible at understanding signals, sometimes you just need to be direct.”
Jason stared at her, his brain stuttering. You liked him.
You—who constantly argued with him, who could barely stand being in the same room without bickering—had a crush on him.
For the first time all night, Jason didn’t know what the hell to say.
After hours of silently praying Roy wouldn’t catch onto the fact you weren’t actually Jason, you finally managed to get him out of Jason’s apartment. Across the city, Jason had endured his own private hell and only barely escaped Jess and her wine-drunk friends without putting a bullet in his own skull.
By the time he stumbled back into his apartment, you were sprawled on his couch in his body, watching some mindless action flick with the volume turned up too loud.
“How was Jess’s?” you asked casually, pressing mute and straightening up.
Jason dropped onto the other end of the couch with a groan. “I don’t understand how you girls can drink that much wine and talk that much.”
You smirked. “Occupational hazard.”
But the smirk slid right off your face when Jason mirrored it with one of his own. “So,” he drawled, “how was dealing with the boner for Harper?”
You nearly choked. “Excuse me?”
Jason’s grin widened.
You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Naked grandmas did the trick. But I must say, you men pop that shit way too easily, and you know what?”
Jason leaned back, eyes narrowing with amusement. “Oh, this should be good.”
You jabbed a finger at him. “It’s not fair. You vigilante guys strut around with your perfect muscles and broad shoulders and… and abs, and then expect people not to ogle.”
His lips twitched before pulling into a slow, dangerous smirk. “Wait. Does this mean you find me hot too?”
Your whole body stiffened. “What? I didn’t say that!”
“You kinda did,” he countered easily, leaning back against the cushions. His grin widened. “You said vigilante men. Plural. Plus…” He tilted his head, eyes glinting with wicked amusement. “You already admitted I have an objectively nice dick.”
Your cheeks heated. “Okay, yes, I did say that—but stop fishing for compliments!” You huffed, crossing your arms. “You know you’re… infuriatingly good looking.”
The words left you in a rush, so unfiltered they startled even you. Silence pressed in and before Jason could say anything, you shot to your feet.
“I—uh, water,” you muttered, escaping toward the kitchen. You grabbed a glass from the cupboard with trembling hands, filling it to the brim just to keep yourself busy. The sound of rushing water was the only thing keeping you from thinking too hard about what you’d just blurted out.
Infuriatingly good looking.
God, you wanted to crawl under the floor. Maybe if you drank fast enough, you could drown yourself. Probably not, but you did pray that he would let it go or brush it off.
Meanwhile, Jason blinked in shock, still processing your admission. The cocky comeback he had, dying on his tongue. For once, he had nothing to say as he got the last bit of confirmation he needed that Jess was saying the truth. He’d spent months worrying you couldn’t stand him, convinced you’d never return the same feelings he’d buried under sarcasm and arguments. Something, he chose to keep it hidden rather than risk losing the fragile bond you already shared.
But now? You’d admitted you found him attractive. Jess had all but shouted your crush to his face. It was the confidence boost he needed.
From behind you, Jason rose from the couch, moving to lean against the counter with arms crossed as he watched nearly chug the entire glass of water, he waited until you lowered the glass and set it down.
“You know,” he said casually, tone deceptively light, “I heard something interesting from Jess today.”
Your—his—expression pinched in confusion, then morphed into unease. “What?”
“She was asking when you’d finally give in and ask out the guy you were crushing on.” His lips curved as your eyes widened in shock.
“Y-yeah? Well…” you stammered, scrambling, “I heard something similar from Roy.”
Jason pushed off the counter, prowling closer. “Yeah?” he hummed, voice low. “And what exactly did he say, princess?”
You swallowed hard, trying for bravado that didn’t quite stick. “T-that you liked me.”
Jason’s grin only deepened. You’d been hoping he’d fluster, maybe retreat—but he didn’t. If girls’ night had taught him anything, it was that men were absolute garbage at understanding signals and looking back he’d been missing an entire billboard of them. And right now? He wasn’t about to waste another second pretending.
“Well,” he said, voice certain, “he was right about that. I do like you, princess. You like me. And I think it’s time we stop pretending otherwise.”
He closed the distance between you before you could answer. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”
Your breath hitched, words caught in your throat. All you could do was nod, slack-jawed and stunned by the sudden shift and confidence.
Jason’s arms slid up around your neck, tugging you down until his mouth pressed firmly against yours. For a heartbeat, the world fell away. Instinct took over—your hands curved around his waist, pulling him closer as you kissed him back without hesitation.
Just as quick, you both seemed to freeze. Lips still pressed together, both of your eyes snapped open in unison.
You jerked back, staring at the face across from you—your face, flushed and breathless. “This is weird as fuck,” you blurted, chest heaving. “I feel like I’m kissing myself.”
Technically you were…but you weren’t.
Jason only nodded as he stared back at his face. “So fucking weird.”
A beat of silence passed, both of you standing there, caught between laughter and horror.
“So…” you began slowly, swallowing hard, “try this again when we switch back to our original bodies?”
You think villains have a group chat or a system to warn others when something really bad happened to a hero and he now went rogue or something? Like
Two face: Everyone... The joker killed another Robin.
Every villain in the room:... WHAT?!
Caos strikes the room, the penguin is hyperventilating with a paper bag, Ivy is checking all the windows, scarecrown is fetal position in the corner having war flashbacks.
Two-face: OKAY EVERYONE STAY CALM, WE practice this, set the alarms and let's get the fuck out of this city.
Penguin: for how long?
Two-face: I don't know a year? Until he gets another one?
The Riddler: A YEAR? What about our business here?
Two-face: You want to deal with Batman right now? Be my guest, I'm getting the fuck out.
Various Arkhamites while I work on some other things
Close ups etc below
As many of you may be aware drawing is very hard so this is a mix of old backlog stuff (penny plunderer) and new (my jerrys). Anyway Gotham rogues is literally all I think about
The Bat-rogues and their feelings towards Batman can quite neatly be divided into three subcategories.
There's, 'He's just some annoying mook who keeps thwarting my crimes' (ie Penguin, Scarecrow, Two Face)
There's 'I want to have sex with him and I can't be normal about it' (ie Joker, Riddler, Hugo Strange, Catwoman)
And there's 'I hate his guts but he keeps insisting on showing me empathy and this frustrates me to no end' (ie Ivy, Freeze, Croc)
But there's also a secret fourth category with only Harley Quinn in it that I like to call 'we're actually best friends he just doesn't know it yet.'
This issue of Batman feels like one big acid trip.
Dick tries to strangle Bruce in the shower, which, huh, is uncharacteristic to say the slightest-
-Except wait-
-Bruce kills him, but it’s a clone. Or a robot. We don’t know, but wait- there’s a DUMPSTER full of them, which… why, how, who else died???
But there’s no time to think about it because wait there’s another Dick and wait he’s being chucked down the stairs and wait Bruce broke his neck and wait-
-the blood is yellow so he IS a robot but hold on what are you doing with him where are we going-
IS THIS GETTING OVERWHELMING YET??? ARE YOU OVERWHELMED? GREAT QUESTION ANYWAYS-
-BRUCE HAS A FUCKING GUN-
-BUT THEN WAIT THE NORMAL BRUCE AND DICK COME BACK LIKE “hehe sowwy” AND ALFRED IS LOSING HIS FUCKING SHIT
