She almost never gets drunk, basically because it takes too many bottles to make her feel something, but after winning an important battle, she decided that it was the time to buy enough beers for her.
There were more people in the room than both of you, but for Diana, it felt like you were the only one there. She was sure that she could see a glowing pink halo around your body that attracted her to you. Did you cast a spell on her or something? No, that's not your type of power.
And then it comes the worst part, she opens her mouth.
“You,” she says, voice lower than usual, a little slurred at the edges, “are unfairly beautiful.”
You blink, laugh softly. “Diana, you’re drunk.”
She waves a hand, nearly knocking over her bottle. “I am aware. It is rare. And annoying. But necessary.” She shifts closer, thigh pressing against yours. “I have… a confession.”
The room is loud, but her words cut through everything. Your heart stutters.
“Okay,” you say, careful. “I’m listening.”
She stares at you for a long moment, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. Then she just… says it.
“I am in love with you.”
The words are simple. Direct. No flowery speech, no metaphor. Just Diana, drunk and honest.
You freeze. She doesn’t.
“I have been for… a while,” she continues, frowning like she’s trying to do math. “Months? Years? Time is stupid.” She pokes your arm lightly. “You are kind. And brave. And when you smile, I feel...” She gestures vaguely at her chest. “warm. Here. All the time.”
You’re staring now, mouth slightly open. She notices, tilts her head.
“You are not saying anything.”
You swallow. “Diana, you're—”
She leans in closer, eyes wide and earnest. “I do not say this because of the alcohol. The alcohol is just… making me brave. Stupidly brave.” She pauses. “Like Achilles, but with feelings.”
You laugh, soft and surprised. She smiles radiantly, a little wobbly.
“I want to court you,” she says. “Properly. With… dates. And flowers. And no battles interrupting. Though battles are romantic sometimes.”
You reach out, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Your hand lingers.
“I’d like that,” you say quietly.
Her whole face lights up. “Truly?”
You nod. “Truly.”
“Good,” she whispers. “Because I am very bad at keeping secrets when I am in love.”
You kiss her cheek. She sighs, content, and slumps against your shoulder.
KARA ZOR EL (suggestive)
The apartment is quiet tonight, just the soft hum of the fridge and the distant rumble of Metropolis traffic outside.
You’re sprawled on the couch in one of Kara’s old hoodies (it smells like her, sunlight and vanilla), legs kicked up, scrolling absently on your phone.
Kara’s been out with the League celebrating a win and she texted you an hour ago: on my way home. might be a little tipsy. love youuuu with about twenty heart emojis.
The door opens with a dramatic whoosh, and Kara floats in, hair windswept, cheeks flushed an adorable pink, eyes glassy and sparkling.
She’s still in her Supersuit, cape slightly crooked, boots left at the door in a messy pile.
“Baby!” she announces to the room, voice louder than necessary, arms wide like she’s about to hug the entire apartment. “I’m home!”
You laugh, setting your phone aside. “Hey, you. Come here.”
She doesn’t walk, she glides over, wobbling just a little, and flops face-first onto your lap with a happy sigh. Her head lands right between your breasts, cheek squished against the soft fabric of the hoodie. She nuzzles in immediately, arms wrapping around your waist like you’re her personal pillow.
“Mmm,” she mumbles, voice muffled against your chest. “You’re so soft. And you smell like… like home. And cookies. Do we have cookies? No, wait—you’re the cookie.”
You snort, threading your fingers through her hair. “You’re ridiculous when you’re drunk.”
She tilts her head up, chin resting on your sternum, eyes huge and shiny.
“I love you,” she says, simple and earnest, like she’s just discovered gravity. “Like… a lot. A lot lot. Did I tell you that today? I should tell you every day. Every hour. Every minute.”
You smile, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You did. Multiple times. Via text. Voice memo. And that very loud phone call while you were flying home.”
She giggles and buries her face back in your chest.
“Good. Because it’s true. And also—”
She pulls back again, eyes dropping to your breasts with sudden, intense focus.
“These. These are… amazing.”
She cups them gently through the hoodie, thumbs brushing your nipples like she’s handling something sacred.
“They’re so soft. And perfect. And… they’re mine, right? I can say that? I’m allowed?”
You laugh. “Yeah, you’re allowed.”
She leans in, nuzzling between them like she’s trying to climb inside you.
“I love them. I love how they feel. I love when you let me sleep on them. I love when they’re all… squishy and warm. And when you’re on top and they’re right here.” She presses her face deeper, voice muffled. “I can hear your heartbeat. It’s my favorite sound.”
You stroke her hair, letting her ramble. She’s still drunk, words tumbling out in a sweet stream.
“I think about them all the time,” she confesses, voice dropping to a whisper. “On patrol. During meetings. When I’m trying to be serious. I just… think about burying my face in them and never leaving. Is that weird? It’s probably weird. But I love you. And I love these. And I love you.”
You tilt her chin up, kiss her softly. She melts into it, kissing back slow and sloppy, tasting like cheap beer and happiness. When you pull back, she’s smiling utterly smitten.
“I love you too,” you whisper. “All of you. Even the drunk, boob-obsessed parts.”
She sighs, content, and flops back down, face smushed between your breasts again.
“Good,” she mumbles. “Because I’m never moving.”
You laugh quietly, holding her close as she drifts toward sleep, still mumbling sweet, slurred nonsense against your skin.
KORIAND'R
She’s glowing, literally, a soft orange aura around her skin, hair floating like there’s no gravity. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright and glassy, and she’s been glued to your side all night, arm looped through yours, head on your shoulder more often than not.
Now the others have drifted to the dartboard or the bar, and it’s just you two in the booth. She’s halfway through her… seventh? eighth? drink, staring at you like you hung the stars.
“You,” she says suddenly. “You are… so pretty. Like really pretty. Did you know that? I think about it all the time.”
You laugh, soft. “You’re drunk, Kori.”
She waves a hand, nearly knocking over her glass. “Drunk is good! Drunk is honest! And I am very honest right now.”
She leans in, too close, warm breath on your cheek. “I love you.”
The words tumble out like they’ve been waiting forever.
You blink. She doesn’t stop.
“I love you so much it’s stupid. Like dumb stupid. I think about you when I fly. I think about you when I fight. I think about you when I’m supposed to be listening to Dick’s plans and I’m just like… ‘she has such nice hands.’”
She grabs your hand, holds it up like evidence. “See? Nice hands. I want them on me all the time.”
You’re trying not to laugh, but your heart is pounding. “Kori—”
“No, wait, I’m not done!” She’s babbling now, words spilling fast and messy. “I love your laugh. And your eyes. And how you always know when I’m sad even when I smile. And your hair. I want to braid it. And kiss you. And—oh—your boobs. They’re perfect. I dream about them. I want to put my face in them and never leave.”
She demonstrates by dramatically dropping her head to your chest, nuzzling with a happy sigh. “Like this. Perfect.”
You’re flushed, laughing quietly, fingers threading through her hair. “You’re ridiculous.”
She lifts her head, eyes wide and earnest.
“I’m serious! I love you. I want to be your girlfriend. For real. No more ‘just friends who kiss sometimes.’ I want to hold your hand in public and tell everyone you’re mine. And cook for you, badly, probably, but try! And fly you to the moon if you want!”
She pauses, frowning. “Do you want to go to the moon? We could. I’m strong enough.”
You cup her face, thumb brushing her cheek. “Kori. I don't need the moon. I love you too.”
Her whole face lights up, her glow brightens. “Really?!”
“Really.”
She squeals and launches herself at you, wrapping arms and legs around you like a koala.
“I’m never letting go! You’re mine now! Officially! I’m going to kiss you so much!”
You laugh into her hair, holding her tight. She pulls back just enough to kiss you, messy, eager, tasting like tequila and joy. When she finally lets you breathe, she’s smiling so wide it’s blinding.
“Best night ever,” she declares. “Even better than the time I punched a robot in the face.”
You kiss her again. “Yeah. Best night ever.”
(She falls asleep on your shoulder on the cab ride home, drooling in your top, you'll tease her about it tomorrow.
DONNA TROY
The Titans Tower common room is a mess of empty bottles and laughter after a hard-won victory. Most of the team has tapped out, but Donna?
Donna’s drunk.
She’s on the couch beside you, thigh pressed to yours, cheeks flushed a deep rose that makes her look softer than usual. Her dark hair is loose, a little tangled from her head tossing back drinks. Her eyes are glassy, fixed on you with that intense Amazon stare, but it’s wobbly now, frustrated.
She’s been quieter than usual all night, nursing her drinks and stealing glances at you. Now the alcohol has loosened her tongue and her temper. She turns suddenly, nearly sloshing her drink on your lap.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she says, voice sharp but slurred at the edges. “I’m in love with you, and it’s stupid, and I hate it.”
You blink. She keeps going, words tumbling out like she’s been holding them back for months.
“I’ve been in love with you for—forever! And you’re going to say no, I know you are, because why would you want me? I’m just the spare Amazon, the second-string Wonder Girl, and you’re—you’re perfect, and funny, and you make me feel things I don’t even have words for in Greek!”
She’s on her feet now, pacing, hands gesturing wildly.
“I tried to ignore it! I tried to be your friend! But every time you smile at me, or laugh at my dumb stories, or just fucking exist I want to kiss you! And hold you! And tell everyone you’re mine! But you’ll say no, and then it’ll be awkward, and I’ll have to pretend I’m fine when I’m dying inside!”
Her voice cracks on the last word. She stops pacing, stares at you, chest heaving, eyes wet and angry.
“So just say it,” she snaps. “Say no and I'll move on.”
“Donna.”
She flinches like she’s bracing for a hit.
“I love you too.”
She freezes. Her mouth opens. Closes.
“What?”
You smile, reach for her hand. “I love you. Have for a while. I was waiting for you to say something.”
She stares, blinking fast. “What? No—what? You—you love me? Like… love love?”
You nod.
She makes a strangled sound and then she’s on you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, face buried in your neck.
“You absolute idiot,” she mumbles, voice muffled and wobbly. “I was ready to fight a god over this.”
You laugh, hold her close. “No need. You’ve got me.”
She pulls back, eyes shining, and kisses you.
“I’m never drinking again,” she declares. “Or maybe I am. This worked out pretty well.”
You kiss her again. The team pretends not to notice from the corner but they’re all grinning. Donna doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the night.
BARBARA GORDON
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand at 2:17 a.m., the screen lighting up with Barbara’s name. You fumble for it, half-asleep, heart already picking up because Babs never calls this late unless it’s an emergency.
You answer. “Babs? You okay?”
There’s a long pause, then a shaky breath and a voice that’s definitely not sober.
“Heyyy,” she draws out, soft and slurred. “Hi. It’s me. Barbara. Your Barbara. Wait—no, not your Barbara. That’s… that’s the problem.”
You sit up, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Are you drunk?”
A wet little laugh. “I opened the good whiskey. The one Dick got me for my birthday. And then I finished it. Alone. Like a loser.”
You’re already pulling on a hoodie. “Where are you? Your place?”
“Clocktower,” she sniffles. “Couldn’t make it home. Too… spinny.”
You’re out the door in thirty seconds. “Stay put. I’m coming.”
She keeps talking the whole cab ride.
“I didn’t mean to call,” she says at one point, voice thick. “But I was looking at pictures of us. And you were smiling at me in all of them. And I just… I miss you. All the time. Even when you’re right there.”
Your chest aches. You’ve been dancing around this for years—best friends, partners on cases, late-night rooftop talks, the kind of closeness that feels like more but neither of you ever named.
“I miss you too,” you say quietly.
“Nooo,” she drags out, starting to cry. “You don’t get it. I love you. Like love love you. The stupid kind. The kind where I want to hold your hand and kiss you when you’re not looking and wake up next to you and—ugh—why is this so hard?”
You’re at the Clocktower now, racing up the stairs. “Babs, open the door.”
Her hair’s a mess, eyes red and glassy, wearing an oversized GCPD shirt and pajama shorts. She looks small, leaning on the doorframe.
“You came,” she whispers, like she didn’t believe you would.
You step inside, close the door, pull her into your arms. She clings to you, face buried in your neck, crying quietly.
“I’m so in love with you it hurts,” she mumbles against your skin. “And I was scared you’d never—hic—feel the same. And I’m drunk and stupid and—”
You pull back, cup her face. Wipe her tears with your thumbs.
“I love you too.”
She freezes. Blinks. Tears still falling.
“What?”
“I love you,” you say again, clearer. “I was scared too.”
She stares at you, mouth open.
Then she starts crying harder (happy tears this time) and launches herself at you, arms around your neck, legs wrapping around your waist like she’s trying to climb inside you.
“You love me?” she sobs into your shoulder. “Really?”
“Really.”
She taste like whiskey and salt when you kiss her, but you can't stop, it's kind of addictive. You stay with her in bed. She doesn’t let go the whole night.
She wakes up mortified the next morning. You kiss her quiet. She stops being mortified real fast.
DINAH LANCE (suggestive)
The bar is a blur of neon and laughter, the kind of place where vigilantes go to pretend they’re normal for a night. You’re younger, still riding the high of your first big win with the Birds, and Dinah (the Black Canary, your mentor, your crush, your everything) dragged you out to celebrate.
You meant to pace yourself. You really did.
But the shots kept coming, and Dinah’s laugh is like velvet, and her hand on your back when she leans in to talk over the music makes your brain short-circuit. So you drink. A lot.
Now you’re stumbling out into the cool night air, Dinah’s arm around your waist, holding you up like you weigh nothing. Her leather jacket smells like her, smoke and vanilla.
“You’re a mess,” she says, amused, steering you toward her bike. Her voice is low, warm, a little rough from singing earlier.
You giggle, leaning into her heavily. “You’re pretty.”
She snorts. “Oh god, you’re so drunk.”
“Drunk and honest,” you mumble, face pressed to her shoulder.
She gets you onto the bike behind her, makes sure your arms are tight around her waist. The ride to her place is a blur of wind and city lights. You cling to her, cheek against her back, breathing her in.
Inside her apartment, she half-carries you to the couch. You flop down, world spinning. She kneels, pulls your boots off slow.
“You’re gonna hate yourself tomorrow,” she says, but there’s no judgment, just fond exasperation.
You grab her wrist before she can stand. “Stay.”
She pauses, blue eyes soft. “I’m just getting water.”
“No, I don't want water.” You tug harder, pulling her down until she’s sitting beside you. “I want you.”
She sighs, but doesn’t pull away. You shift, clumsy, until you’re curled against her side, head on her chest. She’s warm. Strong. Her heartbeat is steady under your ear.
You’re quiet for a minute, then the words spill out.
“I love you.”
She goes still.
You keep going, voice thick with alcohol and want.
“Not like friend love. Like… love love. Want-to-kiss-you love. Want-you-to-hold-me-down-and—” You hiccup. “make me scream your name love.”
Your hand slides under her shirt, fingers tracing the hard lines of her abs. She catches your wrist, gentle but firm.
“Hey,” she says, voice low. “You’re drunk.”
“I know,” you mumble, nuzzling closer, lips brushing her collarbone. “But it’s true. Always wanted you. You’re so strong and hot and” You press a sloppy kiss to her neck. “I think about you when I touch myself.”
She exhales, shaky. Her hand cups the back of your head, holding you close but not encouraging.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” she says, soft but firm. “When you’re sober.”
You whine, cling tighter. “Nooo. Sleep with me. Just cuddling. Please.”
She hesitates. You feel it—the way her thumb strokes your hair, the way her body doesn’t pull away.
“Okay,” she whispers finally. “Just cuddling.”
She helps you to bed, strips you down to your underwear with careful, clinical hands that still make you shiver. She changes into a tank and shorts, slides in behind you.
You curl into her immediately, back to her chest, her arm draped over you. Her hand rests on your stomach, warm and steady.
You’re asleep in minutes, breathing her in. She stays awake longer, fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin, lips brushing your shoulder.
Tomorrow, you’ll talk. Tonight, she holds you like you’re already hers.
You wake up hungover. She’s still there, arm tight around you, smiling when you groan.
“Morning, lightweight.”
You hide your face in her neck. “I don't regret anything I said.”
She kisses your temple. “Good. We’ll talk now.”
TALIA AL GHUL (+18)
The mission debrief was supposed to be quick. Go over the extraction points, confirm no tails, file the report. But Talia had other ideas. She locked the door of the Paris safehouse with a soft click, kicked off her boots, and disappeared into the kitchenette without a word. You heard glass clinking, the creak of an old cabinet, and then she came back holding a dusty green bottle like it was treasure.
“Absinthe,” she said, voice low and amused. “Real stuff. You ever try it?”
You shook your head, already feeling the adrenaline from the op bleeding into something looser. “Thought it makes you hallucinate.”
“It makes you honest,” she corrected, popping the cork.
The scent hit you first—anise, sharp and sweet, dangerous. She poured two generous glasses, the liquid turning milky as she added water from a chipped carafe.
“To clean extractions,” she toasted, clinking her glass against yours.
One glass turned into two. Two turned into three. The room got softer around the edges, the old velvet curtains glowing in the lamplight, the Eiffel Tower a faint sparkle through the rain-streaked window.
You both ended up on the wide bed, shoes long gone, mission gear traded for something comfortable. Talia had slipped into a black silk robe that barely tied at the waist, the fabric clinging to her curves, slipping open just enough to tease. You’d stolen one of her oversized button-down shirts, nothing underneath, because why bother in a safehouse?
You were laughing at something stupid now, some near-miss from the op that felt hilarious in hindsight. Your legs had tangled somewhere between the second and third glass, her bare thigh warm against yours, her foot sliding idly along your calf. Every time she shifted, the silk robe gaped a little more, revealing the swell of her breast, the dark shadow between her thighs.
“God, you’re beautiful when you laugh like that,” she said suddenly, voice husky from the drink. Her eyes were glassy, dark, fixed on your mouth.
You felt heat crawl up your neck. “You’re one to talk. That robe should be illegal.”
She smirked, leaning closer, the scent of absinthe on her breath. “You complaining?”
“Never,” you whispered.
Your hand found her knee, tracing slow circles on her skin. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she let out a soft hum, her own fingers brushing your thigh under the hem of the shirt.
“You know,” she murmured, “I’ve thought about this. Too many times. On stakeouts. In safehouses exactly like this. Watching you across the room, pretending I wasn’t imagining what you’d feel like.”
Your breath caught. “Talia…”
“I’d touch myself thinking about you,” she went on, voice dropping lower, filthier. “Quiet, so you wouldn’t hear. Fingers sliding inside, pretending it was your tongue. Your hands pinning me down. Fuck, I’d come so hard biting my own arm to stay silent.”
The confession hit you like a shot of the absinthe. You shifted closer, your thigh pressing between hers now.
“I did the same,” you admitted. “Every time you wore that tight gear on ops. Imagining peeling it off you. Tasting how wet you’d be for me.”
Her eyes fluttered. “Show me,”
You didn’t need to be told twice.
Your lips crashed into hers, hungry and desperate, the taste of absinthe sharp and sweet between your tongues. She kissed like she fought—controlled, precise, but with an edge that made your pulse race. Her hand slid up your thigh, fingers digging into your hip as she pulled you closer, guiding you until you were straddling one of her legs.
She broke the kiss just long enough to tug the shirt over your head, tossing it aside. Cool air hit your skin, but her gaze was hotter, raking over you like she was memorizing every inch.
“On your back,” she ordered, the kind that made your stomach flip.
You obeyed instantly, sinking into the pillows as she shrugged off the silk robe. Naked now, she was breathtaking; strong shoulders, full breasts, the curve of her waist leading to hips you wanted to bruise with your grip. She crawled over you, predatory, settling between your thighs.
But she didn’t stay there long. With a wicked smile, she shifted, turning until her knees bracketed your hips. She lowered herself slowly, deliberately, until her slick heat pressed against yours. The first contact made you both gasp.
“Like this,” she murmured, rocking forward once, testing. “I want to feel you come apart under me.”
You moaned, hands flying to her thighs, gripping tight as she started to move. Slow at first, grinding in deliberate circles, her clit dragging against yours with every roll of her hips. The friction was electric, building fast and relentless. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of your head, dark hair falling around your face like a curtain.
“Look at me,” she commanded, and your eyes locked on hers.
She sped up, thighs flexing, breath hitching as she chased her pleasure. Every grind sent sparks through you, your own hips bucking up to meet her, desperate for more. The room filled with the sounds of it, wet skin sliding together, your shared gasps and moans, the creak of the bed under her rhythm.
“T-talia—hah—please—”
“That’s it,” she growled, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling you harder against her. “Give it to me. I want to feel you lose it.”
You were close, so close, but she was closer. Her movements grew erratic, sharper, her breath coming in ragged pants against your lips. You could feel her swelling against you, throbbing, slicker with every thrust.
“Come for me first,” you begged, voice breaking. “I want to feel you—”
She slammed down harder, once, twice and then she shattered.
Her whole body tensed, thighs clamping around your hips as she cried out, a low, guttural sound that went straight through you. Her clit pulsed against yours, hot and wet, and in the middle of it, eyes locked on yours, she whispered it.
“I love you.”
The words hit harder than her orgasm, raw and breathless, like they’d been ripped out of her. She kept moving through the aftershocks, grinding slow now, drawing it out, until she collapsed forward, forehead pressed to yours, still trembling.
You wrapped your arms around her, holding tight, heart pounding so hard you were sure she could feel it.
“I love you too,” you whispered back, voice shaking.
She smiled against your lips and kissed you slow and deep, like the mission was finally over.
I love all your headcanons for the DC men! (Especially for med student/doctor Damian). Are there any others that you wish someone would ask about so you can share them?
If that's too vague and/or you don't really have any right now without a prompt, how do you imagine their choice in homes/apartments? (Like who picks an industrial style loft vs who picks a townhouse, who's a bit of a slop vs who deep cleans religiously, etc...)
hiii omg i love this ask sm because i’m really such a yapper honestly and tysm for all your kind comments on my posts esp the dami related ones 💗 !!
first off i have sooo many headcanons for so many characters i wouldn’t even know where to start and SECOND i am the last person you want to ask about homes because i am annoying despite knowing zilch about architecture and other things related to design but i am a nerd who loves movies (esp old hollywood) and one thing a home will do is tell you EVERYTHING about the person living in it
for BRUCE we all know about wayne manor already, and i do love the depictions of it as a dracularian castle on the outskirts of gotham with dark clouds looming over it (because why not) but !! i imagine the manor to be warm toned, lots of vintage furniture, very stately and sort of untouched like a divorcee’s spare mansion in the english countryside but once bruce gets well into age it starts looking the way it used to when his parents were alive, because now it’s being lived in and i think he would enjoy having a partner who matches that warmth in a way, like his safety net, because this is where his defenses are down.
HOWEVER !!! i was formerly obsessed with batman : the animated series and batman beyond (we love you terry) therefore i love the idea of bruce having a penthouse somehwere in the heart of the city, which, if we want to make it work could be somewhere in wayne tower / the building that houses wayne enterprises. this is where he’s bruce wayne — billionaire, playboy, ceo, socialite. it serves as his main set of eyes on what’s going on in the city tbh, which i sort of mentioned briefly in one of the first few paragraphs of this fic.
so very late 80s luxury, deep toned, sensual atmosphere. just looking at it you can already hear some soft, sexy jazz playing. you’re on his lap after a gala, undoing his tie while he lets out the longest sigh you’ve ever heard then practically melts into your arms.
DICK on the other hand i think is an apartment guy through and through especially at the height of his career as nightwing. idr much about his old apartment besides the fact that it got blown up 😭 but !! i honestly believe him to be a pretty neat and homey guy. an apartment somewhere not exactly in the heart of the city but in a vibrant neighborhood with a big building and lots of neighbors, somewhere with easy access for him to come and go when he has to get stuff done but also somewhere that’s his.
i’m thinking romcom vibes, soft lighting, not messy but a good amount of clutter that tells you alot about his personality. he for sure loves hosting, and he’s a little extra so he for sure has scented candles, fancy lamps, exquisite curtains because he most definitely spends lots of time browsing through furniture catalogues and whatever’s trending in home decor. also, way too many unnecessary appliances. lives like he’s in the sims 4.
might secretly be a wannabe househusband. he doesn’t play about cleaning for sure, i think he’s the second cleanliest here. if and when you finally decide to move in with him, he sort of stretches his space immediately to accommodate — more space on the nightstand, an empty kitchen drawer, puts in an extra hook for you to hang your keys, he’s a LOVER.
JASON is sort of complicated for me, in a sense. because i honestly either see him as :
1) a brownstone kind of guy who wants to stay rooted either near his community or somewhere in gotham that he knows like the back of his hand — like a friendly neighborhood red hood kind of vibe. also, the vibes of a brownstone sort of fit him because i think once he gets older and his operation has matured, he’s gonna need a bigger base regardless and a shabby apartment just won’t do.
if he did go into the brownstone sort of life, i think he would either room with roy at first, or else the place is gonna be awfully empty. when he starts dating you, however, the place gradually fills up with so much stuff. stacked bookshelves, random things from the flea markets, odd little souvenirs, there’s stuff everywhere.
i’m thinking of a cozy little kitchen, posters almost peeling off the walls, a creaky little walk-up that grows on you the longer you stay. i can definitely see him settling down here, cooking late dinners and dancing with you in the kitchen.
OR number 2) where he goes for a townhouse on the outskirts of gotham. which, hear me out, i think maybe he would seek out somewhere that’s close enough to the city for his operations but just far enough that he can maintain his identity and a sort of impersonal relationship. this one is moreso for business rather than pleasure but !! if he’s dating you and you decide to move in with him here, i think it would do wonders for his peace of mind.
and i KNOW people are gonna be like ‘well i don’t really see jason being the type to live in the suburbs yadda yadda’ and to that i raise you, perhaps that is exactly what he needs !! he needs nosy rich ass neighbors that are gossipy housewives, bratty heirs to fortune 500s, ivy league dropouts, frat bros with way too much time on their hands. guys 😭😭 it’s just the perfect place for a red hood base i’m sorry this is a hub of information just waiting to be tapped.
GUYS WALK WITH ME PLEASE !!! jason has a flair for the dramatic and he is as cunning and sneaky (or tries to be) as they come and the last place anyone would ever go looking for red hood is gotham’s suburbia. playing house. baking cookies with his neighbour, tutoring the kid down the street, cozying up all day with you. i beg you see my vision here.
TIM is his papa’s mini me. contrary, though i love the idea of him being a burnt out college student at some random ivy that sucks the soul out of him by day and fuels his caffeine addiction — i don’t see him as a coffee addict or a burnt out college kid. he’s canonically lived in lots of luxury places (penthouses, condos, etc) and he’s a weird, funny little guy. if i think about him outside of a college setting, this mfer is bruce’s twin for sure. therefore, i am inclined to say he’d have a penthouse apartment (or maybe a studio apartment) somewhere in the heart of the city, smack-dab in the financial district of gotham, maybe in one of the many wayne enterprises company apartments.
so much clutter. he’s messy but there is method to it, okay? he knows exactly where everything is (he does not). but above all a pristine view, a mindfuck between maximalist and minimalist decor, very 80s yuppie core if we think about it longer and his apartment is just one big dorm room that he desperately tries to clean and impress you with everytime you come over so please take it easy on him.
DAMIAN is classy. let’s never get that twisted. i could picture him in plenty of homes but honestly the idea of med student damian living in a loft / studio apartment somewhere near his uni is so intriguing to me. he wants maximum privacy, which campus dorms do not afford, especially considering the fact that he needs to come and go with ease, but he also wants some level of human connection that isn’t too invasive.
he also doesn’t want a luxury apartment. he doesn’t want a keycard or a doorman because frankly it sort of irks him. what he does want however, is a set of keys to his own place, a squaky fire escape out back (he’s charmed by it), just enough privacy from being so high up in the building but just enough connection that he gets to pet the cat who lives with the old man on the third floor. he deep cleans, has top of the line vacuums and air purifiers, would hand wash his windows and floors if he had time. but it’s quiet, sort of eccentric in a sense yet also manages to be very intimate. especially considering that 99% of people do not and will never know his address 😭
with you it’s like whiplash. he’s not exactly robin, but he’s not exactly MS1 Wayne either. he’s just yours and i think living together might be one of the most intimate things to him actually.
BARBARA , my sweet girl. i had to include her even for a little bit because it got me thinking. she is definitely the brownstone type to me honestly. i know we know about the clock tower and burnside and a bunch of other places she’s lived but i really do see her in a cozy brownstone that’s not too far from old gotham, so near enough to the clock tower for oracle work. just something about a fridge full of magnets, bubble baths with her, dinner parties and late night talks on the balcony screams babs’ home to me.
🗒️ shout out architectural digest and those interior decor accounts on pinterest ily 💗
You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.
Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess
Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.
Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Translation or reposting to other platforms is also strictly prohibited without the author's permission
Thank you.
You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3
Big thanks to @seleneprince for being the English beta reader
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Masterlist
Chapter Three - Seeing into the void
Studying today cost you more than usual.
At first, as your teacher began the class, you thought the best thing would be to study, sake advantage of the high‑level education being part of this family can offer you for now, but you were still too overwhelmed by last night and this morning. Halfway through, you thought about going to tell your da-… Bruce, if he could let you skip your classes today.
He probably would have agreed, even though you… even though Bruce doesn’t hug you, pay attention to you, or look at you, he never refused your requests—so long as they weren’t about giving you attention.
Which is equivalent to nothing, because you don’t even speak to him when you need something. Almost every time you needed anything, if not every single time, you went through Alfred.
Sometimes you wondered if Bruce even listened to what Alfred told him, or if he just agreed to get you out of his hair. One of these days you’ll ask for something ridiculous just to test your theory.
Though, with what you now know, his attitude toward you makes sense.
In the end, you decided not to say anything because, first, it would be very odd to suddenly skip classes; you already had Tim worried about you after last night, and you didn’t want to worsen his strange behavior. And second, you thought that once your last class ended, you’d feel more relieved.
But you didn’t.
Somehow—though you have no idea how—you made it through today’s lessons until you reached your knitting workshop.
You stared at the balls of yarn in front of you with no enthusiasm. Yarn is the only thing you know that truly belongs to you in this house; neither your family nor your place in this mansion are yours. You never should’ve been here in the first place.
Your room is empty because you wanted to save space for the gifts you hoped they’d give you…after all, you have like five siblings!
You have five… five people who live so close to you… and the rest… and… You don't know how to refer to such a large family where you steal someone's place.
Part of you is relieved those spaces remain vacant, if they’d given you anything, you’d feel it didn’t belong to you.
Instead, there are only your basic things, plus decorations, cushions, and blankets you made yourself from yarn you knitted. Some were ugly, but you still loved them. And now, you love them even more, because they’re the only things truly yours in this empty mansion.
Despite that, you haven't started knitting, you haven't picked up the needles, you've already received instructions from your teacher, but you don't have the spirit to start anything.
—Sweetheart, is something wrong?— she asked, noticing your distant gaze. You felt a slight chill run through you when her voice pulled you from your trance.
— No… It’s just me… — You didn’t know what to say. Mrs. Sophia had always been so kind to you, and you wanted to tell her everything. But you’d decided not to tell anyone… and now you didn’t know who to trust. What if she was only nice because of the money Mr. Bruce paid her?
— We can end the class now, if you’d like. — Her tone was gentle. She approached, as if to place her hand on your shoulder, but stopped herself and lowered her arm. “Today’s work will be your homework, okay?”
Honestly, you have no energy to continue—even though this was your favorite workshop, the one you’d requested yourself.
— I’d really appreciate that… — you managed your best smile.
A few minutes later, the room was empty.
You walked through the hallways, feeling even more distant because of what you’d discovered. You had to set a plan in motion to escape this place, and erase every trace proving you’d ever been a Wayne, before the Joker learned of your existence, if he doesn’t already know and hasn’t used that information against you.
You have five years, counting this one, to plan how to flee a clown with a record for breaking out of a maximum‑security prison, and to wipe your identity from the world’s greatest detective.
You returned to your room, left your unfinished assignments from every class on your desk, and instead of beginning them as you normally would, you went straight to look under your bed for the three comics.
Thank goodness Alfred hadn’t tidied up today; with everything that happened, you’d forgotten to hide your daily pill, You saved yourself that trouble and the trouble of explaining everything.
You sat on the bed holding the two comics. Having them back in your hands and in front of you made your body feel heavy and your breathing quicken, you hadn’t touched these comics since before you discovered Tim’s double life.
You took your small Bluey wool plush and squeezed it, breathing as Tim had taught you to the night before.
You have to calm down. You can't panic every time you see the future on some pages. Your crisis will be worse if you let what you saw there happen.
Your heart steadies as air fills your lungs more normally. The poor blue plush in your hands is a little damaged by the force of your grip, you’re sure your nails could have pierced the fabric.
You’ll fix it later. For now, your priority is to think about what you’ll do with your life in the years you have left to plan.
What would someone as brilliant as Bruce or Tim do in your situation?
This isn’t a case, unless you consider your escape and disappearance one.
Well, the first thing you’d do if you were a vigilante hunting a criminal would be… investigate. Gather information.
Exactly. First, you’d compile every detail from the comics you thought might be useful, and with that, you’d figure out your best options for getting away.
Alfred was slightly surprised.
— Since class began, I’ve noticed her distant. I should check that her health is all right… though perhaps she didn’t sleep well. — all your teachers told him. It wasn’t a big deal, until Mrs. Sophia, your favorite teacher from your favorite workshop, said the same thing as she bade him goodbye, leaving much earlier than usual.
He, more than anyone, knew you were behaving out of the ordinary. He wanted to ask young Tim what happened last night, but Tim had already rushed off to solve the case Bruce assigned him. Although Alfred already knew that your strange behavior had begun long before Tim accompanied you to bed, after all, you’d skipped lunch and taken refuge in your room hours earlier.
Dinner’s aroma began to fill the kitchen. Alfred silently replayed your reaction when Tim led you into the study and how you spent the rest of the day isolated. He granted you the space you needed, though it weighed on him to see you so alone.
He rested a hand on the phone, waiting for the pot to start boiling, intending to call Tim just to ask if anything else had happened… but in that moment he received a message from Tim: reserve a plate for dinner and “I'll be there in a while.”
Alfred smiled softly to himself. At least you wouldn’t be alone with him and Damian. Even if you appreciate your silence, a little company never hurts.
He called young Damian, who’d returned from the academy a while ago, then welcomed Tim back, and finally came for you. Knowing you, You yourself would tell him what was happening to you.
When you opened the door to your room, despite looking clearly tired and somewhat sad, you seemed a little more determined. The smile you gave him when he saw him, though forced, had a hint of sincerity. Although he was somewhat relieved that you seemed better than you had this morning, a part of him knew something wasn't right with you.
—Young lady, has it been your stomach or your spirits that decided to go on strike today?— You shook your head, your signature smile still in place—so different from Bruce’s, yet one he cherished like a child’s.
— I’m sorry, Alfred… it’s just that today…— The sentence was left unfinished, just like your energy after investigating. You didn't want to cause more problems. You had enough with Tim. You didn't want to worry the only one who had the decency to look at you in this family.
You gathered information and jotted it down on the back of your knitting-pattern notebook: the things you noticed at first glance—like the Joker’s plan, the day and how he carried out the kidnapping. The location. Simple details, instead of digging deeper or analyzing everything thoroughly.
You noticed that, in part, Mr. Wayne seemed a little worried when Serelith first came into their lives. Perhaps you could worry him as a person rather than a family member. It wasn't the best, but you could understand.
—You don’t need to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable, however, you do need to eat some real food at least.
Alfred's voice brought you out of your thoughts. You laughed and walked beside Alfred toward the table. You thought it best to give him an excuse for your attitude. Even if Alfred wasn't the type of person to pressure you, that strange tension in the air that had been there since yesterday might disappear.
If you were a night watchman… What lie would you tell? Maybe something that's already happened before?
— The truth is… some kids at the store recognized me from an old photo. — It was a harmless lie, no one had actually recognized you, not even the clerk. But Alfred hadn’t gone into the store with you, so he wouldn’t know the truth.
— Is that so? — he asked, now giving you his full attention.
— Yeah… They… They… — you stammered nervously, thinking about how to continue. Which Alfred interpreted as you having trouble saying what happened.
— It’s okay — he tried to comfort you, placing his hand on your back, though it had the opposite effect.
— They told me I was my mother’s murderer! — you suddenly blurted out. It was the most logical thing you could come up with. You remembered a few times when some people had blamed you for your mother’s death… Serelith’s mother. It hurt you, but not so much now, although for some reason it's been a while since you heard those hurtful words from others. It's not like you went out much, but still…
Alfred sighed, partly relieved that you had told him what happened on your own. He knew how sad you got whenever someone brought up her death.
The first time he had taken you out had been some time after a teacher posted a picture with you, bragging about teaching a Wayne. The image spread quickly, making you recognizable. He still winced at the memory of how you cried that day after a fan of your mother insulted you.
He stopped for a few moments. Aware that you were close enough to the main dining room for both Damian and Tim to have heard your conversation. He just hoped they wouldn’t react the way young Todd did years ago. Although he wouldn't mind if the kid who insulted you was taught a lesson.
Alfred looked at you, knowing there was more to the story, something you were hiding—but for now, what you’d told him would be enough.
— Young one, whatever anyone says about you, adult or child, it will never change who you are. — he consoled you, still with his hand on your back. You stayed silent for a few seconds, his words sinking deeper than you expected them to.
You reflected for a moment, it was true, what others said didn’t change anything about you—and before Alfred could react, you bolted down the hallway toward your father’s office.
— Give me a second and I’ll go to dinner! — you shouted excitedly, as Alfred watched you with a smile, seeing you return to your usual energy.
Maybe, just maybe, even with everything you saw. The comics, what you know, it might not be who you are, you're not his family, you're not Serelith, you're not capable enough to be another vigilante, but… Maybe, just maybe he cares enough for you, at least he'd keep you in a safe place. He'd look after you like any other normal civilian.
The little bit of hope you had from that short scene in the comics grew stronger thanks to Alfred’s words, even if they said all those things. It wouldn’t change the small but important things Mr. Wayne had done for you.
If he didn’t care, if you didn’t matter, he wouldn’t take care of you, right? He wouldn’t accept everything you say or even pay your tutors, would he?
He might look at you even if not as family, just… just as a human…
You stop in front of his office, listening to an argument—and you clearly hear your father’s voice.
— It’s what’s best for her.
— For her or for you? It’s been so long—we even forgot she existed, for God’s sake! If Tim hadn’t called me this afternoon, I wouldn’t think of her at all…
Ouch….was that Dick? Wait, had they forgotten you? Did you matter so little?. You lean against the wall, curiosity and fear curling up inside you as you listen to what they’re arguing about.
— He took a risk, he didn’t even know that she…
— That she what? What fault does a little girl have? Why does she deserve this treatment?
— Because Avery is dead for this!!
Your heart stops cold. You feel your temperature spike… Avery was the name of…of Serelith’s mother, your supposed mother. Were they talking about you? You should have known when he mentioned Tim… You listen more intently, though your vision is blurring.
— But we could try; maybe she turns out different, maybe with enough effort we can change her…
— She’ll never change, Dick.
Your legs start to tremble. Are you mishearing them? Maybe not… they aren’t talking about you—just a coincidence… A coincidence that they mention how Avery died on the day you were born, Serelith’s day…
Why is your body sweating so much? And why do you feel so nauseous? Is it because you haven’t been eating properly?
— If we don’t try…
— It’s not safe, it never will be. It’s the best for everyone, and for her. It’s better if we don’t even look at her, if we treat her like she's been dead since the day she was born.
Move. You try to move, but everything… everything you see turns into black spots.
You can’t afford to doubt now.
That's what you told yourself, lying down without sheets and with your legs elevated on some pillows, waking up in your room, with Tim and Damian, both looking worried, and giving each other death glares. Meanwhile, in the distance, you heard two voices.
— Vasovagal syncope, fainting from stress. Aggravated by poor nutrition. It’s harmless, but we should call Dr. Leslie, just in case.
— Thank God… When I found her lying in the hallway, I thought…
You cover your ears with your hands, your brow furrowed with stress, you don’t want to hear anything more from Dick or anyone… You just… you just want to plan how to leave…
As you try to silence the noise, ignoring it in your head, you think about what you could do with your life. You should study twice as hard, maybe get a scholarship at some university and then leave the city, no, the country, the farther from that crazy clown the better. You’ll open a small craft shop and live like a civilian, free of the Wayne name. When Serelith appears, it would be all you could do to be removed from the family. You had no idea what kind of paperwork you'd have to do; you just knew you couldn't afford to keep falling like this, even with Alfred's words still on your mind.
At least now you’re free of doubts above all else. You’re going to push yourself to fulfill what Mr. Wayne said: not only not to be seen by the Joker, not to be looked at as a Wayne daughter, but not to be seen by anyone. As if you were dead.
Three weeks weren’t enough for me, aaaaaaaaah.
On the other hand, changing the update schedule to Saturdays, Eastern South America Time (UTC-5), was a good idea for my rhythm. For now, updates every three weeks will continue.
I think some tags might be wrong... I apologize for that.
With this, we can more or less say that we’re closing the reader’s arc, taking it all in. In the next chapters, there will probably be more time skips and more focus on the other members of the Batfam. I wanted to wrap this up first. I hope it turned out better than I think it did. 😔
Anyway, thank you again for the lovely messages you leave on each chapter. Even if I don’t reply to all of them or take until the next update to respond, please know that I really appreciate them and I read each and every one of you. Have a great da
Synopsis: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.
Masterlist: Prev; Next;
Chapter 7 - Hunt
Everyone knows that Jason and Bruce have their differences, and honestly, no one can really blame Jason for not being his usual- er, past self. He was a street kid, living- surviving off of scraps, steeling, getting caught by Batman, sent away from Batman, then rescued again by Batman, taken in, trained as RobinTM, fighting crime (albeit with excess force), finds out his biological mother is alive, finds her and only to get betrayed by her, gets beaten up by Joker™, and then blown up by Joker’s bomb. The next thing he knows, he wakes up in a coffin, breaks out, gets taken by Talia™, and then gets ‘revived’ via the Lazarus Pit™, and his path of (av)revenge. The point is, he’s changed.
The whole thing after beating the Joker and the ‘somewhat’ reconciliation with Bruce, he still cares for Dick, his ‘replacement’ Time, and even the demon spawn Damien. He cares for Cassandra, Barbara, and Stephanie. Hell, he cares for Duke who is the newest addition to their broken family. He cares for Bruce, despite everything he doesn’t want to lose this family. He’s changed but he is still the same as well.
Which is why, anything that can potentially mess with his family, he will set aside his differences (the ones that are left) and play a part to keep his family (regardless of how broken or messed up they are) safe, keep his anchor whole.
So when news of runaways, abducted, and even street kids are going missing, he didn’t hesitate to join forces with Bruce and the rest of the gang™ to put a stop to this. No matter how long it took to find a pattern, he can’t help but picture his past self, when Batman first caught him stealing, sent him away, only to be trained to steal and then saved again by him, he pictures vulnerable teens who are scared, who had no choice, who were forced- and there is never a day that goes by that he isn’t thankful to Batman- to Bruce, despite everything.
He’s channeled his anger and vengeance for something good, like he used to do with Bruce. He doesn’t kill, no not anymore- doesn’t mean he won't, not unless absolutely necessary.
But its people like Jacob, that really tip-toe the line that he won’t hesitate to cross but is restraining himself from pulling a bullet through Jacob’s skull.
Jason’s seen his fair share of corruption, of violence, of gore and the absolute worst of humanity- hell, he even became a monster- but never stayed a monster. Jacob isn’t the sickest of them, but he’s right up there for being vile, and apathetic to the misfortunes of these kids.
Jason wonders, if putting a bullet in all of these criminals, will it really reduce the crime rate? Or will these monsters just get quicker, get smarter, creative and get away with their sick twisted crimes? Are they really making a difference, or are they perpetrating more people to commit crimes? Will this cycle ever end?
Jason wants to believe so. It just takes time, blood, and sweat.
When he first entered the bar, he quickly made his way around the premises, checked every nook and cranny of the building, memorised the layout to a T. His only contact was a worker, a bouncer who attacked, but no Jacob insight.
The rat had somehow gotten away. Once he knocked out the bouncer, and secured him (and possibly gave him a concussion), he radioed Oracle.
“Anything yet?” He questioned.
“Tim’s with B, apparently they got a list, waiting for confirmation.” He heard her sigh, stress evident in her tone. “Dad got a call from them, no recording.”
Jason kept quiet, just listening. Once he made sure the bouncer wouldn’t (somehow) escape, he made his way back towards the employees office. His boots made no noise, as he stealthily reached for the knob.
Opening the door, the air stilled and his eyes narrowed, ears sharp, body still, one foot inside the room, hand still on the door while the other reached for his gun™. His pupils took in his surroundings, before he fully stepped inside.
His steps are slow and deliberate, eyes still roaming the room, making sure nothing catches him by surprise. He had half a mind to open his mouth, but decided against it.
Cabinets opened, nothing taken out. His eyes turned to a corner. Files seem to be in place, unmoved. Yet to Jason’s trained eye, he noticed a couple of papers sticking out. Slowly making his way behind the desk, he placed his gun back in its holster. Laptop opened. Someone was in here. This was closed when I got here. Someone was in here while I was out there. Behind the hidden door.
His eyes roamed the open computer, noticing an open group chat. His eyes widened, soaking all the information displayed on the screen. In front of him, was a picture of a face, a very familiar face. His eyes zoned in on the pixels, studying, committing everything to memory, his eyes landed on the message. Name: Nada, age: young adult. Comments: Street rat with skills in fighting, quick on her feet, and highly adaptable. No ties, alone. Needs to be trained. Retrieval pending. Last seen; homeless shelter by the main road, visits various shelters in the area, never stays in one place for long.
Jason quickly places a special flash drive, waiting for it to connect to the Batcave’s computer. “She’s a target.” He recalls his earlier encounter just hours ago, how she didn’t know why she was being chased. He remembers her tensed body, stressed composure and fast thinking. He has to go and find her, she’s in danger.
His mind also reminds him of her eyes, not of her eye color, but of the desperate look she had. She looked tired, lost, exhausted and on the brink of collapse. They say that ‘the eyes are the window to the soul’ and he couldn’t agree more. His trained eyes could see that she’s holding it together, but just barely, but she’s strong and she’s also scared, and now that she’s involved in this whole trafficking situation, he wonders if she knows just how deep her involvement goes. She now has a target on her back, but he promised to protect her. He promises now that they won’t lay a finger on her, and then, she just might breathe easy.
Maybe she won’t have to look behind her in paranoia, her shoulders won't have to sag, her lips won’t tremble in worry, and her eyes won’t have to dart around for security. Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to see her smile, shoulders relaxed, and her eyes would shine with security.
Security he knows he can provide once he catches that rat bastard.
Just as the screen flashed ‘Connected’ Jason saw movement from the corner of his eye. Snapping his head to the side, his eyes narrowed. There was nothing there.
Could it have been paranoia on his end? Probably, god knows that he was never the same after reviving. Jason focused his eyes, seeing nothing but a gray blue wall and cabinets opened, just as it was when he entered the second time.
With the laptop already connected to the Bat computer™, he took a cautious step forward, his eyes narrowed. If his mind was playing tricks on him, then he can say he has officially lost it. He swears he can feel someone in this room with him. And if he concentrates hard enough, his brain is trying to convince him that there is a faint outline of a person standing just arms length from him.
His phone vibrated, catching his attention. A message from Barbara. Unlocking his phone, he scrolled down until his thumb slammed on the screen, stopping mid scroll, stepping back into place in front of the laptop.
In the third picture, he clocked it and zoomed in.
His breath hitches.
A blurry picture, black medical mask, eyes away from the shot, taken without her knowing? Focused at someone in front of her but out of the photo frame.
“Nada.”
Another ‘ding!’ from the laptop. A new message.
‘No family, no friends, no ties, not even a missing poster, no one will be searching. Once secured, we depart. Currently searching.’
In the distance, a window shut quietly with a soft ‘click’ went unheard.
-
Making it to the railing just as your camouflage state began to fade, your breath became sharp and uneven, throat closing up on you. With shaken steps you fell to your knees, reaching for your bag and opening it. Fingers trembling, making it difficult to even unzip the damn bag!
Your mind kept racing to everything you found. It wasn’t even the fact that they were currently searching for you, it was the fact that this situation was way bigger and disastrous than you thought.
Your plan was simple. Just get Jacob and co. incarcerated while avoiding Batman and co. and then you’ll solely focus on finding a better power source for your watch in order to get home. You don't even want to mess with The Spot anymore, you just want to get home, your home, even if it’s empty, bare, and cold.
You don’t even have any memorabilia with you, to remember those you love and lost. It’s driving you insane! It feels like you’re slowly forgetting the faces of uncle Ben, aunt May, and even Peter Parker.
Yanking the mask off, clutching the fabric tightly, you took deep gulps of air, enough for you to focus on your five senses. The heavy smell of the city's natural pollution, the rusty paint getting chipped off the emergency stair railing, the sharp almost iron taste every time you swallow, the worn out look of your backpack, and the constant buz of car horns in the distance is what you focus on. Ragged breath slowly coming down to an even tone, blurry vision turning clear, beating heart slowing down to an even tempo after a while of sitting there. You clutch the bag in your hands with an iron grip.
God you miss them. You miss Uncle Ben’s wisdom, Aunt May’s warmth, and Peter’s love. Fuck. You just want to go back. But you know you can’t. Not now, not yet. Not after all this is seen through. You can’t, no, it’s not ‘can’t’ it’s the fact that you won’t leave this mess unresolved. You will make sure Jacob and his associates here get arrested, and the kids get rescued, only then can you finally turn your back and go home.
After calming down, you shuffle around your bag, eye focusing on your civilian clothes. Since the previous plan is currently rotting at the bottom of a sewer, you'll just have to adapt. You’re good at that, that’s all you have ever been good at. Adapting and overcoming.
New plan, you’re going to find exactly where these missing kids are being taken to, and hopefully, ideally, rescue them. You can’t abandon them, not when you know it’s this deep, this serious. Your conscience wouldn’t let you walk away. Besides, it’s not your way of doing things either, not your spidey way. It seems Gotham still needs all the help it can get, even if it’s from an outsider dropping in.
Also, just to interject, fuck whoever keeps messing with your plans. Nothing has ever really gone your way but still, living in Gotham (not that you’re exactly living in Gotham as a choice) sucks balls. You miss New York, your New York City…
Grabbing your bag and climbing to the roof of the building, you change out of your suit and into your civilian clothes (you’re not risking getting exposed as a hero), making sure you haven’t flashed anyone in case someone is taking a smoke break on another roof or something. You’re also not leaving your bag in a random building either because with your shit (spider) luck, you’ll probably get robbed too, so going back to the junkyard is key.
Who knows how long this will take, but you know you only have a couple of hours. You plan to get caught tonight. So, you might as well set up your escape. After that, a nice, long shower sounds heavenly.
Taking a glance at the quiet bar, your mind drowns you.
You met Red Hood this time. Not Jason Todd, the stranger in an alleyway who was a great meat shield, but his alter ego, the one who fights to protect, and shoots to defend. Arguably one of the bat family members you least want to fight. The one you least want to encounter (much less fight) is Batman himself.
Why Jason Todd was in the bar was obvious the second you encountered him. You were thankful that your camouflage worked when that door opened, honestly, you’re surprised your stress levels didn’t accidentally cancel your ability like it does with your webs.
Recalling the sheer panic you felt when you noticed him walk in, eyes surveying his surroundings, taking note of anything that might have been misplaced and you swore your heart dropped when he made his way towards you, behind the desk. You had to back up almost against the cabinets, eyes trained specifically on him and his body movements.
When he spoke, you knew you had to get out of there. So you slowly inched yourself closer to the opened door (you wouldn’t know what to do if he had closed the door), and as if by senses he turned his head in your direction the second you took a big step away. You wanted to cry. But by some god given miracle, he got distracted and you booked it away, heart too loud, you’re sure even he could hear it.
You’re sure that you are now on Red Hood’s radar and you don’t want to run into him as either spider-woman or as a civilian.
Swinging back towards the junkyard, you drop your bag and place everything but the envelope inside, and web it to your beacon.
After cocooning it, you place it in a corner on the ceiling, using the shadows to camouflage it. You’re making sure everything is set and ready for a quick getaway once you’re done. You can’t afford to make any mistakes, and you can’t stay here any longer. You feel yourself spiraling and every day a bit of hope inside you dies.
If you don’t succeed this time, you don’t think you’ll manage another day, another attempt. This is your one and only shot, because if you fail, you’re guaranteed to get caught by Batman™, and you know you won’t be able to escape ever again. It either ends with you going home, or yourself.
Miguel will understand, he’ll get it. And if not, then that’s too fucking bad. You did everything you could, and if you’re stuck here indefinitely, then you’d rather go on your own terms then let life keep fucking with you. You tried, you know you did, Miguel sure knows you did, but you really can’t take it anymore should you fail in getting back home again.
You wonder if you’ll somehow see Peter in the afterlife despite being stranded in another dimension…
Regardless, once you save the kids, and get Jacob arrested you’re booking it here, grabbing your final version of your beacon and heading straight to the East End.
You’re going to suck up all the energy on an electric company building you found. Just to give the final power boost your watch needs to be fully functional. Just enough juice to open a portal and get the fuck out of dodge.
Because bumping into Jason twice just confirmed things. Batman is onto Jacob and therefore you as well. And-- now you are no longer a nobody, not anymore. You just became a ‘somebody’, a target for him and his wards. You’re undeniably, unequivocally fucked beyond belief. The Narrows aren't safe for you anymore- you have to skedaddle.
You just want out of this fucking universe.
-
The sound of the keys going ‘Click Clack’ echoed throughout the batcave, the screen the only source of illumination seeping through the darkness of the underground.
Barbara had been dutifully scanning faces throughout the Narrows in search of a very suspiciously recurring civilian. Tabs open to clips on loop of said civilian entering, exiting, walking, and disappearing into dark alleyways. A female, taller than Tim but a tad bit shorter than Jason. If she had to guess, ‘Nada’ as she’s being referred to, is somewhere in between Duke’s height to Dick’s height. Eyes sharp, guarded, cold- no not cold- cautious, she’s very cautious.
Despite the grainy videos she’s managed to clip, she can’t help but be somewhat entranced, committing what she can to memory. Any other form of information she memorizes is from the shared screen of the laptop where Jason is located.
“Got any updates Oracle?” Tim’s voice connected to her comms.
“I repeat again, despite the obvious fact that there’s a severe lack of surveillance cameras in the Narrows, no, the last I was able to find of ‘Nada’ is her going into the library about two hours ago, and left around twenty minutes later. I’m still searching. Though we’re on a timer.”
“Why’s that?”
“Jason connected me to the Bar, she’s being hunted. I don’t know who’s on her tail, but she is being located as we speak. Once she’s picked-up, they’re going to disappear tonight at the latest.” She stressed as a new pop-up clip appeared on her screen. “Signal, your target has been spotted, black sweater, no design, baggy dark blue jeans, hoodie up. He’s ten minutes away from you. Sending coordinates.”
“‘Ppreciate it Oracle.”
“Red Robin, ETA?” She was starting to get antsy.
“Twenty. Why?”
“I have a report of very suspicious activities down at the shore. Not Marina.” She informed.
“Got it. I’ll head out to check once I drop this off.”
“Batman, Red Hood captured one of the bouncers but Jacob is currently MIA. Robin and Superboy detained the mercenary and a civilian is confirmed to be a ‘package’. Currently searching. How are things on your end?”
“Sebastian is dead.” Her blood ran cold. What? “Investiaging.” And that was it.
What a bombshell. It seems that there are rats hiding in the police force- again. “should I look into it?” She offered.
“No, focus on your mission.” Well alright then. Doesn’t mean she isn’t still going to do it.
Then silence once again overtook the cave. Ever since the arrest of Sebastian, everything seems to have been spiraling and soon it will be out of control. After this, she wants a fucking break, maybe entertain Steph and go on a shopping spree, or relax and watch Cass practice her moves, or even just go back to the library. She’s been stuck in this cave™ helping Bruce locate the disturbance that appeared not too long ago and this case that seems to be bigger than they had imagined.
Lifting her arms up and stretching her sore body until she heard satisfying cracks, she fixed her glasses and once again resumed the search for their civilian friend. Time was of the essence after all.
Then another pop-up window with a clip appeared on her screen, overshadowing everything. Her eyes widened and she quickly connected herself to the comms. “Found her! Spotted a block away from the sanctuary. Gray sweatshirt, sweatpants, black mask, turning the corner. Sending coordinates.”
A cherry voice responded. “Roger that!”
-
They say walking is a helpful way to calm the mind, and honestly, you’d agree if you weren’t currently on a mission to get yourself kidnapped. Not only that but you also had to make it fucking believable that this is against your will, and that you’re scared. Not too tall of an order but you really have to sell it because the LAST thing you want is for the bats to take an interest in you.
You really can’t take any more setbacks.
Turning the corner, you spot a shelter with quite the people crowding around. This was planned of course. Taking a deep breath you make your way towards the shelter, making sure not to bump into any gothamites due to rush hour.
Weaving around people you get about fifteen feet from the entrance before you stop dead in your tracks. The hair on your body stood tall and your body went into a cold sweat as your spider sense started to buzz before becoming something akin to static noise, loud and constant, just like your anxiety and you felt your mental state depleting by the second. You’d like to believe your body noticed before your senses did. But at this point, who fucking cares.
Your sudden halt caused some people to bump into you, cursing you as they moved around and entered the shelter. Though that didn’t bother you anymore since your attention had been snatched.
The soft tingling feeling turned into a buzz as it spread throughout your body, like thousands of spiders crawling all over your body. This feeling was more than enough of a warning. Like static shock. Cold sweat consumed your very being, body frozen on the pavement, an unbearable weight burdened you, crushing you, shackling you to an even deeper ocean of hopelessness and despair. Choking you, filling up your lungs, suffocating, drowning, clawing-- you just want to breathe damnit! just enough to get home…
You felt like throwing up and then throwing yourself off a bridge- in that order. You’re tired, you haven’t slept well since you got here, haven’t had a decent and nutritious meal, you’re stressed, you’re sleepy, you’re hungry, and you just. Want. to go. Home. You desperately want to give up, you do-- but you can’t. Not yet. Not until you finish this. Not until you save those kids first, then try one last time.
You’re involved, and in way too deep to leave it to someone else, to leave it to the bats and birds.
Finding your resolve, you snap back into reality. No matter just how fragile yours has become. It was time to focus and devise a plan of escape. You can’t afford to get spotted here. Not by them. Not now, not ever.
Biting your lip you quickly made haste to book the fuck out of there. There was no shot you were going to trap yourself inside when danger is lurking here in this sanctuary.
Nah-uh, no way, definitely not. You weren’t ready for that. You were fucking cooked because from your pariferal vision, you spotted two very familiar girls despite being surrounding with people with the same hair color or features. You were clearly, undeniably, unequivocally, definitely, obviously, unquestionably, plainly, and utterly fucked.
Why were they there, in that specific shelter? You had the unfortunate pleasure of coming to a conclusion you were almost 100% fucking certain.
They were here for you.
And you pray to any and every god in this universe and yours regardless of feelings and stands, that you were wrong and that they in fact were not here because of you.
So you did a 180 and fucking dipped, but did your very fucking best to not make it noticeable how freaked the fuck out you are. Speed walking away and blending into the sea of gothamites for your grand escape.
You don’t know whether to attribute this to your body or spider senses but the sharp prickling feeling caused the hair on your neck to stand and you knew, you fucking knew- you were spotted. Spotted by Cassandra Cain™ and Stephanie Brown™.
“Hey you! Wait- Wait up!”
Yea. Fuck no you were not going to wait. Bye! Just act like you never heard them. Easy. Merging with civilians’ rush hour you did everything to break line of sight before speed walking and turning a corner. Then, when the sharp feeling of being watched snapped into a buzz you fucking booked it down alleyways, avoiding cameras as much as you can while looking back every so often to make sure you’re in the clear.
You doubt the girls would start jumping roofs and climbing walls in their civilian clothes but honestly, with a fucking trained assassin looking for you, you wouldn’t put it past them. Besides, this is Gotham- everything (and anything) happens in Gotham.
A rising sense of dread started to creep inside you, clogging your throat as your spider sense buzzed into a low hum.
Catching your breath, and calming (but failing) your nerves, you start walking in another direction, opposite from where you came from. Then the ‘what-ifs’ started to pop up in your mind, consuming your thoughts.
‘What if Jacob doesn’t find you? What if he gets away, what about the kids? What if you get caught by Batman? What if you can’t do this? What if Miguel can’t locate you? What if everything you are doing is a waste of time? What if--’
A migraine started to form, making itself comfortable on your frontal lobe, throbbing, causing you to stress the fuck out and the urge to break down seems to be inevitable at this point.
But you had to focus, you needed to focus, because you have to get caught by Jacob, no matter what.
So you kept walking, with no destination, you just moved until you would find someone familiar. Chris, Jacob, or even one of the bouncers-- anyone at this point. The stress is consuming you alive, and you’re cracking, coming apart at the seams, hanging by a thread, honestly, you’re more surprised you’re keeping it just barely together.
That and the fact that you managed to grab the back of a teen’s hoodie in time before they walked right into oncoming traffic. The bus honked as they drove by while the boy almost dropped his phone.
“Whoa!” He turned to his savior as you let go and stared in the direction where the bus went, and a thought crossed your mind. Maybe, if I play my cards right…
Waving off the boy's gratitude with a smile underneath your mask, you turned to him, as he blatantly stared at your face (or what he can see). “Where can I buy my way outta town, kid?”
And with that ‘minor’ existential crisis, you decided on how to get caught.
“Oh- um, I can take you there if you’d like?”
Politely declining the offer the teen begrudgingly gave you general directions and you happily fucked off. Finding them was already not looking so hot, especially locking down a very specific hunter, so, if you’re going to be hunted (with a tight deadline), then you might as well make this easier on yourself and have them come to you. Regardless of who gets to you first, you will go with Jacob and his men.
The only way that plan goes south is if the vigilantes come before getting taken. If it’s their civilian identities then you are as good as golden.
“If they’re leaving tonight, then they need me tonight.” And what better way to get found then by waiting by an exit?
You know Jacob’s men (however many there are) are searching for you, so you made sure to walk your pretty ass to a ticket worker and asked for a ticket to (looking up and saying the first random place you read) Blüdhaven, that arrives in twenty minutes, you pay for your ticket and walk away.
Blüdhaven, a “sister” city to Gotham, a city you know nothing about except the fact that Dick Grayson, the first Robin went there to become the hero Nightwing. Whatever he did or does there, you have absolutely zero knowledge about. Not that you want to know, maybe this is better since none of the bats go there, or worse, since you don’t exactly know what kind of wack-job resides there.
Regardless, it’s not like you’re going to actually go there, it’s just a calling card to get Jacob or his men to come fetch you. Sitting down on an available bench, head tilted down, hands folded over one another, fiddling with your watch on top of your legs in faux nervousness to give a certain expression.
Every noise made, every step catalog, every sound is scrutinized in a way that keeps you vigilant despite playing off as nervous. Regardless of who catches you, you will make this work. You can not afford to mess this up. Please, please work. I need this to work.
The soft buzz you have come to accept as a norm in this universe soon turns into a static tingle. Someone’s approaching…
Your senses aren’t going haywire, so it isn’t one the birds, but you know that whoever is approaching, is here for you, and you specifically. Not making a sudden movement your hands fidget as the person places their hand on your shoulder.
“Nada.” Flinching at the sudden contact, you slowly turned to face the perpetrator. It was the guy who was chasing you a few hours before. “Let’s go.”
Sliding his hand to grab yours, he pulls you up, leading you in a hurry but not obvious distress. And you let him. For the plot.
The cameras catch your figure getting led away by another teenager into an alley. Out of sight.
-
Far, far away, a man slammed his fist on his desk as the sound echoed in the spacious room.
The distorted voice message playing in the background as he watched in real time the situation going from bad to worse.
He doesn’t know what to make of this! When this issue came to his attention it was a problem, but eventually it sort of situated itself so he left it alone, letting it play out as he watches. Seeing no need to interfere unless necessary, so he always kept an eye on it.
But it was different now. Situations change and at first, everything was- okay. Then when he noticed fluctuations, he grew worried and intervened.
He was able to stabilize the problem, not fix it. He doesn’t know if he can fix it to be honest. But it was steady, for now. He’ll make sure of it. Until one day, an incident occurred and everything went to shit.
He tried, god fucking damnit did he try. He did his absolute best to placate the issue, but it quickly spiraled. All of his interventions and attempts did fuckall. So, he watched.
That’s all he could do. Just watch as things went from bad to worse as time went on. He couldn’t do much about it, but he was trying. Trying isn’t good enough, his attempts aren’t good enough, he couldn’t be good enough to stabilize anything anymore.
So he just watched. Watch how the issue…fixed itself as time passed.
And now, the issue is no more. All his efforts, his attempts, his atonement, and now it matters not. He wonders if he could have done more. He assumed the worst honestly. The voice message is what’s keeping him sane and driving him insane.
He can’t believe this happened. He knows that it was out of his control, that what happened was out of his control, and what was in his control spiraled to absolute shit. There is nothing to control anymore.
He’s sorry.
He really is. He wants to apologize, over and over and over again. But he isn’t sure if it’s possible to be heard. Will the receiver ever receive it? What can he do now except say ‘sorry’? Even if no one will hear it. Even if it can not be forgiven, he will still apologize. He’s sincerely sorry.
So Miguel rewinds a video, watches the fluctuation and then the nothingness. He’s sorry.
In his hand, a locket. The only thing that managed to stay as itself. A reminder, a haunting one and at the same time a somber one. He’s gentle with it (it’s really precious- to him and to their owner) as he stares at the picture inside the locket. There are two photos on either side, one of the photos has two figures, but only one of the two has his undivided attention.
“Perdóname…” He’s so sorry.
In his guilt, by his lonesome, he misses a coordinate blinking on his screen before disappearing back into silence.
-
The walk was quiet. Too quiet. But that was fine, it was okay. It gave you time to think, to strategize. To comprehend what exactly you witnessed on that accursed computer.
Names. Kids names, barely adults, the youngest being preteen for fucks sake! You knew Jacob was a sleaze but not this despicable. But who are you kidding? Criminals that lack morals often are.
Yet a selfish part of you kept eating you away. There is a part of you, a big part that is going to see this through the end. Capture and detain Jacob and his crew for their crimes. Hopefully uncover those in higher up the power scale and get them convicted as well. You’d wipe your hands clean, pat yourself on the back and go on your merry way back to Spider H.Q. or even to some other spider’s dimension. Closer to home.
But the other part of you, a very small, barely noticeable but strong part of you is clawing itself into your mind and body. It wants to turn back, to walk away, to leave it to someone else to deal with. You now know that the bat is on this case, him and his birds. That should be enough right? They don’t really need you. Batman is the world’s greatest detective, only triumph by Tim- if memory serves you correctly.
They were talking sometime to figure it out, but you know they would have eventually cracked the case even if you weren’t here. Yea, this mission doesn’t really need you. It never did, the only reason things are out of wack, is because you happened to catch Jacob’s eye. You caused this to happen. It was your fault that things have derailed.
That’s why things have escalated, if not, it would have been a matter of time before the fighting ring would have been discovered, the bar infiltrated, and Jacob and co. would have been caught. Yea, they were already doing something about it before you showed up. Your job is basically over, you don’t have to do any more than this. Maybe…maybe you can really call it quits and walk away.
Just like all your problems.
You stilled, causing your arm to be yanked in vain. The boy, peeved, turns to look back at you. “We gotta move. Hurry up.”
Uncle Ben, Aunt May, and Peter would be so disappointed in you. Miguel would be disappointed in you. You are disappointed in you for almost giving in. You can literally picture Miguel’s face, and because it’s so vivid in your mind, you winced.
“Where are we going?”
“Just hurry up.” He snapped, tugging harshly.
You looked him in the eyes, really looked at him. He has blond short almost military hair, tan skin tone, and dim light brown eyes.
“Why were you following me earlier?” you didn’t budge.
“Fucking move, you bit-!”
“Who’s picking us up?” You interrupted, feet still planted on the floor, unmoving.
“You were following just fine before!” He snapped, glaring harshly as he let go. “You’re his favorite.”
“What were you promised?” Rubbing your wrist, your gaze never left his eyes as he clenched his jaw. “I told him I’m running. You were following me before. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I don’t care.”
The guy in front of you lunged and grabbed a fistful of your sweatshirt. “You arrogant son of a-” He pulled you in close, enough to notice he has spacious and sporadic freckles. “I lost so much money because of you!” He was seething. “Why the fuck would I tell you anything?”
You kept eye contact as you tilted your head. “You’re trembling. Bags under your blood shot eyes, easily agitated I assume, are you an addict?”
Your answer came with your back slamming on the alley wall. “You condescending mother fucker!” He slammed you two more times, and you let him. “You don’t know anything about me!” He screamed.
“No I don’t. But I don’t need to. You need me though.” This kid looks around your age, maybe younger, but you can tell he has been on substance use for some time. From the hair that you can see, it’s thin, he probably doesn’t hydrate enough either. “On the other hand, I don’t need you.”
From gripping your sweatshirt, he escalated to your neck, mask falling to the ground, rest in peace.
“You narcissistic asshole!” He tightened his grip. “Ever since you showed up, he started to neglect the rest of us!”
Narrowing your eyes, you placed pressure on his wrist, but not enough to hurt him. “How did you find me?”
“You whore, did you sleep with him? Is that why you get spoiled? That’s all you’ll ever be good for.”
You added pressure, he winced. “All I did was fight. How did you find me?”
“He likes you. So much so that he threw the rest of us away.” He ignored your question. “But he’ll get bored. He always gets bored. And then you’ll be thrown to the side. Like us.”
“Like us?”
He smirked, loosening his grip and shaking your hands off. “He made me like this.” He stepped back, hand clutching his head. “He’ll treat you soooo well, and then move onto the next shiny toy. But before he tosses you out, he gets you hooked on some pills.”
Your eyes widened. No…no no no. This took a turn for the worse. “Willingly?” Fists clenched at your side.
He looks at you, really looks, and scoffs. His anger resides a bit. “No.” He watched you tense up in anger. “Not obviously. He picks a favorite and then gives them this in secret. Until you get addicted. Then you just have to make him happy and he gladly hands us enough to be normal.”
Taking all this information in. It’s a blow to your conscience that’s for sure. Now you really feel guilty for thinking of running away.
It seems you wore your heart on your sleeve because this set him off.
“I don’t need your pity!” He swung at you. “This is your fault!”
Head swung to the side on impact. Nothing broken. “I’m not…” You were interrupted by him grabbing your collar again.
“He stopped giving us the pills! I’ve seen what happens when you don’t take them in time!” He readed his arm for another punch. “I’ll die! And it will be on you!” He spat venomously and swung.
Before he could punch you again, another voice interrupted him.
“Hey! Ricardo, enough! Ya basta!” A familiar voice, and a pit formed in your stomach. “If you want your dose you should do as you're told, pendejo.” the man growled and backhanded the boy.
This was a stark contrast to the tone of voice you would normally associate him with. Dennis, the second bouncer that was M.I.A. earlier, is here- in front of you.
Quickly, you latched onto his arm. “Wa-wait! It was my fault!”
Dennis halted, turned to face you and you wanted to run away. “You got hit, Nada. I just returned the favor.” He turned his body towards you and placed his hand on your cheek. “It must have hurt. Though I know you can take Christoper’s punches well, I apologize for this, it should not have happened under my watch.”
From your peripheral, you watched Ricardo stagger to his feet, blood flowing from his nose, in pain and trembling in fear. He did not make eye contact with the bouncer, or even look his way. Your heart lurched. “I’m fine… but he’s not-”
“He got what he was owed.” Both you and the boy froze. “You shouldn’t have been hurt. Period. That was his job.”
Job. Of course. You’re their ‘golden goose’, a merchandise, and merchandise loses its value if it's imperfect or damaged. Fuck, this boy is in trouble.
“It was my fault. I was responsible- He- He did nothing wrong-”
The hand that was gently placed on your injured cheek suddenly felt cold to the touch before he pulled away. He had a warm smile, but his eyes- his eyes showed no empathy.
“You did nothing wrong. He hit you, and that’s not tolerated.” You heard Ricardo whimper, and saw how quickly the man’s face changed to cold and apathetic when glancing at him.
“I made the mistake- I’m sorry-”
Dennis faced you, warm expression once more. “Don’t apologize. It was never your fault in the first place.” You felt chills.
Dennis is a big guy, big as in tall, muscular, and has the whole security vibe to him. But despite that, he always presented himself like a gentle giant. With his light brown hair, and warm blue eyes, he was very sweet with you. Right from the start too.
Was this how he always was? You wanted to throw up. He was favoring you, giving you special treatment because you are valuable. But once that value is gone, you’ll be looked at like dirt, and treated just like Ricardo who is trembling like a baby fawn.
You wanted to throw up. This is disgusting. You want out. You want out of here! This is revolting. You seriously feel like you’re going to puke from this stress. But you have to see this through till the end. You owe Ricardo that much.
He said ‘us’, meaning more are going through this right now… And more probably have gone through this as well. Recalling Ricardo’s words, he said some have died. The count? Unverified, and some won’t even be known. That’s just how dark this world, this story can be.
It may be comic books in your world, but it’s reality here. And in reality, people can die, and will die. All the time. Whether you know about it, indirectly caused it, or not know at all- people die all the time. A terrible, horrible, grotesque feeling grew inside your gut.
So you steel your nerves, or at least mask it to the best of your abilities. You decided that you’re gonna get Ricardo out of this. He can not go where you are purposely going. “I- Okay.”
Dennis smiles and ruffles your head, and it took a massive amount of restraint to not sock him then and there. Only moving his hands away. “I don’t like that.”
He stills before pulling away in understanding. “My bad.” Sounds sincere, but you don’t believe he is. He doesn’t even look at Ricardo anymore. Like he doesn’t even exist. “Let’s go. We’re on a tight schedule.”
You recall Jacob’s words. Hunting. Hunting you. This isn’t hunting, no you’re willingly walking into an enclosure. You do want to get caught just to find where the other kids are, but you aren’t going to make this easy for Jacob. No, let him earn his paycheck. And besides…
Glancing at Ricardo who’s quiet, his steps don’t make any noise, he’s shrunken into himself to avoid having a presence. Your priority changed, Ricardo has to go, just not with you.
“And Nada,” Despite Dennis’ large frame, he only turned his head to face you, a warm smile on his face. “You’ll come with me willingly, correct?”
“I told him that I would be going home.” Your response caused Ricardo to whip his head in your direction, shocked, while Dennis’ smile tightened and he stopped walking.
Ricardo, as if instinctual, grabbed onto your sleeve, hands shaking, and Dennis turned to face you. “He told me to pick you up. You don’t have a home and we can be your home. You’ll be fed and have a warm place to sleep. We can offer you stability, you would need not to struggle to live. Isn’t that nice, Nada? Just come with us. Come home with us. Choose us, Nada.”
There was silence, a measured pause before you opened your mouth. “And if I don’t want to?”
The temperature turned cold, and your senses went from light buzz to quiet static, gradually increasing.
“I am not allowed to hurt you. I can’t hurt you.” He replied. “But I don’t have to, and won’t have to hurt you.” It sounded too confident to be a lie. It was a promise.
Ricardo made himself smaller behind you, his grip tightened.
Your only response was not a verbal one. You just simply continued walking and Dennis smiled and continued leading towards the end of the alley, where he parked a white commercial construction van. Taking your time, you watched Dennis open the door and wait next to it, watching your every move.
Three steps until you reached the van, you heard someone make their presence known.
It was about fucking time.
-
Duke approached the set location both Oracle and Steph with Cass provided with.
Earlier when Duke caught a teen, one of two (that he knew of), the kid spilled on sight.
“...And they’re taking Nada.” He sobbed. Duke went rigid at the familiar name.
“Taking her? Where?” He held himself back from shaking the teen.
After getting notified that the civilian he is familiar with (‘familiar’ meant to be taken with a grain of salt) might somehow be involved in this somewhat rapidly escalating situation was starting to get him a bit antsy.
When he first located his target, a teen named Frank, the pieces slowly started coming together. Albeit rather too slowly for his convenience. But Duke sure likes a good puzzle, and he’s almost done with this one. It’s just that this civilian Nada, is a piece that he isn’t sure where exactly fits here.
“The uh- man-manager really likes Nada.” Frank gripped onto Duke, body jittery, clear exhaustion on his face. “He’s looking for her. Ah, right n-now. Um, our job is to find N-Nada.”
Duke’s expression darkened at the thought. “Where is she? Where is Nada?”
Frank swallowed his saliva, “I don- I don’t know. I swear! All I know is th-that we were told to find Nada and bring her to Christpher. B-but then the location changed and-”
“Where?” Duke stressed.
“I don’t know- but! Um,” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old phone. “Here! It’s all in here. The location ch-change and updates on Nada.” Almost dropped it with his trembling hands.
With this new piece of information in his hands, he feels that much closer to finding the civilian that seems to be way too connected to this case than he would like to believe. It was getting harder and harder to keep himself in check.
“Anything else? What about you?”
Duke got to hear just how many these teens get recruited at best, and taken at worst.
They get these teens, younger ones, to convince others like them. They branch out all over Gotham, but they have gotten many of them through Park Row, mostly known now as Crime Alley. Duke knows this is one major reason why Jason has silently joined their mission.
On the other hand, those who are kidnapped are usually the upper middle class and some of the homeless. At first it was assumed they were picked at random, but quickly it was discovered those with issues, whether it be addiction, felony charges, or violent tendencies are selectively chosen. Those who figure them out are older adults, who also have issues.
In order to find rats, you send a rat.
What started as a small scale quickly turned into a regular occurrence. If Jim Gordon and some trusted other officers hadn’t caught on to the myriad of missing people’s cases, this might have gone on longer until it would have been too late.
“I- I am just a nobody. Just someone wh-who helps bring in more people.” The kid before Duke began to shed tears.
Duke zeroed in on this information. “Is that what happened to Nada? Did you or anyone else recruit her?”
This caused Frank to jump back. “What? No!” He let go of Duke as if burned. “I-I wasn’t the one who-who brought Nada in. That was the manager. He found Nada.”
Okay, now they’re getting somewhere. “When? Do you know?”
“A bit over a week ago, I think. The ma-mannager really likes Nada.” Frank rubbed his head pensively. “He always treats them kindly, sp-spoils them, and even lets them pick when and how many fights they'll fight in. He’s, um, he’s been trying to get Nada to join him.”
Duke felt his blood run cold. “Join him?”
Frank freezes, and the winces. “The manager pr-promised to take some of us with him. But ever since Nada showed up. He- he has basically abandoned us!” He began to cry, hands covering his face.
“Do you know where they are taking her?”
Frank shakes his head, sobbing.
After some more questions, and comforting this shaking teen, he relents and waves a police officer towards him. Guaranteeing Frank won’t bolt at the sight of a cop, he believed he got everything he could from this teen, and so he handed them to an officer.
He checks the phone given to him and immediately contacts Barbara. But as if the universe was working with him, she reached out to everyone about the civilian's location. About you.
“Found her! Spotted a block away from the sanctuary. Gray sweatshirt, sweatpants, black mask, turning the corner. Sending coordinates.”
With Stephanie’s reply, Duke hopped on his bike and looked through the phone he received. “I’ve got a phone, with locations and ranks. No names. Just a couple of active locations.”
“Your civilian friend was spotted near a main road, a shelter. Cass and Steph are nearby, how did things go with the kid?”
“She’s involved, and the guy brought her in. Jacob.” Dukes watched a location ping near the shelter Barbara told him about. Could this be you? Are you being tracked knowingly? Just how involved are you?
“I can practically hear the gears in your head turning. Mind sharing?”
“That guy, he said something that stuck to me. ‘He’s been trying to get Nada to join him.’ and by the tone, it seems one-sided. I’m not sure just how involved she is… Something isn’t adding up right.”
“Is that a conjecture or are your feelings-"
“I’m sure of it.” Duke sent all the information on the phone to Barbara. “And if I'm wrong, then she is still just like the others. Lost.”
After a moment of silence, she responded. “Alright. I’ll keep you updated then. It seems she managed to lose both Cass and Steph. I'll admit, she is slippery for sure. She’s being hunted, Signal. And not just by us.”
“I know.” Duke sped away. ”I’m on my way.”
-
“Hey you three!” A charismatic voice called out, making his way towards you three. “Is everything alright?”
You felt your body straighten up but did not look back. Despite the voice not sounding familiar to you, your spider sense was all the confirmation you really needed.
Dennis walked past you and Ricardo, shielding you both as inconspicuously as possible. Anyone wouldn’t have noticed the intent, but the stranger was extremely well trained, and he noticed.
Honestly speaking, he wasn’t really going to get involved (liar) completely, just assist and go on his merry way, his presence didn’t seem completely necessary. Well, that was the case- until the large guy threw hands first.
That’s something he couldn’t turn a blind eye from. Not that he ever would. Despite how tired he was, and how all he wanted to was to get home and spend time with his family, he knew this took precedence. A gut feeling. And it hit the mark this time as well.
He has been very busy lately, but he had promised to make time to visit and because he had also promised to show up for an event but something urgent called him over. And he didn’t know it could have been even worse than he anticipated. The whole timeline went out the window so quickly that it sped up progress, as well as action.
Now that he’s in town, picking up some pick-me-ups for nostalgia- his peripheral catches movement. That’s when everything clicked into place.
He quickly catalogues the threat. A man, tall, built like a bear, leading two- one absolutely petrified, and the other guarded- civilians further down an alleyway. He doesn’t hesitate, and makes his way over, calling out to the three of them.
He was a good distance away, yet can see clearly how both froze up (which isn’t suspicious in of itself), and only one turned their head back in his direction, dried blood crust from his nose. He looked like a mess really. The other still hadn’t turned around, just tensed, shoulders stiff, posture straightened but slightly curved into themselves, as if not wanting to take up space. He catalogs all this information before his eyes return to the man who adorns a warm smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
The bigger guy walked towards him, a smile that would have fooled anyone if he hadn’t blatantly witnessed this guy backhand one of the young ones. He’s glad he trusted his gut feeling.
“Everything’s alright. Sorry for disturbing you.” The bigger man spoke, stopping a few steps in front of the two others. “We’ll be on our way, you should too.”
The one who was frightened before, trembling still, but his bloodshot glare didn’t go unnoticed. “It’s no bother really. It seems that one of them has a bloody nose. I know it’s not any of my business-”
“Then walk away.” Dennis interrupts.
“I know it’s not any of my business, but I think he should really get that checked out. I can give you directions to a nearby clinic.”
Ricardo barked in protest. “I’m fine! I just fell.” His hands never slackened his grip on the sweatshirt.
“You heard the boy, this isn’t your business.” Dennis “Have a good rest of your day, sir.”
There was a moment of silence before the guy nodded. “Yes I see, I’m sorry for coming off as meddling…” Patting his pockets he pulled out his identification. “You see, I’m an officer and I was just making sure everything was all right.”
At the mention of the occupation both Dennis and Ricardo became tense, the only difference is that one was able to hide it well while the other winced, backing away (while pulling the other person).
“I assure you that everything is just fine, officer.” Dennis gave a quick glance to the badge before glancing behind him. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes. I just fell.” Ricardo repeated, pulling the other person along, towards the van. Just two more steps.
Fear. Ricardo was expressing obvious fear. At the officer? No. He hates the cops, and will always bite back. His fear is from Dennis. And he was being very obvious about it. And the officer clocked it immediately. He could work with this.
Putting his badge away he spoke calmly. “What is your relationship with them?”
“That’s very invasive officer.” Dennis’ lips strained to keep its appearance. “He said they're fine and it's getting late. I’m taking them home.”
“And I’d let you, really.” His demeanor changed. “But something isn’t adding up here. You see.”
Dennis has patience, but it is running thin right now. And he knew that. He also knows that the other civilian still hasn’t moved, as if stuck in place. They never once turned around, truly guarded. The itch is growing, and he knows there's more at play here, he knows it, he can feel it. Now, he just needs a probable cause to still keep them here. Ragebaiting is also an option.
“Officer.” Dennis’ voice strained in thin veiled annoyance, reaching inside his suit jacket. “We really are in a hurry,” Pulling out a black card, he holds it out. “If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to call. We really must be going now. Good day.”
The officer quirked an eyebrow, but complied anyway. He made his way and reached out for the card, making a show of reading the fine print. Interesting. His ears picked up the hushed voice of one of the two civilians.
“Get on, hurry!” Ricardo whispered as he stepped on, pulling the sleeve of the other. He glances at the guy.
“Quit it, I’m going!” A softer, androgynous- but leaning more towards feminine- voice replied, equally low, but his ears caught it all the same.
“I need to see some IDs.” He puts the card inside his jacket, a smile once again on his face when he notices the eyebrow furrow in annoyance from the big guy.
“Oh what basis?”
“The guy over there is sweating, his body is trembling despite it being about 65 degrees out, blood shot eyes, and was bleeding from his nose that I saw you hit him earlier, by the way. The ‘I fell’ excuse didn’t work on me, and,” The officer made sure the big guy didn’t try anything, and if he did, he’s already ready for it. “He seems to be going through some withdrawals. I’m just trying to make sure everything is okay. Like I said before, I need to see some IDs.”
“Ricardo, can you drive?” Dennis pulls out his wallet and with it an ID, showing it to the officer.
Said boy flinched, as if the attention towards him physically hurt. “Um- no sir.”
“Then figure it out and go.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let any of you walk out. Your ID is fake, Dennis Mayson. Now I really can’t let any of you walk away. Not to mention your friend over there hasn’t turned around once since I called out.”
Dennis’ warmth smile completely dissipated. “Go, Ricardo.” He pulled out a knife from his suit, aiming it at the officer. “Even if you’re late, get Nada to the location. Go.”
Well this took an interesting turn. The officer couldn’t help but watch the scene unfold pretty dramatically. Well, everything can happen in Gotham. In the blink of an eye, he lunged just as the big guy did.
A big swing and he side-stepped before grabbing the arm and pulling. The guy dropped the knife and caught it with the other hand and swung.
He jumped back, releasing his hold. “Sorry to inform you, but you’re under arrest for attacking a police officer.”
While the skirmish started, he noticed from the corner of his eye the male dubbed Ricardo pulled the girl out of the van. Now he was able to catch a glimpse of the other party member.
His eyes immediately locked onto hers and noticed how she stiffened up. Eyes, worn down and tired, frame is light, hair somewhat of a mess, body posture showing signs of anxiousness and stress, but what captivated him most, was her face.
In that moment of distraction, he snapped back to reality in time to avoid a strike to the face. A sharp sting followed by droplets of blood appeared on the left side of his cheek. Well, he mostly avoided a strike to the face…
“Ricardo, GO!” Dennis stressed, swinging.
The officer dodged as both the civilians started making their way out of the alleyway opposite from his position. He didn’t really mind perse, he will end this fight once they’re out of sight and then find them. He’s confident he can find them.
After all, he was trained by the world's greatest detective.
-
Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson.
That’s who you made eye contact with when Ricardo pulled you out of the van. Because why the fuck not. You can’t have peace for a god damn fucking day.
You watched how his eyes zoned in on you immediately, watching, noting, examining you like one would examine something with interest. You shuddered.
You recalled reading that Dick was going to come back to Gotham but why did it have to be today of all days? You’re seriously about to lose it. Honestly.
“Hurry up! Let’s go Nada!” Ricardo shoves in urgency.
“I’m going! I’m going!” Just as you both were about to turn the corner, an engine rev could be heard coming from the direction you both are heading.
Around the corner a very familiar yellow motorcycle came into view, blocking your path. You noticed through their helmet that they were focused solely on you. “It’s you.” They way he said those words, soft and almost in relief.
Eh? What the fuck is happeneing. You knew you were getting hunted, especially by Jacob and co. but to be caught this soon by the birds is honestly going to be your thirteenth reason.
“Oh shit. A suit!” Ricardo pulled you behind him. Things were going south real quick.
Duke got off his bike, hands in the air to show no weapons, and not hostile intent. His (covered) eyes never leave your frame. “I’m not here to hurt any of you. You’re being hunted.”
You think? Your eyes narrowed in anger. You already know that! That’s why you’re stressed the fuck out!
Duke takes your facial expression as hostile and fearful. Before he can say anything else, a loud grunt is echoed through the alley and he notices a fight between Dick in his civilian (detective?) clothes, and one of Jacob’s members. Oh shit.
Ricardo bolts, harshly yanking your sleeve to run past the van causing both Dick and Duke to snap their attention on you. “Signal, switch!”
Duke wanted to protest, but now that he has found where you are, he’ll respect Dick’s decision and switch his attention towards the bouncer.
Dick on the other hand swerves around him and runs towards where the two civilians headed.
Dick notices that they are fast- or more accurately you are the one who’s agile. He watches them run towards the crowd, trying to lose him but once again, he’s trained, and he can easily spot them.
He estimates catching up to them in less than five minutes. Well, at least he will get some of his steps in early. His mind plays back to what he witnessed before the chase.
It seems like Duke wasn’t just patrolling, he was tailing. And you seem to be his objective.
You both ignore Dick as he calls out for you to stop. Yea- no, who even listens to cops anyways? Though, despite the head start you both acquired earlier, it seems that he would catch up real quick. You’re confident in yourself to easily maneuver around, but Ricardo on the other hand is not as agile as you. And he’s slowing down by the second.
“Where are we supposed to go?!” You press.
“I don’t know!” He huffs, out of breath. “I was just told to take you to him!” The bouncer.
“Great, so we’re both fucked.” You yank him when he almost trips.
“You bitch!” He hisses. “All I know is that we needed to find y-you!”
There was no way you were going to get caught by Dick Grayson or Signal, or any of the bat co. as a matter of fact.
And now Ricardo is starting to wheeze in exhaustion. You are compromised. And your spider-senses went haywire.
“Stop right there!” A hand grabbed the back of your sweatshirt, halting you with ease and in turn, stopping Ricardo in his tracks. “Gotcha!”
You stopped yourself from socking him in the gut.
Ricardo, on the other hand, pulled out a switchblade. This bought you enough time to forgo your sweatshirt, leaving you only with a tank top. “Just run Nada!”
Dick easily subdued Ricardo, his eyes watching how you didn’t even hesitate or look back as you booked it. Crossing the streets as the light turned green once you were on the other side.
He watches you glance back and disappear into the crowd.
Guess he’ll have to suit up and discuss what just happened with his family.
Being a vigilante is a stressful 24/7 job.
Prev; Next;
Yay Dick finally made an apperance. I almost forgot about him lowkey.
If you find any inconsistencies- no you don't lolol. I also didn't mean to take that long for the chapter-- oops. Poor mc can't catch a fucking break- yikes.
Stephanie and Cassandra will get more screen time soon.
Arc I is more centered in mc's life trying to get home. Arc II is more centered around her relationships with the others. That's why I'm trying to speed run this arc lolol. I'm almost there- trust, I will get there I swear.
Web Bound Secret Corner!
Spider-Woman helped fix things inside the bar enough times that Jacob started calling her "Tink"
Spider-Woman's was going to find a way to get Ricardo captured first so he can get treatment for his withdrawals but he did the job himself.
Spider-Woman isn't like the other spiders, though some things do overlap.
Spider-Woman's date of birth is January 1st.
Spider-Woman's spider sense causes her to be paranoid at all times, thus causing sleep deprivation.
Spider-Woman fears Batman, Jason, Cassandra in that order.
| Seperate Multi-characters x gn!reader: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Clark Kent & Wally West
| Fluff
| A/N: Merry Christmas! I hope you all had a great day today and got everything you asked for under the tree :)) ty to everyone who followed along with me this month; Jason's series is still ongoing (sorry for the delays, it's a crazy season rn haha) but otherwise, completed masterlist can be found here
Bruce Wayne is very particular when it comes to treating his partner for the holidays; there's no such thing as "too much" or "too extravagant" for this man, much less when it comes to treating you. If you think he spoils you the rest of the year, you are in a for big surprise come Christmas morning. Among a pile of stocking stuffers and what he considered 'smaller gifts', this year he wanted the main gift to be something you'd remember forever.
That's how you find yourself holding two tickets for a winter ski trip to the Swiss Alps, where you'll be staying at none other than a private villa resort right on top of the mountains. Ski in, ski out is what they call it. All expenses paid (as if you ever had to ask).
Dick Grayson is one of the most thoughtful and loving people you know, and this extends to his skills in gift giving as well. He's also all about being sentimental, and his gifts have been known to pull a heartstring here and there.
His gift to you this year is a necklace that immediately makes you want to bawl, with a little blue bird pendant hanging delicately on the thin chain. Dick knows he’s been awfully busy lately, and his work means he often has to go away for small periods of time. Nonetheless, he wants you to know he’s always right there with you, right where your heart is, and hopefully this little gift will remind you whenever you think otherwise.
Jason Todd has been taking pottery classes to help him relax for the last few months, and he found himself not only enjoying the process, but also getting decently good at it. Good enough, he hopes, to make you something for Christmas that you'd love and use forever.
He’s shy when he gives it to you, and you can tell he's making an effort to maintain eye contact despite the voice in his head telling him to look anywhere else. This year, Jason made you a handmade mug, designed with a bunch of happy, smiling snowmen. You can imagine how focused he had been when painting and molding on the details, stubborn in getting them right, and you have to stop yourself from crying. “So I can like, bring you coffee/tea in the morning... in it.” He murmurs, a shy smile on his face.
Tim Drake knew what he wanted to get you since summer, and has been strategically planning every little detail since. He made spreadsheets, took notes-- he even asked the opinions of some discord servers at one point, but they annoyed him so he left (after all, he knew better). Your nerd took this incredibly seriously, no detail too minuscule or too insignificant. Everything had to be perfect.
For Christmas, Tim builds you a PC; its your favorite color, has two monitors, comes with a matching keyboard and mouse, and a little figurine of your favorite character sitting inside. It's huge, and borderline daunting, and you don’t want to ask how much it all cost. “Can I play the sims in ultra quality?” You ask, and he laughs like he’s never heard of anything funnier in his life. “Babe, you could fly to the moon with this thing."
Clark Kent has always considered himself a sincere and genuine man, and his gift giving approach is just the same. He doesn't want to wake up to a flashy or chaotic scene, much preferring a quiet Christmas morning at home with the one he loves. Coffee/tea in bed, cuddling for longer than you should, and then finally making your way down to the tree.
Along with a few of your favorite snacks, Clark's gift to you is a small scrapbook album that's almost bursting open, full of all the movie tickets, photos, dried flowers, etc from the last year, as well as some memorabilia from the last few weeks of your winter events. A collection of your lives together. “It was my dad’s idea.” He murmurs softly, smiling. “He did something similar for my mom a long time ago.”
Wally West lives his life in the fast lane, which often means he’s a bit of a procrastinator when it comes to giving gifts for the holidays. But he'd never leave you empty handed, and oftentimes his best ideas come last minute anyways. This year, an idea so great hits him so hard, he has to hold himself back from spoiling the surprise ahead of time. Wally is much too excited come Christmas day, and when he asks you in a breathless "If you could go anywhere in the world right this second, where would you go?", you realize much too late what his plans are.
His gift to you? In one graceful swoop he has you in his arms, and then he's running to wherever you want to go, borders be damned. You spend the day shopping (his treat), eating (also his treat), and sightseeing all the places you dreamed of seeing in person. “Wally, is this even legal?” “Most definitely not.”
follow #jesters jubilations to keep updated :)
Divider credits: @cursed-carmine
Banner by me!
creep in slowly (i know i’d break my neck to catch you there)
˗ˋˏ ✰ ˎˊ˗ desc; things they do that are hot
˗ˋˏ ✰ ˎˊ˗ pairing; dick grayson ; jason todd ; barbara gordon
˗ˋˏ ✰ ˎˊ˗ mlist; !!!!!
dick grayson
casual affection
the apartment smells a little bit like cinnamon; dick must have put the diffuser on, he seems to prefer it over the citrus scented option.
it’s easy from that point on to track where i’ve just be in the apartment- sat in the living room, in the armchair by the window as expected. the weather’s been cooling down recently, creeping from summer into autumn as the months pass leisurely on their way.
there’s some kind of function thing- something to do with one of dick’s old work buddies- that the two of you are supposed to go to, and as per usual, he’s procrastinating the whole process of getting ready until the final minutes before you’re due to leave.
he’s halfway through tugging on his left shoe and mumbling curses under his breath when said shoe goes flying.. and skids to a stop at your feet. when he looks up, his face is all amused in that stupid way he only gets when he finds something overly ironic.
“well.. guess i put my best foot forward,” he’s standing up then, annoyingly fluid as he walks across the living room towards you despite wearing only a single shoe and stupidly bright socks, “i have to with you on my arm.”
his smile is warm, if a little impish- curled up at the corners, straight white teeth bared between full lips. his eyes are already flicking over the points of your face, liquid and warm and oozing over every detail all at once; his focus has always been like that, warm and intent.
you’re watching him, watching you.
it’s almost instinctive to lean into his space when he’s so close, drawn in by him, willing and wanting and craving.
“flatterer,” he looks amused by your word, the tone of your voice; perhaps that’s what makes him preen when your hand jabs lightly into his side, not even pretending to be bothered by it like he might usually do, “you should finish getting ready, or we’ll be late.”
less surprising, is when he grabs for your hand retracting from his side so that he can pull you in. his hands are at your waist, hands greedy as they squeeze at the fat of your hips and drag appreciatively around the small of your back. one of them slips into the back pocket of your pants, playful as he uses that grasp to pull you in to him as close as he possibly can.
“we’ll be fine,” his eyes are squinted closed in a half-moon sort of way, other hand wandering up to tug your shirt so it fits more neatly around your shoulders, “i like your company much better, anyways. so a few extra minutes with just us is great, as far as i’m concerned.”
it’s easy enough to lean into his hands then, into his warmth and his orbit- however, you know he’ll just whine later if you’re both too tardy, despite it being of his own machinations.
it seems he’s already following your pattern of thought, if the narrowing of his eyes has anything to do with things. its sort of cute, the way it looks like he’s pouting.
pretty.
it’s as he’s pulling away that you can really tell he’s procrastinating, with the way his hands drag up and over your hips and waist. they sneak up your body to eventually mess around with your collar, fingers brushing your neck and leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch.
warm fingers skim over your jaw and brush errant strands of hair back from your face, tracing over delicate skin and coaxing you in to bask at the attention. there’s a huff of laughter when your eyes fall closed, and then kisses are mapped reverently over your lips and cheeks and temples.
“dick?” he hums in answer to your voice, nuzzling his cheek against your own as his hands drop back down to mess around with your collar again, “..stop distracting me and put your other shoe on.”
(he denies the fact later when you bring it up that he had, indeed, pouted for a solid half of the way to the bar.)
jason todd
eye contact
autumn turns to winter, turns to spring, turns to summer in a never ending transition of the seasons. change is inevitable, yet, through all of it one thing remains blissful and unchanging.
jason todd- gothamite, fearless warrior, doting boyfriend- lives in your apartment, your joint apartment together, and who could blame you for being inconceivably smug over that?
no one.
perhaps it’s why the beginning of a lazy morning has transitioned into a syrupy sort of afternoon, consisting of very little outside of the four walls of the apartment. throughout the day, it becomes increasingly obvious that there is a weight that hangs over your body; an awareness, pins and needles spreading up and down your spine and refusing to leave.
you’re being watched.
though, every time you turn to look at the only other person in the apartment; he’s always busy, always doing something else.
at 8am? meal prep for the rest of the week.
at 10:45am? on the phone with roy.
at 2pm? reading.
you’re being watched, and the watcher just so happens to be frustratingly good at being discreet.. when he wants to be, anyway. as discreet as a man who exists always in your mind, flitting through your peripherals and making space for himself outside of the confines of every thought can be, anyways.
maybe it’s why you make your way over to him sometime mid afternoon, to the space he takes up on the couch- and it’s not a small couch, but it looks much smaller than it really is with jason spread out over it like a spoilt house cat- and slot yourself in beside him.
this routine is a familiar one to the both of you; his arms lifting to make space for you, an amused curl at the corner of his mouth once you lay your head down on his thighs. the muscles in his thighs momentarily flex under your head as you adjust your weight, the solid mass making a perfect cushion as you make yourself at home.
when he looks down at you from above, it clicks then that this- or something like this- had been what he’d been silently hinting at all day.
silly, stubborn man.
he blinks slowly down at your amused face, and it does nothing to hide the softness of his expression or the twitching smile at his mouth, “comfortable?”
his voice is like molasses and his eyes stare pointedly at your own, squinted in the way they only get when he’s thinking very hard about something. he leans forward then, his shadow falling over you as he neatly rests the propped open book against your chest; not long after, his hand is cupping the side of your face and the coolness of his hand radiates deep into your skin.
“mhm.. something on your mind?” your voice is even in tone, spoken quietly so as not to upset the developing moment- sometimes when you ask him directly like this, he’ll answer and sometimes he’ll deflect.. it’s a gamble, and it all depends entirely on if he’s processed whatever thought has him distracted.
his eyes stay fixated on your own eyes, almost singleminded as his thumb sweeps gently under your eye and along the bridge of your nose. he tips his head a little and leans down closer, smelling faintly like laundry detergent where his stomach presses into one of your cheeks.
“you.” his eyes go sharp then, half lidded and intent as his voice dips into something that has a sudden thrill spreading heat down low into your gut. he pauses, leaning down closer until he can brush a messy sort of kiss onto your forehead.
the moment stretches, and then snaps like a rubber band.
“..and how wrong you were with that prediction about the new wuthering heights movie,” his eyebrows scrunch, faux accusation in his voice as he leans back up to look down at your face once again, “i’m choosing any movies we go and see now- that was a disgrace to cinema. i’d take watching the velocipastor again any time over that.”
“not saying i don’t agree with you, but you’re a bit of a purist about adaptations from classic literature-“
“i am not a purist! watching it was like two hours of chewing wet fucking cardboard- it had a lack of tone, it was tone deaf freak bait-“
(the discussion goes on for much longer than jason will ever admit to)
barbara gordon
talks with her hands
there are sirens outside, whirring somewhere in the distance; but, that’s gotham, so it’s not all that surprising. it’s also raining; but again.. gotham.
fork found in kitchen.
the rain isn’t so terrible when it means staying in for the night, dry and unscathed and also able to shut the door in the envious delivery guy’s face- how fortunate.
there’s a call of your name as you turn back towards the open entryway of the apartment, and spy an eager looking face peering around the doorway.. no doubt finally summoned from her computers and technology by the sweet, greasy smell of the takeout still warming your hands.
yum.
“ah, i take it you’re finished with.. what was it again?” you can see her face already contorting into a wry sort of expression, only further punctuated by her hands swiping the takeout from your possession once you’ve gotten close enough to her.
“weren’t you listening to me earlier?” she’s got her back turned and already walking away now, shifting through the apartment in her rumpled sweatpants- the ratty off-brand batgirl ones with the coffee stain on the waistband- and still somehow managing to look like something out of a dream.
she turns her head over her shoulder, eyebrows arched in a vague sort of amusement when she can see your eyes flick up from the swell of her hips; something sharp crosses her expression and only encourages the humour in it to deepen as she sets the takeout down on the kitchen bench, “i’ll take that as a no. since you’re so easily distracted, i was working on..”
and, really, who can blame you for getting so easily distracted with such a pretty girlfriend?
as you approach, most of her words unfortunately go in one ear and out the other. she’s started talking with her hands, and as usual, you find yourself focussed on that instead.
she flicks her wrist and curls her fingers, then splays her fingers wide and you follow the movement closely; she’s making some kind of sudden, jolting motion, and you think you make some kind of humming noise along with her words.
her hands are strong, with little scars that criss-cross over her knuckles and palms from years of fighting. her fingers are slender and dexterous, and maybe in another life she could have been a pianist or a painter; but they suit her well in this one, capable of keeping her safe and keeping her informed.
perhaps it’s because you’re so focussed, it’s why you don’t notice her hand near your face until she’s tapping her fingers at your cheek to get your attention- more than anything, she looks.. thoroughly amused. slightly annoyed and, most of all, affectionate.
“food will get cold if you keep zoning out, space case,” her fingers tap at your cheek- twice, gently and in quick succession- and her hand retracts, watching you with shrewd eyes through the lenses of her glasses, “i won’t offer a third try at an explanation until after we’ve eaten- can’t waste good food.”
you know her well enough to know the next explanation might be a little more.. hands on. so of course, you’re quick to focus on your food after that.
(the third explanation goes exactly like you’d hoped for)
notes; hi! life has gone downhill = writing something to fill the void,, more like “posting something that’s been sitting in my drafts mostly incomplete that is NOW complete to fill the void” or uh, yeah! dc because i started collecting comics last year & i love dick grayson <3
