#decent lighting?? in gotham???

[ozymoron]

3x14 - jerome valeska (1/2)

#cw violence #guy literally gets stabbed lmao #i made too many gifs oopsie daisies! #tripped and fell and made 19 gifs #i love the little shimmy jerome does with his shoulders in the 5th gif #hes so silly #gotham #gotham tv #jerome valeska #gifset #also this scene surprisingly has pretty decent lighting #decent lighting?? in gotham??? #its like finding gold #its even better in the mirror maze #like they couldve had good lighting #guess the guys doing the lighting just didnt want to fucking bother #too obsessed with their blue and yellow contrasting colours to see their lighting is absolute dogshit #oops so many tags my bad

[mokulule]

Take Out for Dummies - Part 3

Aka Danny has been hired to take out Red Hood, there may or may not have been a misunderstanding.

First | Masterpost

Jason had carefully checked their surrounding for cameras, but they ended up doing as Danny had suggested, sitting back to back each with their own collection of various meats and vegetables on sticks.

Danny groaned and leaned his weight back against Jason. “What is it about food on a stick that makes it so delicious?”

Jason chuckled, “I don’t know.”

It was simple fare, charred just the right amount from the grill and spicy in a way that warmed.

There was a moment of silence.

“You have a very nice voice, you know? Like I get the voice modulation is meant to be scary and all and it makes sense. Just… you have a nice voice.”Jason swallowed. He wasn’t sure why his throat felt so tight all of a sudden.

“Thanks.” He didn’t know what else to say.

They finished eating and Danny jumped up with renewed restless energy, still turned away from Jason.

“Tell me when you’re decent.”

Jason snorted as he pulled the helmet back on and it came online. “I’ll show you indecent.”

Danny squeaked. Jason turned around to find him hiding his face in his hands in embarrassment. At least Jason wasn’t the only one with the dirty thoughts.

“Alright-“ Jason peeled one of Danny’s hands away to hold it, “show the way. Are we breaking in?”

“Uh-“ Danny looked from Jason to the hand, his cheeks were dusted a very becoming pink - turnabout really was fair play. Finally he seemed to come back online as he shook his head.

“No, I have a key.”

Jason grabbed the trash bag in his other hand as Danny was still carting around his unicorn.

“Why do you have a key to the ice rink?”

“I do maintenance here sometimes, so I asked to borrow the rink for tonight.”

“Are there anyone in Gotham you don’t know at this point?”

“I’m sure there are plenty still,” Danny answered the rhetorical question as he opened the roof access door. Why that was the door he had a key to was another question entirely. Though they may of course just all use the same key.

They went down a stairwell and out into the cold hall with the frozen rink as centerpiece. Jason eyed Danny’s thin button down shirt, if he’d planned this why hadn’t he brought a jacket?

“There’s skates over there,” Danny pointed to the skate renting counter on the left side of the room. “will you grab me a pair of size seven skates, while I turn on some music and lights?”

Jason did as asked jumping the counter. There was a convenient trash can behind the counter where he could dump the bag.

When he returned to the main hall with skates in hand his eyes widened. When Danny had said turn on the lights he hadn’t expected them to be from those multicolored disco balls, nor for the music to put them back to the 70’s with an upbeat disco track.

“What do you think?” Danny yelled from where he ducked out from an operator room.

“It’s something alright,” Jason yelled back as he sat down on one of the benches and started pulling his boots off. He snorted as he realized something: if this was still an elaborate hit, Danny would be the type to love the double pun of taking out Red Hood by putting him on ice.

Jason didn’t actually think this was a hit. Hadn’t thought so in quite a while. He’d let his guard down.

Danny walked over with that small smile on his face that made Jason wonder if this was just his base state; just happy, enjoying himself, doing his little odd jobs, helping kids out for pebbles because he could, taking Red Hood out on a date.

Jason still didn’t know what to think about that. Like even if he genuinely thought whoever asked him to take out Red Hood meant on a date, there was still that logic break where Danny had decided, yeah sure sounds like a fun time, let’s just corner the former crime lord current vigilante on a rooftop in the middle of the night to ask his date preferences.

Danny was definitely not normal in any sense of the word, but Jason found that he couldn’t help but like that. Some good kind of crazy in this city for once.

“Never been to a skating disco before?” Danny asked when he within easy speaking range.

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Well not that there’s really any expectations here since it’s just the two of us, so we can do whatever.” Danny grinned, sat down next Jason and pulled his shoes off. He was in his skates and jumping to his feet in no time at all. He wobbled, and windmilled his arms so as not to fall and Jason had to grab him and steady him.

“Are you sure you have tried this before?”

“I’ll have you know I’m a great skater.” Danny sniffed, brushing Jason off, as he started awkwardly walking towards the rink in his skates.

“Just not at walking in them.”

Danny sent him a bewildered look. “Nobody is good at walking in skates.”

Jason rolled his eyes and tightened and tied off the last lace. He didn’t jump up carelessly like Danny, instead he rose and took careful steps. While it was indeed neither comfortable or normal to walk on the bladed edge of the skates, he did make it seem a great deal more natural than Danny had.

Danny stuck out his tongue at him for that and Jason couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up. Join me on the ice and we’ll see who’s laughing.” With that he stepped onto the ice in a languid, confident glide, that immediately made it clear, that Danny did indeed know how to skate.

But Jason was no slouch either. He could skate even if it’s been a while and he never said no to a challenge. It took a moment for Jason to get used to the ice below his feet, but he quickly gained both speed and confidence.

Danny caught his eyes then with a wink, turned, and built up speed in a few quick glides and then he was jumping off the ice, spinning in the air and at what seemed like last moment he landed on just one leg, the other leg stretched out behind him as he leaned forward in something almost like a bow.

Okay so it turns out Danny couldn’t just skate he could skate. As in he could do not just spins but flips - Jason could do flips fine on the ground; he was not quite Dick enough to try it on ice. Of course Danny was also being a little shit about it.

There was something about that smile he was sporting that made Jason just want to reach out and grab him - and do what? He wasn’t sure. But there was an invite to try and catch him in the way he glided around Jason, responding to Jason’s movements by darting away like a fish only to come back, but never close enough to reach.

Jason smiled. Okay, he would bite.

When next Danny passed, he lunged. Danny shot forward with a delighted laugh. Jason wasn’t far behind him, but Danny’s turns were needle point sharp as he lead Jason on a merry chase across the ice. He was slippery as a fucking eel, the way he kept himself just shy of Jason’s fingertips every time he reached for him.

He was doing it on purpose too, Jason realized. He was letting Jason get close only to twist and turn and escape with a laugh and leave Jason to regain the balance he lost by lunging. Jason didn’t immediately pick up the chase this time.

“What’s the matter Hood? Can’t keep up?”Jason huffed. No, he couldn’t. That much was clear at this point. But that didn’t mean the game was over. It only meant Jason had to work smarter not harder. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and started on a leisured circuit of the rink.

“Did you skate a lot as a kid?”

Danny came into Jason’s field of view, skating backwards effortlessly. There was a slight pout on his face at the interrupted game, but he answered Jason’s question, “Not really.”

“Huh, how did you learn to skate then?” Jason asked surprised.

That wiped away Danny’s pout and Jason felt a twinge of anticipation for what surely boded another fun story, but nothing could have prepared him for what actually came out of Danny’s mouth.

“I was taught by a yeti named Frostbite, he’s like my mentor in everything ice.”

“A yeti?” Jason spluttered.

Danny grinned in a way that showed he knew exactly how outrageous it sounded, but still kept his voice perfectly even when he said, “yes, it’s their national sport.”

Jason laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Uh huh, and where did you meet this yeti?”

“A place called the Far Frozen, not many people have heard of it. They tend to be rather reclusive.”

Danny didn’t falter one moment in his explanation. He either had a selection of stories he told or he was extremely good at improvising. He was also suddenly within reach, guard down as he thought Red Hood had given up on the game.

Jason lunged. Danny’s eyes widened comically as he realized his mistake and tried to backpedal, but it was too late. Jason had him wrapped in his arms. They both went down overbalanced from Danny’s struggle. Jason twisted them so he took the brunt of the fall. Danny didn’t deserve to be caught beneath 225 pounds of vigilante even if he’d been asking for it.

They laid there on the ice catching their breaths.

“Bastard, you caught me.” Danny finally spoke giggling like he couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have-“ Jason stopped, finally noticing how cold Danny was. “You’re freezing!”

“No really it’s fine-“ Danny protested as Jason pulled him back up, but Jason wouldn’t have it.

“Who forgets to wear a jacket when going skating,” Jason grumbled pulling his jacket off and wrapping it around Danny shoulders. It looked comically large hanging off Danny’s small frame, but Jason only gave himself a small moment to appreciate it before drawing Danny close again.

It took a moment but then Danny relaxed into the hold.

“How’s this? Better?” Jason asked after a while.

Danny looked up his eyes wide and blue and maybe a little overwhelmed. “Y-yeah.”

Jason frowned looking around to locate the bench where their shoes were. “We should probably get out of this cold.”

“No,” Danny said immediately pressing close, then flinched, before saying quietly, “can we just stay like this for a bit?”

Jason blinked in confusion. It didn’t make sense to stay in the cold, but he found himself agreeing quietly.

The music at this point had turned to quieter songs. Jason was starting to feel the cold himself by staying still, and he started to sway to the music, moving just a little across the ice. Danny looked up. He wiggled around and it took only a moment for him to actually find the sleeves and push his arms through. Jason let go to let him and soon found his hands captured in still cold but no longer freezing hands.

“Dance with me?” Danny asked.

Jason couldn’t say no to that, but “I’ve never danced on ice before.”

Danny grinned and glided back in close, getting them positioned for a waltz. “It doesn’t have to be right, but you lead and I’ll follow and make sure we don’t fall on our asses.”

Jason scoffed as he lead them into a glide that had Danny moving along mostly backwards on the ice.

“You don’t trust me to follow.”

“No,” Danny grinned, “But I do trust you to catch me.”

Jason rolled his eyes fondly behind the helmet. Then dipped Danny suddenly to make him prove it. There wasn’t a hint of struggle, he stayed relaxed in his hold as if they’d danced together like this a million times. Jason didn’t know what to do with that, and pulled him back up.

Jason didn’t know how long they danced. Danny had started talking quietly after a while admitting he hadn’t gone on a date since he went to high school, and got Jason to admit he liked reading. but he did know his feet were starting to hurt. Still he was reluctant for it to be over.

It was only when Danny failed in hiding a yawn they left the rink.

-

Jason rolled the bike to a smooth stop putting one foot down to keep balance. He let go of the handlebars and straightened up to allow Danny to get off.

However instead of getting off Danny took off the helmet, hung it on a handlebar and twisted around bringing his legs up until he faced Jason and could wrap them lightly around Jason’s waist. Jason’s mind went blank at the way it brought them closer, the only thing keeping the position somewhat decent for the public was the unicorn now squished between them. If Jason now wished he’d never won the thing, that was a secret he was taking to his second grave.

“So,” Danny said conversationally, wrapping his arms loosely around Jason’s neck, leaning his forearms on his shoulders almost thoughtfully, “I had fun.” He smiled. “I hope you also had fun, that was the whole purpose after all.”

He paused - maybe waiting for a response, but Jason didn’t even know what to say. He certainly wasn’t going to admit he had fun. That was- Red Hood wouldn’t do that. He’d already behaved way too much like himself tonight.

There was a momentary frown on Danny’s face before it smoothed out replaced by a soft smile, that Jason had no idea what to do with. “This is the point where a successful date is usually rewarded with a kiss - you can say no?”

Jason stiffened.

Surely he wasn’t going to?!

Danny leaned in, his smile turned wicked for a moment as his hands splayed out on either side of the helmet. Jason needed to stop him, but instead his traitorous hands landed on Danny’s waist.

He needed to push him away; he didn’t.

Danny’s hands tightened on the helmet, pulling-

Except he didn’t pull the helmet off, he just pulled Jason closer and tilted his head backwards and then pressed his lips to the helmet, right were his mouth would have been. It was chaste, but not just a quick peck. No, it was a slow and languid press in a way that made Jason all too aware that there was little more than an inch between their lips, but it might as well have been miles for the barrier between them. Slow in a way that made Jason’s breath catch in his throat and his treacherous brain wish Danny had removed the fucking helmet.

Danny drew back, his blue eyes practically sparkling in mischief and he lightly bonked his forehead against the helmet before twisting around again and jumping off, Jason letting him reluctantly.

“See you around, Hood.” Danny waved once before he started walking down the road, unicorn plushie under one arm, utterly unafraid to walk the most crime ridden streets of Gotham in the early hours of the morning. Presumably he was going home to his mystery residence.

Jason should follow him. It was the perfect time to find out more about the mystery that was Odd-Job Danny. It was why he’d agreed to the date in the first place. Right?

Instead his brain was going around in circles, wondering if he had pulled up his helmet when Danny first mentioned the kiss, not pulled it off of course, just up to his nose or so, would Danny have gone through with it? Would he have actually kissed him? Or did he only do it because he knew the helmet was there in between them?

Did Jason want him to kiss him?

Fuck. He did.

Danny was gone now, nowhere to be seen. Whatever chance he’d had of figuring out more was gone. And yet that seemed the least of Jason’s problems.

-

So that's the end of the date, though of course not the end of the story. Consider commenting or writing something in the tags if you liked it, things irl are gonna be very busy for the next year so I could use all the motivation for writing I can scrape together. You can subscribe at the masterpost for future updates. Next

#take out for dummies #dead on main #dp x dc

[fetish4juggalos]

Bed time with Gotham villans

I haven’t posted anything recently and thought in light of 2023 coming to a start I’d post something for the new year even though we’re 6 months into it :3

I apologize in advance for both grammatical errors and spelling errors:)

Oswald Cobblepot

I can imagine oswald being a very wild sleeper. Like the kind that can go to sleep on the opposite side of the bed and end up with their leg over you with their arms wrapped around you

Probably has alot of night terrors specially about his mom and dad. Loud random screams in the middle of the night will be a common occurrence for you

Goes to sleep in a full pajama set with night cap and slippers:)

Blanket hog all the way, constantly kicking you in the back, cuddling into you, ect.

Though he's probably not the best to sleep with hes definitely got the nicest bed. Like im talking king sized with silk pillow cases, and sheets with a ridiculous thread count

I imagine him having some long ass night routine or some weird night ritual he follows before bed

He's the last to get into bed and the first to fall asleep

Likes a warm glass of milk (or a lukewarm glass of alcohol) before bed because he's old fashioned

Refuses to go to sleep without you and will wait till the early hours of the morning and late hours of night for you to come to bed

Edward Nygma (pre-riddler)

Ed unsurprisingly is very pleasant to sleep with

He’s not a very calm sleeper but he isn't like incredibly wild either. Maybe a arm or leg thrown over the edge of the bed but thats about it

Has the occasional night terrors but besides that is otherwise peaceful 

Sleeps in relatively normal sleep attire. Plain shirt with pajama pants mostly

Really basic white male night time routine. shower, brush teeth, wash face and head to bed

He has a decent sleep schedule with only the occasional sleep insomnia

Likes to spend a little time playing video games or solving puzzles before bed

Edward Nygma (post-riddler)

Sleeps a lot less then pre-riddler ed

When he does sleep it’s only for a few hours and tends to have nightmares in between periods of rest

He’s not one to initiate cuddling during bed time but he won’t stop you from cuddling up next him

Will at times sleep on the couch or wherever he ends up falling asleep. Mostly up to you to make sure he gets a healthy amount of rest

Over thinks greatly before bed and ends up circling the room on a tangent or whenever an idea strikes

Sometimes breaks into your apartment just to sleep next to you or will show up and pass out on your couch

Talks and mumbles in his sleep

Victor Zsasz

Victor rarely sleeps but will lay in bed just to be next to you for a few hours before his next job

Sleeps in mostly just boxers since he takes a shower directly before he goes to bed but on off days he’ll throw on a t-shirt and lay in bed with you

Calm sleeper surprisingly

It takes a specific type of man to be able to kill someone then come home and sleep peacefully

He’s a quiet sleeper which is also why he makes such a god assassin as noise suppression is a huge part of his job

You always fall asleep first and he likes to just stare at you for long periods of time

Half drunken water bottles and glasses on the night stand at all times

I feel like he would have some kind of lengthy skin care routine before bed

Likes cuddling especially if he’s the little spoon

Wakes up at ungodly early hours of the morning

Blanket hog but just to be annoying and so that way you’ll sleep closer to him

Only really sleeps if you’re sleeping with him as he doesn’t really sleep as much as most people and probably only rests his eyes for a few hours at a time

Jervis Tetch

Jervis is very affectionate when it comes to bed time. He loves cuddling, holding you, kissing you ect.

I imagine his bed is incredibly comfortable with many multi-colored and textured throws, quilts, and blankets covering the bed. Probably decorative pillows as well in many colors and shapes

Full pajama sleep attire. Button up sleep shirt, pants, slippers, and a night hat similar to Oswald

He likes reading to you or being read bedtime stories. His current favorite (aside from obviously alice in wonderland) is the wizard of Oz

A warm glass of milk or tea before bed is essential and he always makes some before bed

Jervis is a bit of a wild sleeper but for the most part stays in one spot on the bed only kneeing you a few times and stirring in his sleep

He runs warm so he doesn’t take up a whole lot of blanket but during the summer he ends up drenched in sweat blanket or not

Wild bed head since his curls are hard to tame at times

Stays up late so he falls asleep first since he’s always exhausted and sleep deprived

Wokenup in a cold sweat a few times from the occasional nightmares relating to his sister but all he needs is you to pull him back into reality

Talks to you until he falls asleep to help him get some energy out and clear his mind. He talks to you about anything and everything until he begins to drift off

Jerome Valeska

Jerome is an incredibly wild sleeper. So much so to the point where no matter what position or side of the bed he’s on he’ll end up on the opposite side in a completely different position

Throws the blanket off and on going from hogging it to throwing it on the floor

He runs hot so his sleep attire is mostly him without a shirt and a pair of tattered pajama pants or just boxers

He doesn’t really have a night time routine to speak of or a steady schedule

Normally it’s just whenever he’s tired and wherever he’s at that determine what his sleep is going to be like and how long it lasts

He’s a big cuddler at first but because he’s such a wild sleeper he’ll probably end up letting go of you and turning to the opposite side of the bed

He’ll wake up in a bad mood if he’s not sleeping with you next to him or in his arms in the morning tho even if it’s entirely his fault

He’s a brat so it takes forever to coax him into going to bed. Plus he’s stubborn so even when you get him into bed he’ll do everything in his power to annoy you or to not fall asleep

He talks a lot in his sleep normally it’s laughter or it’s him mumbling on about his mother and the trauma he received

He has nightmares but they don’t wake him up only increase his tossing and turning and sleep talk

I feel like he sleep walks at times when he’s not knocked completely out and I can image you’ve had to bring him back to bed a few times

#victor zsasz x reader #oswald cobblepot x reader #edward nygma x reader #the riddler x reader #the riddler #edward nygma #gotham #the penguin #the penguin x reader #jervis tetch x reader #jervis tetch #oswald cobblepot #jerome valeska #jerome valeska x reader

[too-much-tma-stuff]

As Weak as You are Strong

Part 2 of Mutually Assured Disaster, as usual this isn’t edited so if you see any errors let me know!

-----------

Training Danny did not go the way that Hood had expected it too. First off it started way sooner then he had expected or wanted, he had wanted Danny to rest and fully heal before they started anything, maybe settle in fully to Gotham. But by the end of the first week he had realized that keeping the boy still was a fucking impossible task, he was so fucking restless! Jason attempted it for another four days before realizing that he had to give Danny something controlled and safe to do before sitting still drove him crazy and he did something stupid.

The easiest way to do that just then was to start training Danny, he was able to put it off a few more days by telling Danny he wouldn’t start training until he was signed up for school because the teen didn’t want to go back to school. But it was only a couple days before he seemed to decide that even school would be better then nothing.

Danny accepted being given a new identity, Danny Nightingale and let Hood forge paperwork to have legal guardianship and then enroll him in a decent school. Though he wouldn’t be starting till next semester to give him a chance to settle in to his new home. Jason wasn’t entirely sure when he’d decided Danny belonged with him, but he had, and was looking into bigger apartments for him and his new ward. After all it was official now.

“Okay the first step will be for you to show me what you can do to get a baseline, so we’ll go to gym I usually use after breakfast,” Jason finally said one morning as pulled a bottle of milk out of the fridge. Usually he cooked breakfast for them but it was a bad idea to eat to heavily before a work out, he’d take Danny out for lunch afterwards instead.

He heard Danny pause from where he was digging around in the cupboard grumbling about how healthy Jason’s cereal options were, as if he wasn’t the one who’d already eaten the box of sugary shit Tim had left here. The silence went on for too long and Jason scowled, turning to put the milk down on the counter and stare ad Danny hard.

“What’s the issue Wisp?” Jason asked sounding more annoyed then he actually was.

“Well, it’s just, I’m really strong and I have, like, a lot of powers? A Lot, I don’t even remember all of them half the time! I think it might be better of we leave town for me to show you? Like, if you want to see my most powerful ability that’s my Ghostly Wail, which is a pretty powerful sonic thing I don’t have great control of and I’m worried if I tried to do it inside I might bring down the building.” Danny rambled as casually as he could while he went back to digging for cereal and brought them over to the table.

Jason blinked as he processed that and then nodded slowly. “Okay, we haven’t talked about this much, what powers do you have?”

“Well, the sonic scream I mentioned, super strength, flight, intangibility, I can make and control ice, I have enhanced senses, I can shock people though that’s a hands on attack… Oh, I can sort of hypnotize people, I can possess people as well but I don’t like doing it… I can shape shift a bit though I’m not very good at it yet.” Danny said, counting them out on his fingers and looking a bit unsure as if he might have forgotten some.

“Damn Spooks what Can’t you do?” Jason asked, making light of how genuinely shocking Danny’s power level was.

“I think eventually I’ll learn how to shoot lasers.. Oh! I forgot my ecto beams! I can shoot ecto from my hands with some force, it’s corrosive to humans. And I can’t duplicate yet, the one older member of my species I met could so I assume I’ll learn eventually? I’m not really in a rush to learn though, I already kind of scare myself,” Danny admitted, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Alright, can you show me everything accept the wail inside?” Jason asked tapping his fingers absently against the table, before Danny shoved the box of cereal across the table to him and he remembered they were supposed to be eating.

“I think so, as long as I’m careful. But if I break anything you’re paying for it,” Danny joked around a mouthful of cereal, pointing his spoon at Jason.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Jason said automatically, forcing himself to power through the realization he was fucking parenting this kid. “If I have to pay for anything you’re grounded.”

“You can’t ground me, you’re not my dad,” Danny shot back with an exaggerated pout, at least his mouth wasn’t full this time.

“So you’re not living under my roof, eating all my food, and asking me to train you?” Jason asked, raising his eyebrows, Danny stayed silent, pouting and poking at his cereal, steering the last few bits around the bowl. “If you have so little control of your power that you would break something you might seriously hurt a human in the field even if they don’t deserve it, and we don’t want that so if you break anything you’ll be grounded and it’ll be longer before you get into the field. Until we’re both confident in your control,” Jason explained firmly, he watched Danny consider that then deflate and nod.

“Fine,” He mumbled, drinking his cereal milk and bringing his bowl to the sink, washing it quickly.

Jason let it go, he knew Danny didn’t want to hurt anyone, he was a good kid, he was just disappointed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had a shit attitude when he was Danny’s age as well. Jason finished his breakfast quickly, cleaning up before he grabbed the keys to his bike. “Alright let’s get to the gym, I already made sure it would be kept empty for the morning, so no one will see what we do.” He had been going to this place for ages and no one had found out he was Red Hood after all, in Gotham businesses that catered to vigilantes and rogues were deeply valued.

Danny nodded and grabbed the helmet Jason had bought for him in the first couple days. He left the apartment and went down the stairs ahead of Jason as he locked up. Danny bounded down, jumping a flight of stairs at the time and waiting on the landing for Jason to catch up before leaping down the next one. Jason didn’t understand why he was doing but he had learned gravity didn’t affect Danny the same way as most people did so jumping that way wouldn’t hurt the kid. And if it made him happy Jason didn’t give a shit, he just hurried to keep up.

Danny sat on the back of Jason’s bike, making him think about how he should really look into getting a sidecar or something, even though Danny seemed to enjoy riding on the back. Actually, it was the first time Jason was genuinely considering switching to a car for regular use, that would be safer right? And what if Danny wanted to have a friend over once he started school? Jason couldn’t bring both Danny And a friend home like this. Ya, he should definitely get a car.

God fucking damn it, he was a dad.

They reached the gym no problem and Jason lead the way this time, Danny hanging back just a little, clearly nervous. Jason marched on ahead, leading by example that there was nothing to be afraid of, and Danny hurried to keep up. There were a few people there still there so Jason whistled loudly and reminded the room at large the gym was privately booked out for the next couple hours and it was time to clear out. There was some grumbling but everyone went, it wasn’t exactly the first time this had happened.

“Okay the first thing is a test of strength, help me move all this shit out of the way,” Jason said, he was joking really but Danny didn’t seem to notice. He nodded firmly and went and grabbed one of the pieces of exercise equipment, lifting it and all the weights attached with no trouble at all. Jason had to pause to process that, watching as Danny moved it off to the side. “How much exactly can you lift?”

“I don’t know, I lifted a bus once and it wasn’t to hard,” Danny told Jason casually, as if that was fucking normal! Jason really had his work cut out for him with this kid. He sighed at Danny and then went to grab some targets since Danny had mentioned some sort of blast.

“Alright now that we have a clear patch show me what else you can do,” Jason said once he’d set up the targets. Danny nodded with a determined set to his jaw and in a flash of light that made Jason blink Danny had changed, his hair turning white and his eyes a green that would have made Jason’s stomach turn if he wasn’t already half used to Danny’s eyes flashing that colour randomly.

Over the next hour he watched as Danny blasted the targets with green beams that seemed to melt through what they hit and then eat through the rest, shock, freeze, and fight. When Jason told him to hit a punching bag as hard as he could Danny fucking broke it! The chain snapped and the bag flew across the room.

“I’m so sorry!” Danny yelped as soon as he realized what he’d done, before Jason had fully processed it. “You told me to hit as hard as I could! I should have known to hold back a bit but-“ Danny cut off on his justifications, ducking his head and biting his lip.

Jason took a deep breath, watching the sand that spilled from the split in the punching bag and trying not to think about what that force could do to a human body. “It’s alright, I did say to hit it as hard as you could. Now I need to see if you can punch just hard enough to drop a person without hurting them badly,” he said, ushering Danny over to a bag that wasn’t broken. He wanted to spar with Danny but he needed to make sure it wasn’t overly dangerous to his health first.

“I can do it in my human form,” Danny offered, eager to be helpful. “I have some access to my powers when I am but they’re much weaker when I am so it might be safer.”

“Safer for others but what about for you? You’re more vulnerable when you’re in your human form right?” Jason demanded and Danny winced, nodding reluctantly. “Alright then we’re going to work on you being able to control and restrain your strength in this form. You should be able to do that anyway, pulling a punch takes just as much strength as following it through and the control is even more impressive.”

“This is going to take forever,” Danny groaned.

“Well then we’d better get started then shouldn’t we?” Jason said, repressing his smile in case Danny thought he was making fun of him.

Danny groaned dramatically again, wallowing but only for a moment before the determined set to his jaw returned and he nodded. “Good, do you think you can spar with me without throwing me into a wall?” Jason joked, Danny wouldn’t want to hurt Jason so it really was the best way to help him practice.

Danny barked a startled laugh and grinned. “Oh ya! Don’t worry I’ll go easy on you~” Danny teased making Jason laugh in return, the kid really liked to banter.

“Don’t hold back to much, I’m plenty strong,” Jason shot back as he lead the way to the mat. “After this though I’m taking you to the shooting range. A gun with rubber bullets will be a good way for you to have a ranged attack without shooting fucking acid, and it’s a lot gentler then you can hit. The last thing we need is for you to get worked up or spooked in the field and really hurting someone by accident.”

“Turns out I’m not a gun, I’m much, much worse,” Danny joked and Jason rolled his eyes at the movie reference.

He dropped into a fighting stance once he reached the mat. “I’m on the attack now, I just want you to show me how well you can dodge and block Without using your powers.” Once he had Danny’s confirmation and the younger man was in his stance Jason lunged without a count in.

Danny wasn’t bad for someone who didn’t have any actual training, he was quick and his reflexes were good but he was clearly used to relying more heavily on his powers and took a couple pretty hard hits. Just as importantly though he took those hits, stumbled, recovered, and kept going. They could never avoid every hit, being able to keep going in spite of it was a crucial skill in this line of work.

Jason pushed it until he could see Danny starting to get frustrated so Jason had a good measure of both his abilities and his capacity and then backed off. “Alright we need to work on that, and your patience,” Jason said as he left the mat for a moment to grab their water bottles.

“Why?” Danny asked, maybe a little petulantly, he was eager to get out on patrol and he had always been able to rely on his powers before. Still Jason chose to answer the question in good faith.

“What if your attacked as a civilian and need to hide your powers? What if some day you’re up against something who Can actually hurt and hit you? They obviously exist given how you found me. What if some day you lose your abilities?” Jason pointed out. “Your life is the most important thing so if you have to use them so be it but we need to make sure you can handle yourself decently without them.” He handed Danny his water bottle and they both drank while Danny processed and valiantly attempted not to sulk, he was still a teenager after all and a bit immature.

“As for your patience, you don’t have anger issues like mine but if you lost your temper you could do a lot more damage.” Jason noted the way that made Danny flinch, he’s ask about that later.

“Alright now your turn to attack, show me how you fight without those powers of yours. You can turn back now if you want to, though I think you should patrol in this form so you should learn to control your strength like this. It’ll help keep your identity secret too. Though if the people in this city haven’t figured out who Nightwing is their obviously fucking idiots,” Jason told Danny as he put down his bottle and returned to the mat.

“I don’t have a lot of practice fighting humans, just other ghosts, so until I get a better feel for that I think I’d rather spar as a human as well. I mean, I’m still strong like this,” the same flash of white light around Danny and he once again had black hair and blue eyes. “But not as strong so it’ll be a good way to ease into it right?”

“Sure that makes sense, come on,” Jason said beckoning for Danny to come at him. Which he did, sloppily. He was fast, but he was untrained, his strikes were wide and telegraphed, Jason dodged and grabbed Danny’s arm, flipping him and putting his back on the ground before letting him up. Danny stood up again, looking a little more wary this time, he took a moment to consider Jason before attacking again, his attacks a little more considered and precise, but still pretty damn obvious.

Jason blocked and dodged mostly, letting Danny land at least one hit to see how hard it would be, he pulled it pretty well actually, it might leave a bit of a bruise but it didn’t even knock Jason over. Jason took Danny’s moment of triumph for landing a hit as an opening to put Danny on the ground again with a chuckle, he had to keep the kid humble after all right? He offered Danny his hand to help the boy up giving him a warm smile.

“Alright, not bad but there’s a lot you could learn. I think we’ve got a good baseline of what your capable of, and I’ll start training you in MMA and other fighting styles tomorrow, and shooting lessons this afternoon. First lunch, what do you want to eat?”

#jason todd #danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp #Danny never learned to fight like a human #humans are very squishy #op danny phantom #red hood #This is not my best work but I still think it's funny #fanfiction #unedited

[wayneskluv]

peraltiago!au — part 1 — j. todd ¡! ❞

pairing: jason todd x f!reader

warnings: none currently

summary: the tension that engulfed the belfry was making the atmosphere almost unbearable, any one could sense the stress coming from each vigilante–specifcally you and jason todd.

two months ago, you had made a bet to see who could stop the most crimes or take down the most criminals whilst on patrol. If he lost, he had to give you his motorcycle, that was his absolute pride and joy, and if you lost, you had to go on a date with him on said motorcycle—which, according to you, would be the worst thing in the world. though bruce didn’t necessarily approve of this bet, even he had to admit both of you had done exceptionally well and your arrest rates had both significantly improved since the bet had begun.

a/n: uhhhh part one finally sorry it’s so short but i’ll post the next one soon

YOUR FIST flew straight into the already-bloody face of one of jokers thugs, your elbow raising behind you to collide with another’s gut, knocking the air out of him.

whilst you were distracted, you don’t notice four particularly strong looking goons approach you. one grabs your elbows, and the other hooking his arms around your knees, the other two standing menacingly on guard for if you even attempt to put up a fight. the weird gotham stench that lingered in the air started to blur your vision, and your head feels as if it will split in two. your kicks and struggles do nothing to aid you, and eventually you stop trying. you had rather decent fighting skills, but the truth was, they were just stronger.

just as you give up, you drop to floor with a swift movement, a comically loud thud echoing in the alley. you glance upward slowly, trying to make out the dark figure in the pale light. “you’re welcome.” you’d recognise that smug voice from anywhere. “i believe that means i’m up by, what was it?” jason pauses in mock-thought, tapping his gloved finger to his masked chin. “oh, right! four.” you can’t see his face, but you know all too well the cocky grin that was plastered on his face.

“there’s a week left, clocks ticking.” you hear a low chuckle from above you before his hand reaches out to help you up. you reluctantly take his hand, using your knees to push off the ground—you could feel the bruises from where you had been manhandled by the thugs.

“thanks.” you mumble under your breath, swallowing your pride for a moment to be polite—he did just save your life, who knows what the joker would’ve done once he got his hands on you.

jason’s leg swept the leg of a goon, knocking him on his arse. his palm comes into contact with the temple of one of jokers henchmen, quickly slamming his head into the wall.

you almost laughed at how easy he made it for you. he was beating up the tough idiots, whilst you were interrogating a crook in the corner. when you’d got the information you need, a sweaty jason stumbled over.

you click your tongue, “so nice of you to join us.” the smugness in your tone matches the exact same one he used nights before.

he lets out a sigh, though he has to admit the banter is amusing. “i believe that’s a point in my favour.” you tap your head set, signalling the oracle.

barbara’s exasperated voice comes through the headset, “yeah, i added it to the whiteboard already.” she was as fed up as the rest of the batfamily. at first, it was entertaining, but with a week left, you’d both become insufferable with your competitiveness and the teasing.

you tap your headset, rather out of breath with a thug beneath your shoe who had chosen to stupidly struggle. “two minutes to spare, and i’m up by one. admit defeat now, jason.”

his voice comes through, “oh no.” the tone isn’t worried at all, infact, it’s rather smug—and you just know he has that shit-eating grin plastered all over his face.

“damn straight, ‘oh no.’ oh no, why aren’t you worried?” you were trying to convince yourself he was trying to psych you out, there’s no way he could beat you.

almost on cue, you hear various thudding noises and muffled grunts. oh no. no, no, no, no. “i just took down twelve goons total, accept your fate.”

you bite back almost immediately, “never.” but there was nothing you could do about it now—and you just know he is going to be a dick about it. he begins counting down from ten, whilst you repeat the word ‘no’ like you’re batman with his robins.

when he finishes counting, a loud fan fare plays throw your headset, causing you to flinch at the deafening sound. (great job jason, not like that would alert your position or anything)

“y/n y/l/n, will you do me the honour, of going on the worst date of all time? you have to say yes.” he said, a smirk crossing his lips as he could only imagine the look on your face.

you groan in frustration, but a bet is a bet. “yes.” you breathe out—almost as if that was the most painful you’ve ever had to do.

“yes! she said yes!” he says, followed by a chorus of cheers through the headset—mainly because everyone it was finally over.

“come out, it’s date time. it’s time to date.” his voice sung out from behind your door, the tone he chose to deliver his words in showed that he wasn’t trying to hide that fact he was enjoying this immensely.

you press your lips tightly together before reluctantly stepping outside to the image of him next to his motorcycle. “jason, this dress is ridiculous.”

“c’mon, there’s plenty of embarrassing to do, and only a few hours to do it.” his cocky grin never falters, and you wonder if it physically hurts to be such an obnoxious douche all the time.

“do i really have to wear this all night?” you ask, gesturing down at the ridiculous dress you are wearing. he wasn’t poor, he was the son of bruce wayne for gods sake, but he chose this tacky, cheap dress just to spite you—you can’t really be mad, you’d do the same if you were in his shoes.

“you know the rules. i decide what you wear, what you eat, and where we go.” he says with a broad smirk, “oh, and one more thing.”

you raise your eyebrows, unsure if he’s gonna say something actually genuinely serious. “no matter what happens, you’re not allowed to fall in love with me.” the teasing tone almost makes you laugh.

a smile spreads across your face, and the tenseness of your shoulders deflates. “won’t be a problem.”

tags: @duchessdaisybat @blum0rph0 @b4tm4nn

#wayneskluv peraltiago!au #wayneskluv #dc comics #jason todd x reader #no beta we die like jason todd

[amaramizuki666]

Dp x DC crossover

Jason didn't really know what to think right now. His head was hurting and the circulation to his wrists cut off. The one time the pit pit was decently quiet the ONE time Jason let his guard down, and he gets kidnapped by fucking cultists. Jason didnt know what they where doing, what they wanted to do with him.

One of the cultists a man covered in a dark green robe with gold accents, wearing a white mask with only one eye hole, grabbed jason by the hair and dragged him to the center of the giant pentagram painted with something that smelled of iorn, so jason could only assume it was blood. He just hoped it wasnt human.

The cultist man waved for two men to hold jason, as the rest where chanting something it what sounded like Latin. One of the men holding jason pulled his head back as the the other pried Jason's mouth open and covered Jason's noise.

The main cultist pulled a flask out as well as a silver chalice. The man poured the liquid from the flask into the cup. Jason felt the pit flare as he saw the bubbling hot green liquid. It was pit water. 'How did these sleazy basterds get Lazarus pit water' Jason panicked he tried to struggle but it was no use.

The leader brought the chalice to Jason's lips and poured the burning liquid into his mouth. Jason tried not to swallow it but he was choking. The man plugging his noise coused him to have no other way to breath. The liquid torched it's way painfully down Jason's throat as the leader chanted.

"∇ΩCΔMUS TΣ, PΩRTΔ UΠΔ, ∇IΠDΣX IΠΩPUM, SΔL∇ΔTΩR IΠҒIRMΩRUM. PΣR ∇ΔLLΣM TΣ ΔΠΠUIMUS, ΣT DΣT TIβI ∇ΔS UT ΔMβULΣS MUΠDUM ∇I∇ΣΠTIUM. Ω GRΔTΣ RΣX MΩRTUΩRUM, PHΔΠTΔSMΔ!"(vocamus te, porta una, vindex inopum, salvator infirmorum. per vallem te annuimus, et det tibi vas ut ambules mundum viventium. o grate rex mortuorum, phantasma!)

Jason was thrown to the ground as the cultists exited the pentagram. The vigilante didnt know what was happening, the pentagram glowed,a heavy mist bloomed across the room. The candle fire turned from orange to green. The room turned as cold as ice and a figure pulled itself from the pentagram only a foot away from jason who was still in incredible amount of pain.

The being at a glowing green aroura around it helping to make it visible. He was a slender male in a black jumpsuit wearing white gloves and boots. The suit had a strange insignia on its chest. He was wearing a cape the looked yo be made of stars and had a crown of green flame above his head. His skin was a light green, he had pointed ears and glowing green eyes. His presence demanded respect.

The cultists fell to their knees looking at the being. "Oh grate one, thank you for heading our call, we offer this man to you as an avatar so you may move about the mortal plane freely" the cultist leader says.

Jason wasnt really paying attention. He was in so much pain. And he was honestly scared. His vision was getting fuzzy and his head was throbbing. Jason couldnt consecrate on listening to what was going on around him.

He looked at the boy floating next to him, who was staring at him. The boy smiled at jason and felt a since of safety he hasnt felt since before his death. The words "SȺFŦɎ/ⱣɌØŦɆȻŦ/ꝀɆɆⱣSȺFɆ/SȺFɆ/ⱣɌØŦɆȻŦ" being projected into his mind.

The boy turned his head to the cultists and his calm smile vanished leaving in its wake a cruel smirk showing off his sharp teeth. That was the last thing jason saw before passing out.

_____________

Danny was having a pretty regular day, well as regular as it can as a Wayne enterprise intern. Yep you heard it folks, danny was able to get his high school diploma *jazz hands*. Being the ghost king really helped he could just order the ghosts to leave him alone when he was studying.

Now hes 19 and lives in Gotham, working in the aerospace department of Wayne enterprise. Being ghost king is going ok. And his parents took him being a phantom pretty good, they even offered to dismantle the ghost portal. Danny told them not to cause he needed it.

Anyway that brings us too now. Danny was talking to one of his few freinds in the city Timothy drake-Wayne. They where just idally chatting at a coffee shop when danny heard some sort of chanting and glowing red sigil appeared below Danny's feet and dragged him in.

He switched to his phantom form and as he pulled himself from the pentagram he viewed his surroundings.

"Oh grate one, thank you for heading our call, we offer this man to you as an avatar so you may move about the mortal plane freely" a man said as he knelt down along with the rest of the other 50 or so people in the room.

Danny was about to say something when he felt it 'SȻȺɌɆĐ/ⱣȺƗN/ĦᵾɌŦƗNǤ/SȻȺɌɆĐ/ⱣȺƗN/ⱣȺƗN/ⱣȺƗN'. The feeling of another being sent directly to his core.

Danny looked down to see a man. Tied up, and dazed. Danny quickly took note that this man was dead he could feel. SEE his core. Well what bit of a core he has. It looks barely formed as if the man just died. And that he had rotten ectoplasm coursing through his body.

"ĐƗĐ ɎØᵾ ⱣɆⱣØŁɆ ĐØ ŦĦƗS?" Danny questioned staring at the leader of the what danny can only assume are cultists. "Yes we fed him the waters of your home so your being can be safely tied to your new body" the leader says joyfully.

Danny looked over at the half ghost on the floor, he felt the ectoplasm in his veins boil. How dare they touch one of his people. A baby no less. Sure the man may be around Danny's age but hes still a baby ghost. His core wasnt even formed probably yet.

Danny's core screamed at him to protect the halfa on the ground. That this man was one of his, his responsibility. ĦƗS to ⱣɌØŦɆȻŦ.

Danny felt the baby halfa's eyes on him. Danny looked at the man and sent a gentle smile and sending 'SȺFŦɎ/ⱣɌØŦɆȻŦ/ꝀɆɆⱣSȺFɆ/SȺFɆ/ⱣɌØŦɆȻŦ' resonating throughout his core and aura.

Danny turned to look at the cultists and his gentle smile was replaced with a wicked grin. "ɎØᵾ ȺɌɆ ǤØƗNǤ ŦØ ɌɆǤɌɆŦ WĦȺŦ ɎØᵾ'VɆ ĐØNɆ ĦɆɌɆ" Danny's voice rang through the room.

He was going to dispose of these insects then take HIS new charge to frostbite, to help the baby develop the rest of his core at a healthy pace and to get an ectoplasm infusion.

Danny fully intends to take grate care of the baby halfa he found.

#writing prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #batfam #dc #dc comics #dc x dp #jason todd #dp x dc crossover #jason gets adopted by a ghost

[artzysyam]

Writing a snippet for @xysidhequeen AU

Jazz stood in the doorway, watching her brother and his knight cuddled up on the bed. Nox, or Nocturne, Ghost of Sleep and Dreams had managed to give both the King and his Knight some much needed rest. 

She could barely contain her laughter when Danny snuggled closer to Jason's chest while the knight let out a low, rumbling purr, tightening his hold on her brother. Both were in their human forms with almost no ectoplasm intake.

Though Gotham was filled with ambient ectoplasm, both Danny and Jason needed massive amounts of it for their roles as Ghost King and Red Knight. She still remembered their arguments about the Flash Family’s manipulation of time – she was sure that Jason had called them ‘Fucking Speedsters pretending to be Fucking Timelords’ at least once.

Jason brought light into Danny's life, he made her brother live again and their love for one other is so obvious that even the densest sentient beings can see. But... with love comes fear, as she remembered one time where she Jason gazing on his phone, the pictures of him, her and her brother, Sam, Tucker and ghosts who he met and friends with to this day. She observed as Jason leaned his forehead to his phone, silently crying and mumbling a vow to protect them and fight whoever dare to take him from them ever again. Jazz deduced that he had a fear of abandonment and rejection, with his trauma of his death by Joker, combined with his upbringing as the street rat and Wayne family.

No matter how much Jazz and other people in his afterlife, nothing can undo the trauma of Batman failed to save Jason, his upbringing as the second Robin and replacing him with another Robin, seven months after his death.

Meanwhile, her brother, don't like to abuse his power to make Jason fall in love with him, but the two and half years, Jason shows his affection in his own way. Making sure Danny have decent hours of sleep, administrate first aid whenever he roughhousing with other ghosts or each other, cook a grand feast or make a smoothie with ectoplasm mixed in. Jazz want to shake her brother out of his head and see the little things his knight done to show his affection towards her baby brother.

Till then, she stood at the sidelines, watching them cuddling with warm and safety that they're created together.

#dcxdp #the king and his red knight au #snippet #jazz is a proud big sister #but she can get tired to see two gay halfa pinning over each other #two gay peacocks #Tank Jason and Twink Danny cuddling each other

[disillusioneddanny]

Spread the Love Fic Recs <3

There's been a bunch of negativity lately and I think that means we as a fandom need to spread some love around. If you get tagged please add some fics that you think deserve more love, only request is that they aren't insanely popular fics (think like fics with less than 50k hits) this way we can get some other fics out there for others to read and enjoy!!

1.) Premeditation by Chromatographic (Lia)

The problem is that so few people are even able to see what the problem really is. The problem is that things that manage to find the balance on the knife’s edge of life are so, so hard to kill. The problem, Jasmine Fenton realizes, two weeks after she moves into Gotham, is one that almost no one, in any dimension or realm, is able to solve. The problem is simply put, though, even if it’s almost impossible. The problem is this: The Joker is a Halfa.

this fic has the hardcover ship (Jazz/Jason) and everlasting trio (danny/sam/tucker) it's beautifully written and keeps you on the edge of your seat as you watch the story progress. Absolutely amazing. The writing is just amazing, Chroma sucks you in with beautiful storyline that just blows my mind. And the ending is just absolutely perfect!

2.) Halves by TourettesDog

Jason wasn't sure why Dick thought it was a good idea to drag him along with Tim to Amity Park. His brother seemed to think the strange case would offer a decent opportunity to bond-- without Gotham (and Bruce) close at hand, perhaps it wasn't the worst idea he'd ever had. Unfortunately, Amity Park is far stranger than Dick anticipated, and Jason hasn't quite been himself since they arrived. Going to FentonWorks for answers was their first big mistake.

honestly one of my favorite fics atm, I just love Gothamites going to Amity Park, i'm just such a sucker for the idea and we just don't see it enough so this fic is just my dream come true!

3.) Pitch-Dark Shades by SummersSixEcho

Danny Fenton is trying to build a new life in Gotham after closing up the connections to the Ghost Zone. Not that all connections are entirely broken, still being able to perceive shades and give them strength when he connects to one of their prized objects. Tim Drake is trying to find his own place in the world, focusing on becoming a better detective by solving cold cases in his spare time. When Tim and Danny meet, a new (begrudging) partnership starts to bloom to solve even the hardest of cases. Or it would if only they told each other the truth.

I truly just love Danny and Tim together in literally any kind of capacity. They just cause so much chaos together and it's amazing. This fic is just absolutely lovely and the prose is amazing. Summers fics are truly enrapturing and just pull you in so easily.

4.) Beneath A Different Light by AKelaNakamura, SummersSixEcho, TourettesDog

When a convergent event hits unexpectedly, Damian and Danny find themselves in the last place they’d expected: In the body of the twin they’d thought long dead. With the after effects still coursing through them and danger lurking in both cities, the brothers must figure out who they can trust—all while slowly learning about the life their twin has led without them. Or, none of these bastards can catch a break.

Demon twins. Just--just Demon Twins my beloved. This fic is two chapters in and i'm just so utterly in love with it. Summers, Akela, and Dog are just a match made in heaven when it comes to cowriting a fic. The fic just yanks you in so easily and you find yourself thinking about it even after reading the fic. Just a wonderful fic!

5.) Come Little Children by Die_Erlkonigin6083

American Chestnuts were once one of the most important trees along the East Coast. The blight destroyed most of them, but not all of them. There was one chestnut tree, one that entranced a child, and then, what it wrought, enchanted an entire city or two

YALL when i tell you that the storytelling in this is absolutely breathtaking I'm serious. This fic has brought a tear to my eye because of just how beautifully it's written. It's got cool fantasy aspects to it, it's based off of an old fairy tale, it's just so amazing and it's one of my favorite fics to reread if i'm having a bad day. Just truly a lovely fic.

Now, I would like to see @halfagone @spite-sapphic-starlight @noir-renard and @midnightenigma recommend some of their favorite fics if they're willing <3333 let's spread some more love in this fandom!

also even if you aren't tagged--please feel free to recommend any fics you enjoy!!

#dpxdc #dpxdc fic recs #danny phantom #dc universe #detective comics

[hanihazeljade]

Forced Playdate

Timothy is good at keeping good boy image in his appearances in public vicinity but somehow this girl that he was forced to get along with, frustrates every single neuron he has and things go awry.

Part 3 of Disgustingly Green , Skill Issue

(CW: mean, mean, mean Timothy)

Timothy was called one day and he was forced to be nice with this girl, her named is probably Maya or Gia? He didn't remember, she was named in his head as a rambunctious brat.

Well apparently, the brat's father and the weird man that throw him are friends, probably the father is also a weird and idiot person, because birds and their feathers.

Lunch with the kid is a disaster. She use her hands to eat her food like a baby and the food sometimes fly around his plate, making his appetite finally left him. Thank goodness he was not put in a high chair or else he will just drop himself and hope he will die.

If such a kid don't have manners, and the father's friend don't have manners, then by analytical and statistical basis, the father is also a rambunctious brat that doesn't have any manners, and Timothy will do his best to avoid those people.

But of course, the Waynes are twats that doesn't make his life any easier.

Tim doesn't know why he was being forced to be buddy buddy with this uncivilised monkey. At first he can tolerate it as maybe she is just really got a lenient parent, a single father even, but as time goes by Timothy starts to get irritated by passing second.

The little girl, Sophia(?), he still can't remember and he rather stays that way, kept asking him so many questions and kept telling him that they should play. Rolling his eyes internally, he rather jump to Gotham Bay instead of playing with this monkey.

"Didn't your parents taught you manners?" Timothy suddenly asked, losing his cool altogether. The girl just tilt her head. She is already six and yet can't articulate her words better, His mother wouldn't be proud if he was this late bloomer.

"Manners?" she finally replied, titled her head in a manner that some people will say it's adorable, still kind of dumb answer but at least she kinda shut up for now.

"You are a lady, you need to act like one. Not an uncivilised homosapiens." Tim rolled his eyes. The little girl definitely didn't understand what he said, but her father did and boy, was he pissed.

"She's six!" Roy growled, obviously not fancying the idea his daughter is not allowed to be a little kid and be a stuck up spoiled little brat.

Tim just scoffed, like how her mother would whenever his father said something dumb, "And when I'm six, I know how to behave like a decent human being, not some animal who acts on it's instinct." Timothy said as he glared sharply to Roy. The kid was cute but those eyes are not. Roy never thought that he can see the Tim's eyes like that. It was always light and some life in them but now, Tim is like those pretentious rich people he met during Ollie's parties.

"You spoil her too much, but what should I expect to someone who befriend a failure like that man." Timothy rolled his eyes, "You people disgust me."

Tim sighed, he didn't give anyone a chance to speak as he announced, "I will be in my room. I am exhausted dealing with people like you." Timothy said with disgust as he left in silence.

#tim drake #fanfic #chaotic tim drake #de aged tim drake #unhinged tim drake #timothy jackson drake #roy harper #de aged fic

[mamawasatesttube]

number 81 for the writing prompts: "It's cold, you should take my jacket."

(mostly cause I wanna see Tim wear Kon's leather jacket and Neither of them being normal about it but do what you want with it it's your fic <3)

“Here.”

Tim looks up as Kon waltzes back into the living room, two enticingly-steaming mugs in his hands. Hot spiced apple cider sounds absolutely divine right now—the blustery Kansas day outside is reaching its icy fingers into the farmhouse despite the fire blazing merrily in the hearth, and Tim has to admit, he maybe should’ve packed warmer for this trip.

Kon presses one of the mugs into his hands—the nicer one, Tim notes, without the chip in the rim—and Tim accepts it with a grateful hum. The warmth seeps into his palms immediately. “Thanks.”

“No problemo, Rob-lemo.” Kon plops down next to him on the couch, his TTK keeping his cider perfectly still in his mug as he makes himself comfortable. “It’s pretty chilly out today. Gonna be a good night to go skating—the pond down by the McAllister’s place is frozen over, and this time of year, they string up lights ‘n’ invite all the neighbors to come by in the evenings. Wanna go?”

Tim hums in consideration. “Could be fun, but just warning you, it’s been a hot minute since I did any skating, so I’m kinda rusty. And I didn’t bring any skates.” Mmm, the steam rising up from his cider smells amazing. “Did you make this?”

Kon’s eyebrows shoot towards the ceiling. Then he puffs out his cheeks in mock offense, folding his arms across his chest. “You don’t have to sound so surprised! I’m good in the kitchen.”

Yeah, Bart keeps calling him malewife material about it. Tim grins into his mug; it’s not his fault it’s so easy to ruffle Kon’s feathers, or that it’s so funny to do so. “I guess it is Ma’s recipe, so it’d be hard to make it bad.”

Kon politely waits for him to lower the mug from his mouth and then swats him on the back of the head. Tim does appreciate the pause, even as he ducks away, laughing. The cider tastes like apples and cinnamon and honey; warmth spreads through Tim’s chest.

“You’re rude,” Kon tells him. “Just for that, if you fall on your face when we go skating, I’m not helping you up. I’m just gonna laugh.”

“Oh, it’s a when we go skating now?” Tim quirks an eyebrow at him in turn. “I just said I didn’t bring any skates.”

“We can get you some, that’s no trouble,” Kon says, flapping a dismissive hand. Tim opens his mouth to ask where, exactly, in Smallville, can they get a pair of new ice skates in a matter of a couple of hours, but then closes it again when it hits him that even if there isn’t a big sporting goods shop in Smallville, geography isn’t really a concern to someone who can crisscross the entire globe in a matter of minutes.

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Tim lightly elbows him. “Don’t tell me you’re actually good at skating. I bet you just TTK your way through it.”

Kon elbows him back. “Yeah, right! I’m pretty decent, no powers required, actually. Been going plenty with Jon. He particularly loves this one roller dome in Metropolis that always has Super merch in the arcade claw games.”

Okay, Tim has to admit, he’s melting a little about that. Kon loves his little brother. The image of him taking Jon skating is really cute—he can just picture Jon wobbling along, holding Kon’s hand, and rambling about his day like he loves to do. He bites back a truly sappy smile; his toes curl instead, where they’re tucked under a cushion to stay warm.

“Lemme guess. The claw games are where you TTK it up.”

Kon snickers. “They’re rigged as hell, but the kid wants his misshapen Superman plushies, so obviously I gotta win ‘em for him.”

“Obviously,” Tim agrees. He curls his fingers around his mug a little tighter, soaking up its warmth; he’s got an actual winter coat for when they go out, but he really wishes he’d brought some thicker sweaters or hoodies for hanging around in the house itself. He’s used to the damp, creeping cold of Gotham; the blustery Kansas winters might be about the same temperature, but the wind out here blows right through him.

Kon shifts next to him, setting his cider down on a coaster on the coffee table. Tim glances up just in time to see him unzip and shrug out of his hoodie—it’s fleece-lined and light pink with a strawberry cow printed on the front breast pocket, very cute.

And then Kon leans over and wraps it around Tim’s shoulders. Tim’s face heats.

“It’s cold,” Kon explains. “Take my jacket. I don’t really need it that bad, anyway, so you may as well get some use out of it.”

It’s still warm from his body, and Tim lifts one hand from his mug to pull it more tightly around himself like a blanket. His nose brushes the collar when he turns his head a little. The jacket smells like Kon’s cologne.

…It’s the citrus-and-spice one Tim bought him last Christmas. He’s wearing the cologne Tim picked out for him last year, the one Tim definitely didn’t spend almost an hour agonizing over as he imagined tucking his face into Kon’s shoulder and inhaling this specific scent from his collarbone. He’s…

Tim’s face gets even hotter. Abruptly, he takes a gulp of hot cider, hiding in his mug. Kon’s jacket smells like him, and it’s warm, and it’s big and cozy and soft, and…

Kon is staring at him, Tim realizes belatedly. He didn’t notice because he was busy, uh, processing, but Kon’s looking at him like he’s…

Like he’s the last morsel of dessert on the table, and Kon has a ravenous craving for some sugar?

Tim swallows hard. Deliberately counts to eight on his next inhale and exhale. If he lets his heart rate pick up, Kon will definitely notice.

“Thanks,” he manages, finally. “That’s, uh. Yeah. That’s nice.”

“I’ll say,” Kon mutters. He drops his gaze, his cheeks a little pink, and then reaches over to ruffle Tim’s hair. “Bring warmer lounge clothes next time, dumbass. The farmhouse is kinda old. Gets drafty in here.”

“Yeah,” Tim says wryly. He shifts his weight, rearranging his legs so that instead of leaning on the armrest, he flops himself against Kon’s side, dropping his head to his shoulder for a moment. “I noticed.”

Kon leans his cheek against Tim’s hair. “At least you got me to keep you warm,” he sighs, slipping his arm around Tim’s shoulders. “What would you do without me, huh?”

Tim bites back the first response on the tip of his tongue (“Go into a huge depressive spiral?”) and goes for something a little less insane. “Freeze to death before you even get to laugh about me falling on my face at the McAllisters’ pond?”

Kon snorts. He’s comfortably warm against Tim’s side, and Tim snuggles a little closer, relishing his warmth. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” Kon agrees. “I hope I can get it on video.”

Tim just smiles to himself and raises his mug for another sip of cider. The honey and spices are heavenly on his tongue, but if he’s being entirely honest, he can think of something sweeter.

#answers #barbitchian #this ended up being less about the jacket than i intended but i AM thinking abt other reasons tim might end up wearing kon's jackets. #i just also think kon in a cute pastel pink strawberry cow hoodie is cute :) #timkon #rimi writes #its such an awkward length skdjhsdjk like this feels too short to bother putting on ao3 but so long for a tumblr ficlet. man #maybe i will expand timkon wintertime fluff (inspired vaguely by hallmark vibes) later into a real fic. idk! #tim #kon

[yjhariani]

Subway

Jason Todd X Reader (College AU)

WC: ±3k

Summary: Taking the same train as Jason every week. Frankly, this is self indulged as someone who needs to take a bus for an hour and a half to get to campus, I've had this dream daily. Haven't wrote Jason in a long time, btw, so keep your expectations low.

Though it was not unusual for the Wayne kids to travel with public transportation, this would be the first time you experienced actually getting in the same transportation as one of them. It was on a Monday morning, in a packed train, and you stood across none other than Jason Todd.

You stood against one of the poles, facing the back of the train whilst he was standing against another pole, facing the front of the train. You tried not to make it too obvious that you recognised him. However, it was quite embarrassing the amount of eye contact you shared with him.

As it turned out, you both were getting off at the same station, too. Well, it was obvious that the train was full of college students who were studying at Gotham University and the two of you happened to be parts of that category.

The next day, a little later in the day, you took the same train. It was less crowded then and you had the luxury of a seat. To your surprise, after settling yourself down, you saw Jason Todd again. He sat at the end of the row across from you. There was a glint of recognition in his eyes when he caught your eyes, which made you look away immediately.

Even though it seemed that you tried to keep to yourself, you still succumbed to the urge to look up at him. It was more awkward that most of the time, you glanced at him and found him glancing back at you. The first couple of times, the two of you ended up quickly exchanging apologetic looks. Then, a few glances later, he looked more embarrassed than apologetic.

Soon, even though the two of you got off on the same stop, both of you rushed off and not seen each other again since.

On the next day, there was something in your heart that wished that you would see him again today, but you did not. Neither you saw him on Thursday nor Friday. Nor the weekend when you decided to stay in.

Came next Monday, you did not really think of possibly seeing Jason Todd in the train again. Seeing that it was another Monday morning, meaning another morning you had to spend standing on a rapidly moving vehicle with a bunch of people packed like sardines.

So, you stepped in—more like being pushed in by the hode of people trying to get into the train with you, to be honest—you ended up standing with a decently empty space where you could keep your belongings close to you and you were not squished by a bunch of people. However, the train started moving before you could get a hold of the grab handle and you swayed sideways for a second.

You could have probably fell had someone next to you not get a hold of you. In the brief moment, you managed to steady yourself and grab the handle before turning to the person who helped you stay on your feet.

“Sorry,” you muttered right before you met a familiar face.

It was Jason.

There was a recognition in his eyes and that was all you saw for a second before he said, “You, too.”

You raised an eyebrow as you lightly tilted your head at his response. Jason only looked at you with a subtle shock on his face.

“Didn’t know why I said that,” he added.

You gave him an understanding smile.

“Too early to function?” you asked.

“I guess, yeah,” Jason lightly chuckled.

Your chuckle ended that brief talk.

Now that you stood side by side, there was no way the two of you would be stealing glances, right? Well, above the person sitting in front of you both were the glass windows. When the light and the environment was right, you could see your reflections, standing next to each other. You still caught each other’s glances every now and again.

It was at least less awkward. However, his presence next to you was so abundant and haunting that the less awkward situation did not help.

There was this itch that you felt to continue that very brief conversation over nothing. Maybe you could ask the obvious, like, So, you go to GU? or You come here often?

Instead, you stayed quiet and hoped that he would restart the conversation.

He did not.

The two of you ended up getting off at the same stop and went separate ways.

Frankly, it felt a little disappointing, but if you played with the analogy of him being one of the princes of Gotham, then it was expected that he was simply being nice and humble. There was nothing more than that. Despite the constant every-now-and-again-eye-contact.

Then, the next day came. It was more or less the same as last week. You saw Jason again. He sat on the row of seats across from you. He was reading a book, but just as you sat down, he looked up and looked at you.

When you met his gaze, he greeted you with a polite smile and a nod that you gladly returned. He, then, continued his reading while you busied yourself with your choice of distraction or things to spend time with in a subway.

Upon getting off at your destination, as the two of you were about to step out of the car, Jason—who had initially stood next to you in front of the door—turned to you.

“See you around,” he said before walking off.

You were taken aback by that statement so much that you almost did not get out of the train.

That was something that was so minute and common, but it felt different somehow. If compared to the weather, when someone said that, it would feel at most like a breeze of cool air hitting your skin in the middle of a hot day while when Jason did, it felt like a breeze of cool air hitting your skin added with you holding a cold drink in the middle of a hot day.

It did something to you. It was as if he planted a flower with the sweetest nectar in the pit of your stomach that butterflies just started coming around it.

So, for the rest of the week, you spent your morning in hope to see him in the subway again. You did not, unfortunately. At least not that you knew of.

On Friday, you had to go home a little later than usual due to some group projects you had to do. By the time you got into the station, the sun had already set. It was even past rush hour that the station had not been that crowded anymore.

Right as your train arrived, something that sounded heavy fell onto the roof of the slowly stopping train. You looked up and saw Red Hood pinning someone down with Red Robin dropping next to him, yelling a loud apology towards everyone whose attention was pointed towards them. However, no one really thought too much of it seeing that it was just another night in Gotham City.

So, you entered the train car when the door opened. You sat yourself down and saw Red Robin and Red Hood walking in with a limp body draped on his shoulder. They casually put down the limp body on the ground and started tying them up by the wrist. Then, they sat across from you.

You must have been looking a little too long because they took notice of you and looked back at you. At least Red Hood did. Initially, the two of you only looked at each other, but he gave you a greeting nod.

“Got tired of running,” his robotised voice said.

“I can’t imagine,” you replied.

In a few minutes, as the train entered the next stop, the two vigilantes got up. Red Hood picked up the knocked out person by the collar before they made their way towards the door.

Once more, Red Hood looked at you just before the door opened. He walked out, but barely a second later, he peeked his head in to look at you and said, “Stay safe,” and rushed out.

The following Monday, you huddled into the train car as usual. As if it was always part of your habit, you scanned the car to see if you could spot one Jason Todd. Your heart almost flopped down into its imaginary couch when you did not immediately find him. Until you did. He was at the other end of this car, giving you a flick of his eyebrows as if saying, Yup, we’re stuck in the flood of these people.

In response, you raised an eyebrow as if saying, No kidding.

Eventually, passengers got into the train and more of them got off, Jason and you seemed to be getting closer and closer to each other. By the stop before your last, Jason and you stood side by side.

When that happened, you both exchanged a glance before the two of you looked ahead at the glass window that reflected you both. Nothing said, nothing done. Other than you looking at the reflection of you standing next to Jason with cloudy sky as the background.

Entering the station of your destination, Jason shimmied his way closer to the door with you tailing him. By now, you were ready to say your temporary adieu, hoping that you could see him again tomorrow. Especially that Jason had turned to you.

What he said instead was, “Hey, last week, I’m pretty sure I saw you in the building next to the library. Was that you?”

“Depends,” you answered. “If it’s within the next three hours, it probably was me. That’s where my first class of the day is.”

“Ah,” Jason hummed. “You know, my class is—”

The door opened, cutting Jason off for a moment as he let you out to the platform before he followed.

“My class is merged with another for the day and it’s gonna be in that building. Not fun, by the way. Guest lecturer who’s not even gonna show up physically,” Jason said as the two of you walked towards the exit. 

“Meaning Professor Crane?” you guessed.

“One and only, live from Arkham,” Jason sighed.

That tugged your curiosity a little seeing that Jason was known to be an English major. Having Crane being a guest lecturer of his did not really add up, but it was Gotham University anyway and weird things could happen. One time, you had Harley Quinn as your guest lecturer and she had nothing to do with your major.

“Mind if I walk with you there?” Jason’s question picked you up back to the moment.

“Oh,” you replied after a second of silence. “Not at all.”

“Thanks,” Jason said.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said.

At first, your walk was in silence.

“What’s your name?” Jason brought up.

You said your name and he repeated it as he nodded.

“I’m Jason, by the way,” he added.

You looked at him, not amused, but scoffed out a light chuckle anyway.

“Yeah, I know,” you said.

Jason scoffed a little grin at that.

The walk to the building was not exactly full of conversation. However, walking together with him honestly felt nice. Well, save for the people who definitely knew who he was and were looking at you, too

You forced yourself not to think too much of it. Surely, you were not the only person who stood in this position. Jason must have had friends who had been in this position. Hell, maybe even a significant other.

It was only until you both got into the building’s elevator that one of you said something to the other. 

“What floor?” you asked.

“I have no idea,” Jason answered.

You pressed your destination as you looked at him.

“It’s gonna be the auditorium,” Jason added.

“Same floor as mine, then,” you said.

“Oh, cool,” Jason hummed. “I can walk you to your class, then.”

Mind you, this elevator was not empty. There were people. You both were squished in the corner, but that did not help that people could still hear him.

You opened your mouth, about to respond even though you were out of words. Fortunately, Jason said something first.

“If you want to,” Jason said, a little quieter than before.

“Sure,” you hesitantly said.

“Alright, alright,” Jason replied.

The rest of the elevator ride was awfully quiet. It might be the tiny space and a bunch of people, but your face felt warm, raging butterflies flapping around in your stomach.

By the time the door opened, you stepped out and Jason quickly moved to walk beside you.

“The auditorium’s supposed to be that way,” you pointed in a direction where he should go later before gesturing to the other direction saying, “My class is this way.”

“So, we go this way?” Jason faced the direction you gestured.

“Yeah,” you nodded, starting to walk that way.

“Okay,” Jason nodded, following you, keeping his pace at bay so that he walked beside you.

Soon, you stopped in front of your class, looking at him. You tipped your head towards the door.

“Thank you… for taking a few extra steps,” you said to him.

“It’s something I gladly do,” Jason chuckled lightly. “I’ll do it again if I have the chance.”

You chuckled to that.

“So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” Jason added.

“Okay,” you nodded.

With a light wave of your hand, you turned towards the door and walked in.

As Jason said, he saw you again the next day. The same train car, but you sat down directly across him this time right after he greeted you with a nod. Afterwards, though, Jason moved his seat to the empty one beside you.

“How was Crane’s class?” you asked.

“What you expected. Though, I have to say, he’s more insightful than I imagined him would be,” Jason shrugged lightly. “Bit ironic, to be honest.”

“Because he has nothing to do with your major?” you guessed.

“Oh, he has everything to do with my major,” Jason chuckled.

You tipped your head, raising an eyebrow. Jason looked at you and his face turned into a shade of understanding.

“I see you’re one of those people who believed Dick’s bullshit about me being an English major,” Jason said.

“Well, that’s what’s going around,” you lightly shrugged. “Are you not?”

“No,” Jason grinned slightly. “My major is criminology.”

“Oh,” you replied, understanding the situation a little better.

“Yeah,” Jason nodded.

You nodded back.

“What’s yours?” Jason asked.

The rest of the train ride and walk towards the campus until the two of you had to go separate ways, Jason and you spent it talking mostly about your majors.

In the middle of the ride, the grey, cloudy sky outside had turned into rain. By the time you arrived at your top, the rain was pouring hard. The two of you just stopped by just the exit with the very bit of roof that separated a lot of people who were standing around from the rain.

“If we make a run for it, how soaked do you think we’re gonna get?” Jason suggested.

“Would probably take a few hours for us to dry out,” you replied.

Jason sighed.

“Maybe we should get an Uber or something,” you suggested.

“Or,” Jason’s eyes were now gazing at a coffee shop that was located just across the street. “We could skip class?”

You only looked at him for a moment. When he looked back at you he cringed at himself a little.

“Like, go home?” you asked.

“I mean, that coffee shop looks decent,” Jason gestured at the place he eyed on earlier. “If… you want to.”

You only looked at him without saying anything, mostly just to tease him and to get further explanation.

“Doesn’t have to be a date. It could be if you want it to be,” Jason added, a little bit quieter than before.

A smile just sprouted on your face.

“Date sounds nice,” you commented.

“Okay,” Jason nodded, he looked pleased with your response.

“We’re still gonna have to run for it,” you brought up.

“You got an umbrella?” Jason asked.

“No,” you answered.

“Okay, um…,” Jason took a moment.

From there, Jason unshouldered his backpack and put it on his feet. He took his jacket off, held it in one hand as he shouldered his backpack.

“You’re gonna sacrifice your jacket?” you guessed.

“Would you rather just run through the pouring fuckin’ rain?” Jason chuckled.

“It’s gonna take like five seconds to cross,” you said.

“You’d at least be a little drier?” Jason shrugged.

You took a second, looking at him. It was not easy to say no to that face.

“Okay, then,” you nodded. “How are we gonna do this?”

“Make sure you hug your bag so it doesn’t get wet,” Jason started. “Then, we run.”

You did as he said.

Jason, then, stepped closer to you. He readied his jacket by roofing it over the both of you. He looked at you, finding you looking back at him.

“Ready?” Jason asked.

“Let’s go,” you answered.

After looking at both sides of the street and making sure that it was safe for you both to run across, the two of you ran through the rain.

It was a sloppy run. Your feet splashed onto the puddled road, every now and again Jason’s chest bumped onto your shoulder, and worrying that you might be stepping onto slippery terrain. By the time you were a couple of steps away from the coffee shop, you rushed ahead to push the door open, holding it open until Jason was also inside.

Jason lightly whipped his jacket to get the rain off it as he looked at you.

“That was fun,” he commented.

You chuckled at that.

A/N: I'll be honest with you, I initially wrote this for Damian, but I feel like Jason would be more suitable for the narrative. Maybe I should write for Damian, too? Or maybe have a part 2 of this?

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd #red hood

[makethatelevenrings]

Two Scoops // J. Todd x gn!reader

Requested? Yes!

WARNINGS: swearing, gun violence, food

Summary: The infamous vigilante of Gotham, Red Hood, comes walking into your work one night, slaps down a twenty, and asks for the most disgusting combination of flavors you can possibly make. He keeps coming back.

Part two here

The first night should be revelatory. It should be the thing that jump starts your moving process and gets you to look at Indeed for the first time in months. If it were any other city, you would turn in your apron and that stupid fucking visor you had to wear and move out of this godforsaken shithole.

But this is Gotham and you really aren’t that surprised.

The artificial buzzing of the fluorescent lights of Creamy’s Ice Cream was nearly drowned out by the sheer artistic talent of Carly Rae Jepsen. You don’t know why Creamy’s was open until two in the morning but, again, this is Gotham. Potheads, drunken college students, and tearful twenty year olds ensnared by the hells of capitalism needed a sugary pick-me-up in the wee hours, you supposed. It was a decent paying job for part time and the late hours weren’t as packed as earlier in the day.

But it did come with certain drawbacks. Heading home late at night was the biggest one, but crime seemed to be on a steady decline with the presence of the various vigilantes.

And that’s where you found yourself one summer night. The clock creeped towards one and you were so grateful to have just one more hour left to go. Humidity clung to the air like a wet blanket and even the freezing temperature you kept the store at wasn’t helping. Only two customers were in the store, some young couple on a date, and other than that it was just another slow night.

Until the door swung open and in strode one of Gotham’s most infamous vigilantes. The Red Hood’s emotionless mask swung side to side as he took in the store around him before he marched up to the counter and slapped down a twenty dollar bill.

“I need three scoops of the most disgusting, heinous, criminal flavors you have,” he announced. His voice was distorted thanks to the mask, but the rough, robotic tone of it shocked you out of the frozen reverie you had found yourself in when he had walked in.

“This is a gun free zone.” There. A stellar fucking reply. As if that wasn’t bad enough, you pointed to the sign on the door and watched as he slowly turned to stare at it. Or, at least, you hoped he was staring at it. You couldn’t tell with the mask.

Red Hood nodded to himself. “How about we pretend you never saw these and I add another twenty.”

“That was three scoops you said?” You busied yourself behind the counter, already knowing which three flavors you were going to pick. “Any sauces or additions on top?”

“Whatever you think would make it obscenely disgusting.”

With a grin, you added two pumps onto the monstrosity you had constructed and added some sprinkles and a cherry on top for fun. After sticking a spoon into the cup, you placed it on the counter and nudged it towards the hulking figure standing on the other side of the counter. He scooped it up and cradled it in his huge, leather covered hands like it was a football.

“Bubblegum, cotton candy, and bacon with marshmallow and caramel drizzle,” you reported. The vigilante glanced down at the biological warfare you had concocted and reached into his pocket to extract another twenty. And then another.

“Keep the change.” He promptly walked out and, thanks to the door still being open, looked up at a rooftop and shouted out something.

“Hey N! Come get your ice cream.” Nightwing dropped from a nearby skyscraper and gratefully accepted Red Hood’s offered treat. Damn, you liked Nightwing. Poor fella was going to experience the worst flavor mixture you could conceive.

Eh, you got a good tip out of it, though.

Red Hood came in a few times after that, getting either an increasingly complex combination of flavors in an attempt to get Nightwing to twitch or getting just a simple cup of one scoop cookie dough and one scoop of cookies and cream ice cream. He always left you a large tip and left without ever taking off that mask.

The routine changed, however, when the bell over the door chimed around midnight one day and you looked up to find no one there. Squinting your eyes, you searched for any sign of a customer.

“I require confectionery sustenance,” a voice declared from the other side of the counter. You leaned over and found Robin staring up at you from behind his mask. At this point, you couldn’t be bothered to be surprised and just nodded.

“Cone or cup?” He stared blankly at you and you pursed your lips, considering your next question.

“How many scoops?”

Silence. This kid didn’t even look old enough to know what That’s So Raven was and yet he was more intimidating than that one crotchety grandma that lived on your floor. You were about to ask what flavor he wanted when the door swung open so hard that the handle hit the wall behind it. You jumped in shock and the red helmet swiveled towards you.

“Sorry,” he apologized before his attention shifted to the tiny vigilante standing before you. He pointed a finger at Robin like a disappointed parent chastizing a child.

“Nope. No. Nada. This is my ice cream shop. Get your own,” Red Hood barked. Robin merely sniffed in disdain and primly pushed a ten dollar bill over the counter.

“One scoop of vanilla. Cone.”

“At least say please, for fuck’s sake,” Hood sighed. “I’m sorry. We’re still teaching him manners.”

“It’s fine.” You busied yourself with making Robin’s ice cream because that was your life now. Could you put “Gotham vigilante’s ice cream scooper” on your resume?

“No, it’s not fine. Say please and thank you, demon brat, or I’ll tell N that you’re looking like you need a hug.”

“You are a sadist, Hood.”

You passed the cone down to the gloved hand and moved to start counting the change when a twenty landed on the counter.

“I thought we came to an agreement. You give me cavities with the stipulation that you keep the change,” Hood said. You smirked and jutted your chin over towards the tiny, knife wielding Robin who was eating his ice cream like it was his only job.

“Not your money so…”

“You may retain ownership of the change,” Robin said in that strictly formal way of his. “I require no need for coins.”

“What he means is that his pockets are already full and he doesn’t need coins jangling around as he swings from one building to another,” a new voice said from the doorway. Red Robin leaned against the glass, fiddling with what looked like a phone in his hand but with the bats and the birds, you could never be sure. Maybe it was some kind of device that controlled the weather. Maybe they could get it to stop raining all the damn time.

Hood let out a quiet, “oh my fucking god” as Red Robin pocketed his phone and joined him at the counter. Red Robin ruffled Robin’s hair and casually evaded a knife that Robin had pulled out of seemingly nowhere.

“Two scoops of coffee in a cup, please,” Red Robin ordered. “Spoiler and Black Bat should be here in a second.”

“No. You fucks need to go back to whatever hole you all crawled out of tonight. This is my spot. Go terrorize somewhere else,” Hood grunted. You washed out your scoop and set about making Red Robin’s order. You passed it over to him, not blinking an eye at the fifty that landed on the counter, and then silently set about preparing Hood’s order as well. When you looked up again, a figure stood next to the others in a full black suit.

“Holy shit,” the exclamation slipped out before you could stop yourself and then cringed. “Sorry, I just didn’t hear you come in.”

“She does that,” Spoiler announced, peeking out from behind Black Bat’s shoulder. “We’ll have two scoops each in a cup, please. Blackberry for me, strawberry for her. Oh wait.”

Spoiler tilted her head to the side as if she was listening to something before she nodded. “And two scoops in a cup of pistachio ice cream, please.”

Normally, you would have one, maybe two customers in at this late hour. But now the shop was filling up with vigilantes and you couldn’t help but wonder if there were any crimes they should be stopping at the moment, but you weren’t going to bother asking. They were the professionals, after all.

Three cups slid across the counter and the two girls grabbed them. Black Bat nodded in thanks as Spoiler saluted you. Red Hood was staring off somewhere in the distance, or so you assumed thanks to the helmet, as the door rang again.

“There you guys are!” Nightwing exclaimed. “B noticed all the trackers were in one place but the comms were dead.”

“He’ll take two scoops of cotton candy on a sugar cone,” Red Hood said dryly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that they would all come here.”

“Hey, it’s my job.” You brushed it off with an easy grin. “Besides, this is a story I can use at parties.”

“Yeah, well, it’s about to get a bit more wild in five, four, three, two…”

Batman walked through the door. Yes, that Batman. The head honcho. The Dark Knight. The master brooder. He looked at all the various bats and birds strewn around your store and then stalked towards the counter. A thousand excuses built up on your tongue to explain their presence. Why would you be apologizing for doing your job? You had no clue. You just felt like you were in trouble for some reason.

“Butter pecan,” he rasped. “Two scoops. Cup, please.”

A hundred dollar bill landed on the counter on the neat stack already present before his gauntlet covered hands slipped back under his cape. You tried to control the trembling in your hands as you prepared his order and nearly squeaked as he took the cup from you. Batman nodded in thanks and then promptly swept out of the shop with the gaggle of crime fighters following like little ducklings. Only Red Hood remained.

“Did that actually just happen?” you whispered, staring at the door where they had disappeared seconds before.

“Unfortunately,” Hood drawled.

“Batman eats butter pecan ice cream.”

“He’s ancient.”

“Alright. Well, have a good night. Try not to get shot or stabbed or anything.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Although every night was quiet, this night in particular found Gotham to be particularly silent. You hadn’t had a customer all night and even though you had asked to close early, your boss refused. No one would come in, you reasoned, because they were still reeling from a Joker attack the night before.

It had been sudden and terrifying, even if he had been terrorizing Gotham for years at this point. You and your roommates had holed up in your apartment with gas masks at the ready in case some of the Joker toxin got into your building. You sat there and listened as people on the streets fell into fits of uncontrollable laughter that you knew signaled the end was near for them. But the bats and the birds saved the day once again and the Joker was back in Arkham.

The wounds were still felt in the city.

Exhaustion clung to your very bones as you methodically wiped down the counters. You wished so badly for your shift to end so you could go home, crawl into bed, and not emerge for a few hours with the hopes of that wicked, maniacal laugh being gone from your memory.

The doorbell chimed and you couldn’t help but wince before plastering on a cheery if albeit fake smile. Hood walked up to the counter and set down a twenty. You wordlessly scooped up the ice cream and set it down in front of him, fully expecting him to leave.

Since the whole batclan, minus Signal who only appeared during the day, came in that one night, Hood had started to frequent more and more to an almost everyday thing. You treated him like every other customer, but truth be told, you didn’t look forward to your other customers coming in every night. He would chat for a few minutes about Gotham, new movies, books, anything under the sun. He would ask you about your day and you both would commiserate over the idiocy of retail and customer service. If he couldn’t come that night, one of the other birds would swing by and order something, acting as if this was a normal part of their routine but you knew better. He was checking up on you, even when he wasn’t there.

But tonight was different. Hood stared down at the ice cream in front of him and then around at the empty store. He reached up and with a soft hiss, removed the helmet from his head. He had one of the masks on his face that the others wore, but it was the most you had seen of him ever. Dark hair with a white streak in the front, a strong jaw, full lips…he was hot, plain and simple.

“You should sit down,” he said. His voice wasn’t as raspy and distorted with the mask on, but he still had a low, deep timbre. You let out a chuckle and sighed.

“Wish I could but policy states I have to stay standing.”

“Cameras?” he asked. You jerked your head towards one of them and he nodded. He fiddled with something on his tactical belt and then beckoned you forward.

“It’ll be on a loop for the next half hour. Your boss won’t even know I was here.”

You considered your options and figured what the hell. Taking off your apron, you hung it on the employee hooks, grabbed two waters, and joined him at one of the seats in the back. He faced the door, leaving you to sit with your back to the door. The bell would tell you if a customer came in so you weren’t worried. You could also tell that he felt better seeing the exit.

“You alright?” you asked. He shrugged and pushed the cup of ice cream into the middle of the table, a second spoon following it. You raised an eyebrow but picked up the spoon anyway. You rarely got to eat on the job so if he was offering, you would take it.

“Were you affected? Last night,” he clarified at the end.

“Aside from the psychological portions of it, no. I’m fine. You?”

He cleared his throat and took a bite of cookie dough ice cream before answering. “He’s back in the hole, isn’t he?”

You could see it in the tense lines of his shoulders, the clench of his fist, the flexing muscle of his neck. Reaching out, you rested your hand over his and slowly slid your fingers into the vice-like grasp he held on his hand. His fingers unfurled and you slid your fingers down to trace the lines of his palm. He relaxed slowly but finally looked as though he could breathe without breaking a rib from how tense he was.

“So, my neighbor Mrs. Umansky told me something interesting yesterday. She said that if I dab three dots of lavender essential oil on each wrist, then I would never have a headache again,” you said. He let out a quiet laugh and leaned back in his seat, his hand never leaving yours.

“Oh, really?” he teased. “Do you get headaches a lot?”

“Ugh, only when vigilantes come to visit,” you hummed. “Eat your ice cream before it melts.”

He scooped more onto his spoon and pointed it at you. “I’m only doing this because I want ice cream. Not because you’re ordering me around.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

It was bound to happen at some point. Late hours in Gotham practically beckoned robbers like a moth to a flame. So you really weren’t all that surprised when a guy with a balaclava covering his face stormed into the shop and pointed a loaded gun at your face.

“Money. Now,” he snarled.

“Okay, okay.” You raised your hands up to show him you weren’t reaching for any panic buttons and then slowly lowered them to the register. His hands were shaking as he held the gun and you realized belatedly that he was scared. And a scared idiot with a gun was far more dangerous than a normal idiot with a gun.

His finger twitched and the gun moved far enough to the left that the bullet struck the wall behind you, shattering a line of decorative old-fashioned ice cream dishes. You shrieked and covered your head as glass rained down behind you. The guy swore and slammed his hand down on the counter, the other still pointing the gun at you.

“This is a gun free zone, you fucking idiot.”

You had never felt such relief at hearing a robotic voice until that moment. Hood’s gloved hand wrapped around the robber’s wrist and he did some ninja move that made the guy drop the gun into Hood’s other hand. The robber let out a literal whimper as Hood grabbed the back of his jacket like a mother cat picking her baby up by the scruff of the neck.

“You and I are going to have a little talk,” he snarled. The vigilante dragged the man outside, leaving you to take a moment to catch your breath. Hood returned sooner than you expected, however, and you jumped when warm skin touched your cheek.

“Hey, hey. It’s just me.” He had his helmet off again but the domino mask was firmly in place. You took in the sight of him, one that had become familiar and comforting these past few months of him coming in, and let out a quiet sob. He jumped over the counter in one easy move and wrapped his thick arms around you.

“Hey, I gotcha.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I know. You always come.”

Because he wasn’t coming to this shitty ice cream shop for its subpar ice cream. He wasn’t stopping in every night just because it was a random spot on his route. He wasn’t sending in his teammates to check in on you when he couldn’t because he liked shitty ice cream. He came because he could because he did because he wanted to. He came because he cared.

“Gotta keep the best ice cream artist in Gotham safe,” he teased. His lips pressed against your temple and you shut your eyes at the touch. 

“I’m quitting this stupid fucking job,” you declared. He laughed, breath fanning across your cheek.

“Then where am I gonna go to get my usual?”

You shrugged and nestled in closer to his touch. “I’ll leave a window unlocked and a fridge stocked.”

“Deal.”

Tag List: @annalayton19 @tiannamortis @khaetiin​ @gone-batty-fics​

#jason todd fluff #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #red hood fluff #red hood imagine #red hood x reader

[klbwriting]

Broken Prism

Chapter 4

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Toddxfemale!Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Jason reflects on his return to the city and you come face to face with Batman

After returning to Gotham six months ago Jason started to relearn the ebbs and flows of the city right away, like he hadn’t been gone for almost seven years. He started by patrolling the same routes he and Batman once had, seeing what Batman and his replacement were up to. He followed their path, seeing how it changed or stayed the same. He was trying to assess their patterns and maybe get an inkling to what happened when he died. He could remember a decent amount about his past, prior to the pit and the league. Five years of spending nights trying to stay awake, avoiding nightmares of cold steel and screeching, gave a person a lot of time thinking and thinking led to remembering. The only thing he couldn’t fully put together in his mind was how he had actually died. He figured it had something to do with Batman, why else would he dream about a bat attacking him so much? He wasn’t a psychiatrist, but he figured it wasn’t that hard to put those pieces together. However, after following the Batman and his new protégé for a few weeks nothing sparked except more memories of patrols just like they were doing. Taking out bad guys, helping innocents, the usual good vigilante stuff. He noticed Batman still didn’t kill and it sickened him. He had studied more than his fair share of villains in his time with the league and if any of those ‘people’ deserved to die it was the ones living in Gotham. After he had learned all that he could he had turned to part two of his return scheme. Money, territory, power.

While following Batman and new Robin he had noticed that they didn’t pay too much attention to the lower-level criminals like drug dealers. Honestly, between Penguin, Mr. Fries, Two-Face and the rest when would they have time? So he had gotten to work. A couple hours of beheading lieutenants and meeting with the bosses he had a whole little crew of dealers, 40 percent of their sales, and no one dealing to kids anymore. If they did it was a bullet between the eyes, no questions asked. A few challenged him, not paying up or still dealing around the schools. They were soon found by GCPD, a bullet in the brain and maybe some extra cuts and bruises for when Jason felt extra annoyed. The cash the dealers gave him supplied him well enough to establish some safehouses, get extra gear, and make sure that enough cops were paid to stay away from him business.

Once this was finished Jason decided to check out Arkham, see who was actually locked up and who was just rumored to be in the asylum. He stalked the halls, quiet like Batman taught him to be, using shadows and the old architecture to his advantage. He found Two-Face, Calendar Man, Clayface, Hush, all locked up. He was heading down a part of the old wing when he first heard the laugh, or was it sobbing, or maybe screaming? It sounded like a horrible medley of all three. As soon as it hit his ears he froze, encased in shadow and in the past. That laugh, a crowbar, a bomb. The Joker. Jason’s heart raced, the read out on his helmet said that it was getting too high, he needed to calm down or risk a panic attack, a heart attack, death by laughter. He started breathing too fast through his nose, hyperventilating. His eyes flashed around, frantic. He needed to leave, get out of this place as fast as he could.

He wasn’t 100 percent sure how he had escaped unseen but he didn’t stop running until he was knee deep in the river, the realization that his pants were wet making him snap out of his trance. Joker had killed him. Hours of torture, bones broken, scars that the pit psychically healed but would never heal in his soul, then a bomb, the fire and the light to end everything. Why was it that Jason had died but that motherfucker was still alive? Batman had to have known who had killed him. Who had taken him from this earth and put him inside of it. Why hadn’t he killed him? Did Jason really matter so little that Batman had just wandered off, letting Joker keep his breath and just replacing him with a newer model Robin? Jason saw green, snarling like an animal. He stomped back to where he had left his bike and headed into East End. If there was anyone who deserved a few bullets, maybe some broken skulls, they would be there. Jason needed to kill and to think. Now, months later and still no where less pissed off about Batman’s ridiculous no kill rule Jason watched his former mentor stalking the city, looking for something. Probably that woman who had showed up at his house and stolen his car. His soulmate. Jason still couldn’t believe that he had a soulmate, and she still must be his since his world was still colorful. He could see the bright neon signs, all pinks and oranges and greens, see the attempts the city made of parks and flowers and landscaping in lush yellows and blues. And he saw how the red of his helmet gleaned when he walked by a window, too bad not everyone got to see these things. He couldn’t remember the world in black and white and gray, that seemed like a lifetime ago. He supposed it was. Jason still had his mission on his mind, taking down the Batman, killing Joker, all of that, but her eyes had distracted him momentarily. He wanted to know what Batman was going to do to her, wanted to make sure she was safe from the lies that Bruce Wayne tells those he thinks he can manipulate and use. She wasn’t going to be a pawn for his bullshit.

Jason perched on a fire escape overlooking a back alley. He could see her window across the street, she was in the apartment, probably her bedroom, at a desk typing. The rain was blurring her face a little, but he could still see that she was focused, and he wished he knew on what. He wished he knew her thoughts, her likes, dislikes, he wanted to know her favorite color now that she could see them. And he wanted to know her name above everything else. He knew he could go figure it out, use the records database and find her name based on her address, but he wanted to hear her tell him it, hear her voice say her name, say his name. He could see why Batman had thought he had been too young for a soulmate. This drive to be around her was becoming all consuming and Jason couldn’t tell if it was because she was just his soulmate or if it was because a soulmate meant that he still had a soul, something in him might still be worth saving to someone. If she had known him, would she have killed Joker? Did she mourn him when her world had gone back to black and white? Had she been confused to see the color return? So many questions and he was too scared to get his answers. He heard the familiar sound of quiet settle around him, Batman was lurking. He looked around, keeping himself silent as he used his helmets readout to track the vigilante on the roof of her building. He scaled down the side of it, effortlessly opening the window to what was probably the living room, disengaging the alarm that was there. He knocked on her bedroom door, making her get up and answer, clearly confused and worried, she pulled out a switchblade from her pocket before opening the bedroom door. Jason turned on his enhanced hearing device to listen into the conversation.

“What the fuck?” you said, hearing someone knock at your bedroom door. You had roommates but they were out of Gotham for the weekend, escaping the dreary city in search of sunshine that lasted more than five minutes a day. No one should be in your apartment, let alone knocking at your bedroom door. You took out the blade you carried, flipping it open, ready to start stabbing, opening the door quickly, throwing your weight against the intruder, knife pressing and…breaking. You frowned, feeling the stone muscle of armor, shoving uselessly against it. The blade of your knife had broken and gone flying off onto your bed. You looked up and swallowed. Batman, well fuck, he must be mad you stole his car.

“YN YLN?” Batman said, voice graveled, but you could hear the lilt of Bruce Wayne’s fancy rich tone underneath. You stepped back, breathing deep as you calmed down. He probably wouldn’t kill you, wasn’t that his rule?

“Bruce Waynes?” you mocked back, mimicking his deep bass. You thought you saw the uptick of his lips into a smirk, but it was gone fast enough that you could have imagined it. “I left your car in a nice part of town, I’m sure it's already back in your garage.”

“I’m not here about a car,” he said. You weren’t entirely surprised. “Can we talk for a minute?” At least he was polite after the breaking and entering. You motioned to the living room, wanting to get his hulking mass out of your safe space. He went back to the living room, standing in the middle. It wasn’t a big room either, but it was enough for you and your two friends. You felt strange sitting down as he stood so you got up again, busying yourself by tidying up. It didn’t need a lot of picking up, you were clean by nature, keeping mostly everything in place, but you needed to do something with your hands.

“So what do you want?” you asked, putting away a book before going to the small kitchen area to do the few dishes in the sink.

“Why did you ask about Robin?” he asked. You looked at him. “Who are you?”

“You replaced him, you replaced my soulmate,” you said. You knew he had fancy gadgets to see if people were lying so you figured why bother? Not like him knowing this truth would matter. Robin may have been alive out there but despite your best efforts you hadn’t been able to find anything about him, just that Joker had killed him in some other country almost seven years ago. You were able to see a subtle sign of surprise on Batman’s face, his lips thinning out at the revelation.

“I didn’t replace him,” he said, but it sounded lame, an excuse. “There were others who needed my help and I need help for them.” You felt white hot anger course through you.

“You replaced him because you were too weak to save him! You couldn’t even kill his murderer, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why isn’t Joker cut up into pieces and decaying at the bottom of some endless pit somewhere?” you demanded, throwing a glass at him. He deflected it and it shattered into pieces. “Where is that Robin now?” You assumed Batman must know about the return of his former partner. The silence stretched out.

“J-…”

“Don’t say his name, I don’t want to hear his name from anyone but him,” you said, holding up a hand. The silence went on again.

“That Robin is dead, you said it yourself,” Batman replied, clearly confused. You froze.

“You don’t know,” you said. He had no idea that Robin was back, somewhere in the world, he was alive. You had assumed he would return to Gotham, find Batman and join back up in the cause, or maybe get some type of revenge. But nothing, nothing except for that new guy, the one no one could figure out. The one they called Red Hood. The one who had fled at the sight of you. Your brain was whirring and you were worried Batman would hear the gears turning. “Get out.” You left no room for argument, and it appeared he wasn’t exactly sure what to say to you next, so he left the way he came in. You fixed the alarm and closed the window, cleaning up the broken glass and going back to your room. You needed to figure out how to contact the Red Hood. Either he knew about Robin or…or he was Robin.

#jasontodd #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #redhood #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #brokenprism

[preciouslandmermaid]

from high above, Gotham glows (battinson x f!reader)

Note: First Time writing Battison lol and uhh this one really got away with me so there’s a decent amount of Plot and Yearning before you get to the smutty stuff. LMAO. Takes place pre-movie with some generous fuckery with the timeline and off-hand original characters.

Additional notes: No use of Y/N. Dubious consent drug use (reader is required to take the drug to keep her cover secret). reader suffers from claustrophobia/fear of tightly enclosed spaces (only mentioned/experienced during the "fear scene"). established childhood friends with Bruce. cursing/explicit language. minor hurt/comfort. enthusiastic consent during sexual content. no physical descriptors are used for the reader. 

prompt: cockwarming, clothes ripping, balcony/window | pairing: battison/f!reader | warnings: explicit sexual content/above notes.

( read on ao3 ) || kinktober list  

“You’ve got Gotham under your nails, girl.” Falcone hisses, close enough to smell his shitty cigar breath, “More than that. You’ve got her in your blood. I can tell. And I could use a girl like you.”

You ignore your roiling, empty stomach that sloshes with alcohol. Someone leans down to whisper in Falcone’s ear – some goon, you gather – and it’s just enough time for you to slip away from the crowded booth. Your hands are clammy, and you wipe them off on your short dress.

Your bones practically vibrate beneath the thumping bass of the club’s techno music. The lounge is an assault on every sense. Sight: nauseating flashing lights. Sound: the music that rakes claws down your spine. Touch: sweaty, clammy hands reaching for your dress, your arm, your shoulder. Smell: cigars, and marijuana, and sweat, and cigarettes. Taste: harsh, clear vodka that burns and strips layers of your throat going down.

You stumble out into the misty and glossy Gotham and press your hand to your racing heart.

Was the intel you gathered about Falcone worth his grubby hands and gross breath? Surprisingly, the answer is yes. You eagerly get into your car and verbalize everything Falcone told you into a tape recorder. You’ll write down the rest when you’re home.

*********

Home is a single-bedroom apartment that’s only redeeming quality is the little balcony that views the sunrise on precious mornings. When the sun touches Gotham, it paints everything a reflective orange and yellow, igniting the city on fire without a touch of smoke. More often than not, you went to bed on the couch, watching that sunrise, watching Gotham burn.

You don’t bother scrubbing off your glittery makeup or removing your tight dress. Your fingers itch to fly across the keyboard. This frantic determination is what earned you the nickname “Quicksilver” back when you were a pulp journalist writing about missing cats and happy birthday columns.

Despite your hard work, both in the field and out, the Gotham Gazette refused to promote you. In attempt to prove yourself, you singlehandedly wrote an article that revealed the corruption of several Arkham State Hospital doctors. When you dropped the story on your editor’s desk - they fired you. You went freelance after that.

It’s a shame the Gazette wiped your files and withheld your work laptop. Your current laptop wheezed to life; their fans mimicked a jet engine about to take flight. Corruption ran into the very veins of Gotham. Her blackened, wet streets were littered with petty crime and shady corporations. Sometimes it felt like you and the Bat and Gordon were the only people left with a shred of moral integrity.

You click on the multi-colored lights that framed your balcony window. You are the only one in the building that kept the lights up year-round. They are your very own, personal bat signal. You flipped them on whenever you had important news to share about Gotham.

The blue light of your computer screen frames your face as you start transcribing your notes from your tape recorder. The soft click-clack of the keys and the sharp, heavy ‘clunk’ of the play and pause button are the only sounds that fill your apartment for a long, long time.

Batman’s voice is gravel scraping against your skin, “what’ve you found?”

You jolt. “Jesus.” Your gaze narrows at him, “we talked about knocking, didn’t we? Just a little tap-tap on the glass will do.”

“I don’t have time, Silver.”

You roll your eyes. No time for pleasantries, huh? Not even a shred of basic, human decency. You’re not sure what you expect from a guy who runs around dressed like a bat. Still – he’s your ally. You turn the laptop around to show him your notes.

“It’s worse than I thought.” You say, brow furrowing, “I thought – I theorized that Falcone was just using the girls to run drugs, maybe help establish meetings, but he’s – he’s got them testing some kind of psychoactive drug for him.”

“LSD?” Batman rasps, his shadowed eyes scan the screen.

“Something else.” You drum your fingers against your coffee table. It’s always a little silly seeing Batman, decked out in his heavy armor and big cape, in your cramped living room. It’s big enough for a couch, a coffee table, and your overflowing bookshelf – but that’s it. Batman swallows the space like a hungry black hole.  

“Injected – is my theory – based on his linguistic tell.”

His eyes meet yours over the lip of your laptop.

“He mentioned Gotham being in my veins. Said he could use someone like me.” The term ‘use’ was slang for junkies when they blissed their brains out with drugs. You look down at your exposed skin, at the translucency of your inner elbow, where a needle impresses, where wandering, greedy hands at the club try and grab. You suppress a shiver.

Batman’s question comes as a surprise; “How long were you with Falcone?”

“Few hours.” You shrug. His concern is sweet, but unnecessary. There is some truth to Falcone’s words. You were born and raised in Gotham. And very little in this city could scare you. Hell, when Gordon introduced you to Batman in a dark, shadowed alleyway, you merely blinked at Vengeance and proclaimed you needed some food if you were going to have this conversation.

You start to pace, because moving helps you think, “he didn’t give up much. He was too busy trying to impress me with expensive drinks and flattery. But he threw the word opportunity around a lot. He kept mentioning how he was the one on the ground floor of this thing.”

You fold your arms across your chest and stare out your balcony sliding glass door. “We know Falcone is involved in a drug trafficking, and maybe even human trafficking too. I’ll go there again tomorrow—”

“No.” The word tears from his throat. You spin, expecting him by the table, and your heart gallops in surprise at his close proximity. He practically looms over you. You peer up, and the second surprise comes in the color of his eyes, striking and watery blue, smudged with some type of black paint or makeup.

He says, “you’ve got enough.”

You almost laugh. “I’ve got shit.” You shake your head, “I don’t have anything to pin Falcone with. I’ve got conjecture. I’ve got a half-remembered conversation thanks to all the booze they plied me with. I don’t have names, or details, but if I go in again—”

“You said he wanted to use you.” Up close, you see the chest plates of his body armor flex when he inhales deeply. “You could get hurt.”

You shrug. “Occupational hazard.”

You stare into Batman’s impassive, stoic expression and his tense, tight jaw. Your resolve flares white-hot. The girls working for Falcone are actively getting hurt, being hurt, the longer you take to crack this case. Yeah, sure, you’re just a freelance journalist. But lots of people in Gotham read your articles. A big enough article should garner enough public backlash to cause the Gotham PD to investigate. That was your hope anyway. And if not—well—you had Batman in your living room. You’d give the evidence over to him.  

You lift your chin and set your shoulders, “I can bear the pain if it means saving others the trouble.”

Something ripples across his half-masked face. Something – you think – like empathy? Until his eyes drop pointedly to your mouth. Your thoughts dry up, your mind a wasteland, and a new, sudden pulse reverberates across the muscles of your heart. You slowly release your lower lip from your teeth. If you had any space to move, you would slink around him, return to the solace, and comfort of your couch and start digging through Falcone’s contacts. But – tiny living room, big Bat. Outside, you hear a deluge pattering on the balcony railing and the rooftops below. A low and distant rumbling thunder vibrates through the skyscrapers.

Batman edges impossibly closer and the front of your chest brushes against his armor. Your neck aches from craning upward to look at him.

“Don’t go back to the lounge.” Says Batman.

“You’re not my boss.” You quip. “No one is. That’s kinda the point.”

“What about Gordon?” His lips thin. “I thought you worked for him.”

“Nope!” You respond brightly, “I just dig around in sketchy business and stir the pot, so the PD gets off their assess and does their actual jobs.”

Batman grumbles lowly.

“I can handle Falcone from here.”

“I’m sure you can, Vengeance.” You agree with just the barest touch of sarcasm.

Handle Falcone? Yeah. He’ll probably go break a few of Falcone’s ribs. Effective for intimidation, but not effective for the truth. You’ve seen Vengeance in action more than once (he’s got a pesky habit of turning up in the same circles you’re investigating). But would his technique of busting skulls help the girls in trouble? No. It wouldn’t. Based on your assumption of Falcone, if Batboy was busy fighting, then Falcone’s men would just transport the girls – and the drugs – to another location.

You reach behind yourself and tug the door handle, “I’ll call you with an update.” You slide the door open and burst of wind pushes chilly rainwater onto your floor and your back. “I promise.”

Batman glares down at you. He looks ready to say something else but thinks better of it. You step to the side to let him pass. You release a relieved sigh once he’s gone. What was that? Why did it almost seem like he was going to kiss you? You shake the foolish thought from your mind. You and Batboy? Hah! In your dreams maybe.

*********

A single phone call changes the trajectory of your entire day. You find yourself at Bruce Wayne’s Tower. You never thought you’d be here again. You use a tissue from your car’s glove compartment to try and wipe off the residual clumped mascara from last night. You aren’t as blue-blooded as the Wayne family. But the closeness in age, and the friendship your mother had toward Martha Wayne, meant that you and ‘Brucie’ were set up for playdates when you were old enough to talk. You despised him instantly.

On your first playdate, you bit him. The Bruce-Free days only lasted so long before the mothers decided to try again. On the second, he wouldn’t give you your favorite toy back. This caused quite a rift. He was forced to handwrite an apology. You still have it – somewhere – in a shoebox.

By the third or fourth playdate, things changed. Bruce stopped some older kids from picking on you and shoving your face in the dirt. He earned a busted lip and your unwavering, childish loyalty. You started looking forward to those scheduled, routine meetings in his big, fancy penthouse.

Until his parents were killed and whatever fondness that was born beautifully between you as children grew distant and cold.

You frown and count backward on your fingers. Jesus. It’s been years since you’ve seen him. Granted, it’s not like you tried to reach out either. After the years of ignored calls and radio silence in the fresh, tender years after his parent’s death—you gave up on trying. Was it shitty behavior? Maybe. But you were like ten. You didn’t know how to handle the grief of losing anyone either.

You smooth the wrinkles on your slept-in shirt and pop a piece of gum in your mouth to calm your nerves. Oh, well! You can’t hide in the car forever.

You’re led inside his glossy, gothic penthouse. Your eyes snag on the polished, wooden table holding a vase. You’ve got a tiny, white scar from where you smashed your face into that exact table from running through the hall. Alfred gives you a polite, well-mannered smile before pouring tea.

He says, “it’s good to see you again.”

“Thanks.” You accept the pretty, floral teacup, “can’t say I was expecting a phone call from the Wayne house.”

“Hm. Indeed.” His eyes sparkled, “I, myself, was quite surprised when Bruce told me to contact you. He said he could trust no one else with it.”

You squirm a little in your seat. “Being vague to a pseudo-reporter is like the literal worst thing you can do. Care to enlighten me as to why I’m here?”

The only tidbit of information Alfred gave on the phone was that Bruce had a job for you. Although it felt a little weird to be meeting up with your old childhood friend under the blanket of professionalism and employment opportunity, your pathetic bank account is two overdraft fees away from being closed completely, so you really couldn’t be prideful or finicky.

“I’m afraid I cannot. He will explain everything.”

In that moment, the man of the hour decides to bless you with his presence. Your teacup clatters shakily against the porcelain saucer. His damp hair hangs in wet, slinky tendrils along his pale forehead. A shadow of dark stubble crests over his square, handsome jaw. He doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping based on his hunched posture and the dark half-moon circles under his baby blue eyes.

“Did you not consider getting dressed, sir?” Alfred tuts and shakes his head. Bruce sinks into the chair opposite to yours with a sigh. His dark, large hoodie and gray sweatpants drape over his frame like a blanket. His feet are bare which you find both funny and startlingly intimate.

“Quicksilver’s seen worse.” He grumbles.

You smile at the old moniker. “You’ve been following my career have you?”

Bruce’s lips quirk, something boyish and bashful crossing his features for a mere second, before he tamps it down.

“Here and there.” He shrugs, reaching for his tea, “I heard about you leaving the Gazette.”

“I wish it had been a more dramatic exit.” You sigh, “I can see the headline now. Sacked journalist gags Gazette with gory tell all of Gotham’s crime grime!” You drag your hand across the air as if smearing the headline into space.

Bruce exhales through his nostrils, a short and huffy sound. “Does it have to rhyme?”

“No, but it’s more fun if it does.” Your heart flutters when you look over at him (when did the gangly boy who hid behind pillars at charity events get so handsome?) You look away and focus on the ever-blooming pink roses on your teacup.

“Which brings me to my next point – why am I here?” You ask.

He sips his tea.

“How much did Alfred tell you?”

“Close to nothing.” You half-heartedly glare at the doorway where Alfred exited. “Said you had a job, said you asked for me.” Your heart does a strange twist. “Said you’d only trust me with it.”

Bruce stiffens. You notice it in his shoulders hidden beneath his baggy clothes. You’ve never known Alfred to lie but his statement, however true or not, made Bruce uncomfortable. You attempt to read his exhausted, sullen face, but it’s like trying to read a street sign within the reflection of a puddle.

Bruce avoids your eyes, “it’s about Arkham.”

Your eyebrow quirks upward. How did Bruce hear about that? Or was this unconnected? You shift in your seat again, sitting upright, attentive, and a scent not unlike blood fills your nostrils. Your old editor used to say: ‘Quicksilver, you got the instincts of a fucking shark.’ It’s a shame the bastard didn’t bother to fight to keep your big story afloat. Before Bruce even opens his mouth again, you can taste it—The Story. There’s something under the soil waiting to be dug up and brought to the light.

“I’m listening.”

“I heard about the story the Gazette wouldn’t publish.” Bruce sucks in a breath, “I want you to write it.”

The floor dips out from underneath you. You’re glad you’re not holding the expensive, delicate teacup because otherwise it would be shattered on the hardwood floor.

You balk. “What?”

“Write it.” He says with more certainty this time. “I’ll pay you.”

“Bruce.” You shake your head, immediately worried for his reputation, “if people find out you’re footing the bill to uncover Arkham’s dirty laundry…”

Something scared and small inside of you cringes at the idea of going into Arkham again. Then, abruptly, the face of one of Falcone’s drugged-out girls surfaces to your mind. Shit. If you do this, you’ll be fighting two monsters. Falcone’s dangerous corruption and obvious viciousness, and Arkham’s cold, claustrophobic corridors and placid doctors who – if you’re honest – have plastic smiles that freak you out more than some of the dangerous patients.

He says, “it doesn’t matter.”

God, he’s dumb. He’s all that’s left of the benevolent Wayne family name, and he wants to spend his days a shut-in recluse paying an ex-journalist to write a story no one wants? You want to shake sense into his shoulders.

You nibble your lower lip before asking, “why me?”

Bruce actually looks at a loss for words (not that he’s been a man of many words but whatever). His head tilts ever-so-slightly to the left. His eyes narrow imperceptibly. You twist the tiny sugar serving spoon between your fingers for the sake of movement, so you don’t start pacing in his parlor.

“Alfred already told you why,” murmurs Bruce.

All air whooshes out of your lungs in something that resembles a chuckle but is far too warbled to be an honest laugh.

“Even if I write the story, Bruce. What happens next? If I post it online, people will call me a conspiracist, or a liar, or both! And if it comes out that you’re involved, they will drag your name through the mud for supporting it.” You explain a hurried rush, desperate for him to understand, “there’s no way in hell the Gazette will publish it. And none of the smaller papers either would risk the Gazette’s wrath.”

You continue, “And this is all assuming my old contacts will even speak to me.”

You had walked in, ready to accept the job offer with a smile on your face, and now you were arguing against it. Why? Because you don’t want Bruce to have his name slandered? Because it looks hopeless? Or because you don’t want to face Arkham again? Or because you already have your hands full with the Falcone drug ring investigation?

You are uncertain of the answer. It feels like a little of everything.

“Write the story first, then we’ll figure out what to do with it.” He slides his palms down his legs, from his thighs to his knees. “There are papers outside of Gotham. As for your contacts…well…the ones who won’t speak to you are likely paid off by the Gazette, right?”

You blink at him. Holy shit. He’s serious. He wants you to rewrite the story. The damp, musty air of Arkham clings to the vessels inside your lungs. Can you do it? Can you tell both stories? Save the girls from Falcone and save the patients in Arkham? It’s a Herculean task.

But it’s not impossible. You told Vengeance last night that you’d suffer pain for the sake of others. And ‘others’ included the criminally deranged patients in Arkham.

You pinch the upper bridge of your nose and close your eyes. “Fuck…”

“You’re going to say yes.” Although you’re not looking at him, you can hear a faint smile in Bruce’s voice. A molten, nostalgic, and hungry heat unfurls through your bones. Goddamnit. At the end of the day – it’s Bruce, the scrappy boy who took a blackeye and busted lip for you – that’s who is asking you for a favor. You can bite and bark all you want. But you know you’re going to agree. Doesn’t explain how he knows it, though.

You meet his steely, blue gaze, “how do you know?”

Bruce shrugs.

You groan. “Fine, fine. Yeah. Yes. I accept. Show me the paperwork to sign.”

The rich bastard does actually have paperwork for you to sign. Which is like – hilarious and also ridiculous and your leg bounces under the table with each shiny, wet signature you leave behind. It’s basic non-disclosure agreement and ownership stuff that you’ve seen a hundred other times. You mutually agree to not reveal whose paying you, you keep your contacts private and secure, and Bruce agrees that once the article is complete—it’s his. You can choose to strip your name from it completely. He’s free to sell it to the highest bidder outside of Gotham.

Though, with minor hassling, he agrees to consult with you beforehand before it goes anywhere to print.

Once the business is done, you find yourself falling into sort-of-easy conversation. It’s mostly one-sided because Bruce’s life is incredibly fucking boring. He’s unlike the other rich elites of Gotham – those with their smiling, plastic faces on glossy magazine covers.

“What?” Your prompt, leaning your elbows on the table, “Not even a single torrid and gut-wrenching love affair to share with your old friend?”

Bruce deadpans, “no.”

“What about Alfred?”

“No.” A little line appears between his eyebrows. It’s cute. You stifle a giggle in the back of your throat. “Unless he’s keeping secrets.”

You lean back in your chair, “I’ll ask him on my way out.”

You talk about work because it’s easiest. You tell him about your other articles – both published and tossed aside. You tell him about your brief period, post-Gazette, as a private investigator (“It was mostly trying to find out if partners were cheating on each other and I got bored fast” You clarify, “money was good though”). You tiptoe around any topic that implies you have a life outside of your work. Simply because you don’t. You fall asleep staring at your computer screen, up to your neck in research, and you wake up staring at the same screen. It’s a little…embarrassing…to consider how hollow your life is, but Bruce doesn’t leave his house. It’s not like he can judge you and you’d give him hell if he tried.

A notification on your cracked phone screen informs you that you need to go. You’ve got a meeting with Gordon in an hour. You already passed information off to the Bat. Now, it was time for Gordon to follow-up with you on the leads you gave him last week.

“I’ll walk you out.” He offers, falling into quiet step behind you.

You tease. “Always a gentleman.”

His lips twitch. You think he almost smiled. Now, It’s not perfect. You’re not slotted together at the hip like you used to be when you were kids. And he’s practically your boss now. But at least you’re talking again. At least it’s something. That’s better than the years of static and loneliness and complicated, yearning feelings you endured in your youth.

You press the button for the lobby with a short wave to Bruce in farewell.

His long pale fingers suddenly wrap around the silver, polished elevator door and he stops it from hissing shut. His eyes roam your face like he’s trying to memorize the slope of your nose, the bow of your lips, and the arch of your brow. He looks …haggard – a little wild…like whatever he’s about to say or do is being ripped from his ribcage. Bruce is on a flimsy tether and he’s one rough pull from unraveling.

His voice dips low, stoking at an ember you weren’t aware of in the depths of your belly.

“You always used to close your eyes before saying yes to me.” His eyes pin you, their gaze darkening, and the rumpled slump of his shoulders tightens.

You grin. “That’s because you were an insufferable brat who always got his way.” You rapidly press the ‘close door’ button a few times. It doesn’t do anything, of course, because Bruce is white knuckling the door.

“Anything you need…” He trails off, then finishes his sentence with a gruff, “– just call.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You wave a hand, trying to be as nonchalant as possible with your heart trying to fucking escape from your chest like an Olympic acrobat. “I’m on the payroll now. Got it.”

You’re about to become the Queen of Multi-tasking.

*********

Fuck this fucking club, you think, as Falcone places his arm around your waist. It sends a clear message to the other creeps in here. He’s interested in you. Everyone else better back off or they’ll lose an eyeball. Your skin crawls. You put on a brave face. You giggle at his jokes. You pet the front of his blazer, curling up next to him in the booth, enduring his cigar-breath and fingers groping your thighs.

“How ‘bout we get outta here, sweetheart?” He asks, “I got something I wanna show you. Something that’ll make you feel good.”

You flutter your eyelashes, playing dumb, “really?”

Gordon followed some of Falcone’s cars to the shipping district and confirmed that Falcone was keeping the missing girls somewhere else. Gordon couldn’t breach the private warehouses without a warrant. And Batman has been MIA for the past two nights. You hope and pray that Falcone is planning to take you there now. You’re desperate for a lead.

“Yeah, baby.” He grins. “Remember how I was telling you that I’m getting into something big? Something groundbreaking? Well – tonight, you get to have a taste of it.”

You don’t want to be too eager. “Can’t we just go to your office?” You wine.

“No, no, baby.” He takes a long pull of his cigar, “I don’t keep it here.”

He signals for one of his boys to bring a car around. You don’t bother to hide your nervous and bouncy excitement. You mentally and emotionally prepare yourself for the car ride. So far, you’ve avoided Falcone’s mouth by dodging and playing coy and leaving before things get heated—but he’s a brute and a criminal. He’ll take advantage of the small space of the backseat. You’re sure of it.

Plus, he thinks you’re a runaway who is desperate for her next fix. He thinks you’re vulnerable and weak. He has no idea how wrong he is.

You hold the image of the missing posters at the forefront of your mind. You repeat their names as Falcone shoves his tongue between your teeth. You climb onto Falcone’s lap so he can’t reach between your legs and fantasize about Batman punching into Falcone’s slimy face.

Thankfully, it’s a short ride. You make a big show of pouting when the car door opens and then giggling as if you’re drunk at Falcone’s goon. Falcone leads you past some of the warehouses and into a small receiving office. You’re confused until he opens the door at the far end of the wall which leads into a narrow staircase.

Your lungs shrivel. It’s underground. You take Falcone’s offered hand and follow him down the stairs, counting each step, counting every breath. You hope the stairwell will open up into a larger space. You never did well in tight, confined spaces. You swallow thickly. You repeat the girl’s names over and over again like a mantra to salvation and sanity. Nearly halfway down and you start to hear low, echoing moaning. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from reacting. Falcone doesn’t look back at you.

The universe is downright cackling at you when the stairwell ends, and you’re confronted with a wider-than usual hallway pocketed with doors. The air is chillier than above and you’re in a black mini dress and fighting off a panic attack.  A full body tremor wreck through you. The urge to bolt, to run upstairs, digs its claws into you.

Falcone misinterprets your trembling, “don’t worry, honey.” He nods to one of his boys and they open one of the doors, “you’ll get what you want.”

You come face to face with one of the missing girls. Her cherry blonde hair is mussed over her damp, tear-streaked face. She’s curled on a mattress and muttering, quietly, to herself. It almost sounds like a song.

All self-preservation flies out the metaphorical window. Your heels click toward her, you crouch, and smooth her hair away from her face. Her big, brown eyes are glossy and distant. Wherever she is – it’s not here. And you’re thankful for it. Her hair is longer than her missing photo, but you recognize her. Her name is Karina. She broke up with her boyfriend and ran off after they had a fight. Falcone – or one of his people - must’ve grabbed her during the emotional turmoil and fallout.

Now, you’ve found her and there’s a high chance the rest of the girls are in the other rooms. You need to get to them. Gordon might not be able to shut this place down in time. The silver lining is that Falcone has limited security here. This is where he keeps the girls – not where he keeps the drugs. The few security goons you saw only carried pistols. You will get your hands on one. You’ll get these girls out.

You’re a journalist, not a hero. But doesn’t stop you from formulating a plan. If all else fails, you’ll reveal the ace in your sleeve, and tell Falcone about the tracker in your phone. It had been Batboy’s idea. It’s a one-of-a-kind program. Once activated, if you don’t check-in after 2 hours via a passcode, it alerts Gordon.

Come to think of it, it probably alerts Batman too.

“Don’t worry.” Falcone croons, “it’s more than pleasant.”

His goon grabs your arm. You almost jerk away until you remember yourself and let your wrist fall limp in their hands. You flinch at the bite of the needle. The world swims in vibrant, pulsing color. You cling to reality as feebly as you can. Whatever lucid part of your mind rationalizes that the high cannot last too long. Your tongue rests heavy in your mouth. The door echoes shut with a loud bang.

The walls close-in toward you. Shit, fuck, what the fuck?! Is the room collapsing? You press your hands to the concrete with a panicked gasp. Yes, yes, you feel vibrations. An earthquake? In Gotham!? It sounds implausible. Your mind is foggy, formulating thoughts through a haze of animalistic panic, your heart thundering so loud in your ears that you hear nothing else.

You hiccup, unaware when you started crying, your sluggish fingertips clawing at the flat, immovable walls that press closer and closer with every ragged inhale. A swarm of black spots dance like demons in front of your eyes.

You’re not even sure why you say—“Bruce?!” until you realize it’s because an earthquake is happening, and you’re stuck underground and he’s at Wayne tower and it’s going to collapse! And no one is going to be able to warn him and no one is going to be able to save him and no one is going to be with him and—Oh God!

The air is stale. You don’t have enough of it. You’re going to die in here. The realization hits you as the ceiling starts to drop. Tiny flecks of white plaster drop onto your head and into your eyes. They cloud your vision and burn. You want to curl up into a little ball and scream, but you suddenly remember you aren’t alone.

You grab Karina’s addled face, “we have to breathe slowly!” You shout to her over the noise of crumbling walls and plaster. “Slowly!”

You practice the correct slow and measured breathes to conserve oxygen. Karina doesn’t listen. She is crying. Her tears fall, fat and watery down her face. You keep trying to show her how to breathe like a mother teaching her child how to take their first steps. Karina is hopeless. She continues to wail and cry, and blubber apologizes and lamentations for her parents.

You stumble to your feet on the unsteady, shaking ground. Somehow, the metal door has withstood the ongoing earthquake. You’re not sure how this is possible, but you’re not going to spit on the blessing. Your fingers dig into the cold handle and tug. It gives way – unlocked – and you barrel into the hallway with watery knees. Another tremor of the earth and you shoulder into the doorway directly across the hall. Your body flares at the pain of impact.

Someone is screaming. It’s not Karina. Your face turns toward the sound. The collapsing world is a mess of greys and an off-shade blue that’s too unlike the sky and nearly nauseating. Every time you move your head, there’s an after-image of the world prior, like your mind is lagging and struggling to hold connection to your body and your visual receptors.

Batman is standing in the hallway. His cloak is billowing outward, led by an unknown wind, and you nearly collapse with relief. He can help. He can save Bruce and Karina and all the others. You don’t have to do it alone.

You scream, “Bruce!”

He reflectively jerks like someone slapped him. The elbow in his hand, held at an awkward and painful angle, is dropped. You lean your weight against the wall and stumble toward Batman to explain, your tongue still feels heavy, and your lips tingle.

“Bruce – my friend – my friend Bruce - you have to help him.” You grab Batman’s solid arm, heavy and black, but he’s the only thing not crumbling around you.

“There’s been an earthquake—didn’t you feel it?! And he’s on his own and someone has to warn him so he can -so he can get out. So, Alfred can get out. They live in a tower. It’s going to collapse. It’s going to collapse. Please, please, please, please. I can’t lose him again. Please, please, please.”

Your body won’t stop shaking. Your jaw tenses with a wild, deep urge to grind your teeth. “You’ve got tons of gadgets. Do a gadget. Help him. Help him, please.”

Batman is holding your face. When did that happen? You feel the heat of his palms through his gloves. Or maybe it’s you. Your skin is burning up. You feel the heat of it travel all the way down the back of your neck and across your chest. The words are slipping now like big slimy eels. Your tongue struggles to shape them.

“What did he give you?”

“Dunno.” You slur, your eyelids droop. “Karina. Other room. Help Karina. The girls. Help B—Bruce. Please. Please. Earthquake. Tell him. Hurry. Hurry.”

He squeezes your face, “Silver. Look at me.” He demands. “There’s no earthquake. It’s the drugs. Did you see where Falcone went?”

As if to prove him wrong, a piece of rubble falls from the ceiling.

It lands on him.

He collapses like a squashed bug. You shriek. The force of it renders your throat into bloody ribbons. You back pedal with arms flaring, blood hot and sticky on your face, and you trip over your feet. Someone is grabbing you, their grip strong, and they’re talking—but you can’t hear them. The walls are falling, falling, falling. You’re going to be buried alive. You failed. You failed the girls. You failed Bruce. You failed yourself.

You squeeze your eyes shut because to look would be unbearable.

*********

The next time you open your eyes, you’re in a hospital. The white and blue gown is itchy and fits poorly. You rub your eyes and work the muscles of your aching, dry throat. Your body feels…mostly fine. There’s some minor discomfort at the back of your skull and your jaw.

Gordon says, “Quicksilver, you gave me a scare.”

You probe your memory and glance to your bedside where Gordon sits. “Take it from the top, Gordon, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“You asking me as my friend or as a cop?”

He straightens his shoulders and his mustache quivers, “a friend.”

“Finding Karina in a sub-level below a shipment receiving office. Falcone’s men drugging me.” You chew at your lower lip, “I think…I think there was an earthquake?” Your mind snaps to Bruce and to his safety. The heartrate monitor betrays your unease.

Gordon mutters, “he mentioned that.”

“Who?”

“Our mutual friend in black.”

You sit up in bed, “he’s alive?!”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

“I – I saw him. I don’t know if it was the drugs or if it was real…but he was there.” You fuss at the sheets pooled around your waist, “I guess it was all a hallucination. Fuck. What was it?”

“The lab is running an analysis on your blood.” Gordon clears his throat, “we know it triggers the adrenal gland, and it induces auditory as well as visual hallucinations, and based on the other victims, we think it affects cognitive abilities as well.”

You make a mental note to ensure Gordon releases the analysis to you.

“Are they okay?”

“They’re badly shaken, but everyone is accounted for thanks to you.”

You weren’t sure what happened to Falcone and didn’t feel ready to ask, but if you had to guess—he likely weaseled his way out of there.

You relax a little into the pillows, “Gordon, can you do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Can you call my boss?”

Gordon smiles faintly, “I thought you were freelance. Untethered, I think, was the word you used last time.”

“Fuck off.” You laugh, “I’m allowed to change my mind.”

*********

Gordon gave you the rundown of what happened while you waited for Bruce. Your app triggered shortly after you entered the shipment office. Batman was following you the whole evening (because of course he was! He’s worse than an overbearing grandmother).

When you didn’t check in, he assumed the worst and followed. Batman found you, rambling and sweating and screaming about an earthquake in the hallway. Batman called Gordon who arrived shortly thereafter with EMTs.

None of the doors keeping the girls were locked. A stronger dose, Gordon explained, usually rendered your body paralyzed. He theorized that Falcone must’ve wanted to see how you’d react first, but when Batman arrived, he fled. You decide not to think about what could’ve happened if Batman didn’t show up.

Gordon leaves the room to take a call. You’re left alone with your thoughts.

You rest your cheek along the stiff, bleach-smelling pillow and stare out the window to Gotham’s chrome brilliance. It’s overcast, painting the skyscrapers gray, the big, fluffy clouds reflect on every giant window. They promise rain. And when Gotham’s skies promise rain—she almost always delivers. You sigh.

Bruce hasn’t been in your life for more than three days and he was your first thought when you were in trouble. It is embarrassing. It’s heart-wrenching. You were on a drug-addled hellscape of your worst nightmare and what did you do? You begged Batman to keep Bruce safe. The seasons change, but your candle to Bruce Wayne hasn’t. He’s ingrained into you. The little white scar from his hallway table. The folded apology letter in the shoebox under your bed next to the faded, sun-washed photograph of you two eating watermelon slices.

The door creaks open.

“Hey, no hoodie this time! I’m honored.” You smile and try to infuse as much teasing and normalcy into your voice as possible.

The treacherous heartrate monitor betrays you again. Your pulse is erratic from simply looking at him. Truthfully, he looks like shit. All bedraggled, and sleep-deprived, and pale. He somehow manages to look more hollowed-out from when you saw him last. You wish whoever kept carving out pieces of Bruce Wayne’s heart out of his chest would just stop. But, sadly, the truth is that Bruce is the one holding that knife.

You kick the covers off your legs, standing when he approaches you, “you shouldn’t—” He says, but he’s too late. Too slow. You throw your arms around him. You tremble, hot and biting tears burn inside your lower lashes, and your hands fist the fabric of his heavy, woolen coat. His cologne is earthy, masculine, and warm.

It takes him a minute to wrap his arms around you. But when he does—oh God—when he does that’s when you shatter. You’re not sure how you have the energy to weep after everything that happened, but somehow, against all odds, you do. You cry messy, snotty tears into his expensive wool collar. He clings to you like he might just fuse your bodies together through sheer willpower alone. It nearly hurts. You gasp, muttering his name over and over again, through the salt and relief that clumps your eyelashes together.

“I was so scared.” You admit, voice small like a child, “I was so scared something happened to you and that I wouldn’t be able to reach you.”

“Me?” He rumbles, “what about you?”

You shrug and pull away to look up into his face. “I can take it.”

Bruce’s hand cradles the side of your face. You lean into it. His hands are cool and surprisingly calloused. His thumb catches an errant tear and brushes it aside. He looks at you like he’s about to give you something. His expression so earnest, so pained, that it momentarily steals the breath from your lungs. Your exhale quivers through your parted lips.

He says, quite simply, quiet plainly, vocal chords rough and strained; “I can’t.”

It feels like a declaration. It feels like a confession. The wretched heartbeat monitor has not stopped relentlessly beeping and displaying your desperate, aching heart. Your fingers crawl toward his jaw. His stubble scratches your palms. His pink tongue skirts across his plush lower lip. There is a question lingering in the fathomless depths of his blue eyes. You crane onto your tiptoes, edging closer, and Bruce finally asks the question in his eyes—

“Can I kiss you?” He breathes.

Your eyes close, “yes,” and you nod minutely.

His lips graze yours. You close the barely-there distance between your mouths. He sighs into your mouth. It tastes like inevitability. He presses you snug against the hard, lean muscled strength of him. He is warm, and strong, and safe. You start to pull away, but he chases your mouth with his, humming pleasantly and pleased, you feel the vibration of it from his chest.

His hand on your face slides to the nape of your neck and he holds you, securely, and almost possessively. Your tongue glides against the seam of his lips, and he opens willingly for you. You lick into his mouth with a selfish and needy whimper. This feels right. It feels good.

The door swings open, followed by Gordon’s voice, “They said they’d release—” You wrench your mouth free and hide your face in Bruce’s collar.

“Oh.” Gordon clears his throat.

You burst into laughter, bubbly and bright, traveling all the way up your stomach and through your nose like fizzy champagne. To your immense pleasure and surprise, Bruce doesn’t let you go. His grip relaxes, but he doesn’t release you. You stay pinned to his side. Hip to hip.

You wipe the residual tears from your face, “tell me I’m going home.”

“Under supervision, yes.” Gordon’s perceptive gaze flickers to Bruce. “The side-effects of the drug are unknown. They wanted to keep you here but I – uh – I argued against it.”

“She can stay with me.” Offers Bruce.

“Hell yeah!” You beam, “tell me you have the same mattresses. Please.” The sleepovers were rare, but you had fond memories of those squishy, expensive mattresses and throwing pillows at Bruce’s head. After the kiss…maybe you’d stay in Bruce’s room? A tiny light of hope ignites in your chest.  

Gordon’s eyebrow lifts a notch. You ignore him.

“I have a guest room, yes.”

Well, that hope was short-lived. You stamp down on your disappointment and focus on the positives. You’re staying with Bruce. He won’t be a phone call away. He’ll be a few feet away at most. You can make up for lost time. Lord knows you’ve got plenty of it.

“Can I leave now?” You ask Gordon.

“There’s some paperwork you need to fill out, but generally, yes. You can leave whenever you’re ready.” He regards you, both professional and concerned, “are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod. “The less time I’m in a hospital, the better.” To Bruce you say, “can we stop at my place so I can get some clothes and my laptop?”

Bruce looks quizzically at you, “your laptop?”

“Mhm.” You nod, “for work.”

“I suggest we keep the Falcone investigation private for now, Quicksilver.” Gordon says with a worried pinch to his brow, “we don’t have enough evidence to charge him. I know you’re not really ‘The Press’ anymore, but you’d be doing us a favor.”

“Don’t get your tie twisted, Gordon. I’ve got other projects on my plate.”

Gordon hums, a deep sound low in his chest, and he gives a knowing glance to Bruce before leading you out.

*********

You try not to internally panic at the reality of Bruce standing in your awkwardly living room. His eyes roams over your bookshelves and to the messy, unkept pillows and blankets on your coach.

“I’ll just be a minute.” Your bedroom door softly clicks shut. You peel off the hospital scrubs they gave you. Your shoulder whines with sharp, throbbing pain. In the mirror above the bathroom sink, you prod the mottled bruises that decorate your shoulder and splatter like paint across your collarbone. You don’t remember hitting the door that hard. You change into bulky, comfortable clothes. You shove enough clothes for a few days into a backpack.

According to your discharge paperwork, the doctors advised you should be monitored for at least 72 hours. You exhale harshly through your lips. Three days with Bruce Wayne. What can go wrong? What can go right?  

Maybe he’ll just hand you off to Alfred and call it a day. You chuckle to yourself.

“Okay,” You swing the door open, “I’m ready—h-hey!” You proclaim, frowning, seeing Bruce holding your laptop open in his hands.

He doesn’t even look up, one hand on the keyboard, the other flat beneath it. “Your laptop is grossly outdated.”

“First of all, invasion of privacy. Rude. I should kick you out.” You sidle beside him and peer around his arm, “secondly, how’d you guess my password?”

His lips curve upward into a smirk. Your stomach swoops and awareness prickles across the nape of your neck. You’re relieved there’s no longer a heartrate monitor to blast your embarrassing feelings on monochromatic display.

He says, “I got lucky.”

“Bullshit.” You laugh.

*********

The sound of your laugh unravels something in him. He’s been so careful, so distant, and yet one laugh from you and he’s weak. He wants to wrap you in his arms again and ensure you’re safe. He wants to drag Falcone by the hair to the steps of Gotham Police. He thought he mastered fear. He believed himself immune to it. He is shadow, and vengeance, and righteous fury.

But, at Falcone’s drug den, he was helpless to ease your suffering. His failure plagued him. It is forever buried into the deep reaches of his mind. Every possibility of what could have been flashes through his mind whenever he looks at you. Losing you would be…his stomach sours thinking of it. He avoids your perceptive gaze and carefully snaps the laptop closed.

He says, “you should change your password.”

Your nose scrunches. His heart pangs within the hollowness of his chest. All at once, he is seven years old again, chasing you in the park, and pretending summer would never end. He’s refined the art of missing you – of your necessary absence – and now all those careful, practiced skills are turning to dust.

“Why?”

He tucks your laptop under his arm, “the code is too obvious.” Said code is his birthday. The password implies that you’ve not forgotten him—despite his distance, his lack of friendship. He recalls your glossy, wild eyes begging the Batman to save him. Falcone’s drugs clutched you in a vice grip of madness and you thought of him. He doesn’t deserve it.

“So?” You shrug, but a nervousness enters your eyes and gives you away. “How many people know we’re friends? Like two people, right? The odds of those two people trying to hack my laptop for information are close to zero.”

He sighs. You’ve got that fiery, determined gleam in your eyes. There’s no winning this argument.

On the walk back to the car, you continue, “besides, all my important notes and files are encrypted with a different password. I browse anything online through a VPN. And—” You keep talking throughout the car ride. You fidget in your seat. You chew at your lower lip.

He realizes, albeit slowly, that the excessive rambling isn’t because you want to prove a point. It’s because you’re anxious. It’s likely because of Falcone’s continued freedom. His grip tightens on the steering wheel.

“Falcone can’t reach you here.” He says levelly, “you’ll be safe at Wayne Tower.”

“Huh?”

“You’re…” He clears his throat, glancing sidelong toward you, “acting jumpy.”

“Oh.” You rub both of your hands over your face. You go quiet. You turn your face away, watching the city through the rain-speckled windshield. Bruce immediately wants to kick himself. Shit. He wants to comfort you, reassure you, not cause you to withdraw. He fumbles to find some type reply of that’ll get you talking again.

You reach over to the center dashboard and flick on the radio. An old, classic croons through the speakers. You rest your chin in your palm and continue to stare out the window. His fingers flex against the wheel with an errant, foolish wish to stretch across the space and settle his palm on your bouncing knee. The rest of the car ride is silent, save for the rain hitting the metallic roof, and the droning, sorrowful song in his ears.

*********

Bruce is painfully absent once you enter the tower. He doesn’t even explain why. He walks in with you and then vanishes like an impressive magician. You’re half-tempted to go knocking on walls and look for secret doorways.

Dory shows you to the guest room. She’s sweet and fusses over your comfort and keeps saying how nice it is to have a guest over. Alfred helps you connect to the wi-fi signal. He keeps you company in the room you’ve plugged your laptop into (the old beast can’t hold a charge anymore). You take notes about Arkham, you eat little sandwiches and fresh fruit, and force yourself into some semblance of normalcy. Alfred is a decent conversationalist, but you worry that he’s here to keep you occupied so you won’t go looking for Bruce. You push the thought away.

It's not like Bruce is avoiding you, right? He’s just busy doing weird billionaire reclusive stuff. You wrinkle your nose. What could Bruce be doing? Oh, God. Maybe Alfred is keeping you away, maybe Bruce has some freaky, embarrassing hobby. Like roadkill taxidermy and then he uses the taxidermy animals to produce original puppet shows.

Alfred says, “found something interesting, have you?”

You realize you’re smiling from the thought of Puppet-Show Bruce. You shake your head.

“I’m piecing together the etymology of the word Arkham to build my timeline for the hospital and the Arkham family’s influence. I want to see if any of it connects to the current medical board or the staff.” Your fingers continue to click-clack across your keyboard.

“It’s interesting. Usually, surnames will connect back to a specific occupation, or piece of land which you can cross-reference, but for Arkham there’s nothing.” You divulge these findings to a patient and attentive Alfred.

He smiles fondly, “I see.”

“You’re looking at me funny.” You squint at him.

“I’m just pleased you’re here.”

You press your lips together. A pleased, appreciative warmth prickles along your skin.

In the evening, Bruce doesn’t show up for dinner. And you start to wonder if you hallucinated the kiss at the hospital. But there’s no way, right? The drugs were flushed out of your system. You were of sound mind and body. Did he regret it? That is the only plausible and logical reason in your mind for his avoidance. He kissed you, regretted it, and now probably regretted having you in his house for the next three days.

You roll onto your side in the big, comfy bed. You can’t even enjoy it. Your stupid stomach is tied into knots thinking about Bruce-fucking-Wayne. You stare at the dark ceiling. OK. You can’t sleep. Fine. His home is temporarily your home. What did you do when you couldn’t sleep?

The chilly air bites your legs when you kick off the heavy, puffy covers. When the thoughts go loud, you go quiet, and focus your mind on something else. Bruce is dodging you, but at least he gave you something to do. Might as well be useful if you’re not going to be unconscious.

You’ve set up in the main parlor/sitting room/whatever-the-hell this room is with its heavy, iron lantern chandeliers and sleek, dark mahogany and bookshelf nooks. Your computer hums loudly to life on the desk and blue light spills across the woven, red tapestry rug. Behind you, the tall, cathedral-like window is sluiced with rainwater and pockets of light from Gotham below twinkle like an inverted night sky. Your files on Arkham flood the screen.

Your shoulders hunch forward, “okay, Dr. Mercer.” You mutter to yourself, “let’s see you’ve been up to.”

*********

He doesn’t know how to approach you as Bruce. He approaches you as the Bat. His cape and cowl do more than protect his identity from criminals. His mask is a shield. If he’s Batman—and not Bruce—he can do so much more. He can be more than just a man.

He watches you from the shadows. You’re hunched over your laptop, bloodshot eyes, fingers drumming on the hardwood, your face hardened and taught with concentration. You worked yourself to the bone, risked your life to save the missing girls. Not because anyone hired you to. Not because of the promise of fame or recognition Not out of ambition to try and get your old job at the Gazette back. But because you noticed a pattern. And you actually care. You brought it to Gordon, who gave what support he could within the confines of the justice system, but otherwise you worked alone. And despite the odds stacked against you, you succeeded.

If not for the tracker in your phone, he doesn’t know if he would’ve found you. Well, that’s only partially true. With the tracker, Bruce doesn’t know if he’d find you in time. But he knows – deep in whatever remains of his heart - if you were missing, he’d tear Gotham bolt-from-bolt to find you. He gingerly steps from the shadows, his cape dragging softly on the floor, and his boot intentionally hit a creaky floorboard.

You look up, eyes wide, and you don’t scream. Your throat bobs in a difficult swallow.

He says, “you weren’t at your apartment.”

“Instead of breaking and entering into my friend’s house—” Your brow pinches together, “you could have called.”

He is prepared for this conversation. The mask hides the slight lift of his brow. He steps behind you and peers over your shoulder to the computer screen. Your notes on Arkham are impressive. He doesn’t know how the ancient thing manages to hold enough memory to store it all.

“You asked me to check on him.”

“Yeah, but there wasn’t an earthquake.” You twist, turning your face toward him. A faint smell of mint toothpaste catches him off guard. The knowledge that you’ve settled into the tower, that you’ve done ordinary things like brushed your teeth and shared tea with Alfred, should scare him. But it doesn’t.

“Besides, I didn’t expect you to actually follow-through.”

He frowns. Has he already lost your trust in him?

“Why not?”

You turn back to your screen, shrugging mildly. “I saw you die.”

His breath hitches. How much pain did you endure from the moment the drug was injected? What other horrors did you see? And yet, here you are, continuing to research Arkham because he asked you to. He doesn’t deserve your loyalty. Anger rolls through his gut, hot and metallic in the back of his throat.

“You shouldn’t have gone near Falcone.” He grumbles, “I told you—”

You interrupt him. “And I told you I didn’t work for you.”

Yeah, that plan backfired magnificently. He assumed when he gave you the Arkham assignment, you’d step away from the Falcone case. He should’ve known better. Guilt, and anger, and self-loathing churn and mix like a dangerous, erratic cocktail. When you interrupted him, you turned around, and now he’s pinned like a butterfly by your gaze. Your nostrils flare gently as you stare up at him. Your eyes roam. He feels the heat of your eyes as they trail the square of jaw, the cleft of his chin, the shadowed expanse around his eyes.

“For the record, though…” You say softly, “I am glad you’re ok.”

His eyes drop to the curve of where your neck meets your shoulder. The T-shirt you’re wearing is well-loved, buttery soft from frequent washes, and a few holes peeking around neck hole hem. His frown deepens. His glove skims the edge of your collar. Your pulse leaps inside your jaw, but you don’t flinch or step away.

He hooks his index finger into the fabric and gently tugs it aside. A scatter of dark bruises splotch over your collarbone and disappear into your shoulder. Everything in him goes tight like a bowstring ready to fire. His heart is thunderously loud in his ears. His eyes cannot move away from the bruise even as he notices your breathing pattern change.

“Falcone?” He says asks, lowly, dangerously.

Your hand wraps around his wrist. “A door, actually.” You don’t pull his hand away like he expects. Your fingers glide over his glove and loosely twine over his. Your hand is much smaller than his. It’s a strange detail to notice in this moment, but it’s the only thing that’s tethering him to sanity.

“I’m fine. I promise.” Your thumb rubs across his knuckles. He cannot feel it. And for once, he’s cursing his layered and protective armor. He cautiously turns his wrist and enfolds your fingers between his. You bite your lip and look away…almost shy. This would be the perfect time to kiss you. The rain gently is pattering against the window. There are no sirens or Bat signals to pull him away. He tilts forward, preparing to drop his mouth to yours…

“I don’t think Falcone is at the top of this pyramid.” You announce abruptly. He blinks.

He responds, “what do you mean?”

You untwine your fingers from his and walk around the desk and toward the bookshelf and the window. You pace back and forth in front of it like a race car on a plastic track. Around and around. Several steps, then pivot, walk the same steps in the other direction.

“Falcone is a sleazeball and an opportunist. I know he deals in uppers. Drugs like ecstasy, drops, cocaine…” You list off, clearly finding comfort in talking your problems aloud, “they’re expensive and addictive. But the drug they gave me and the other girls…that wasn’t a party drug.”

He knows. He has a sample of your blood being tested in the Batcave.

“What’s your theory?” He tracks your pacing form with his dark, smudged eyes.

“I’m thinking about the execution of the drug and its effects. It requires a needle. It induces a panic-like state.” You shake your head in uncomfortable remembrance, “it increases body temperature and effects cognitive functions. Could it be used in a controlled environment for torture? Probably. But that doesn’t feel financially ludicrous enough to tempt someone like Falcone.”

“You think it’s a prototype.”

“Exactly!” You snap your fingers and glow from within. His eyelashes flutter at the brilliance of your smile. “See? This is why we work well together.”

He can see the threads in the air that connect one thought to the next.

“Falcone is working with someone else.” It’s not a completely debased assumption to make. Falcone has plenty of business connections.

You offer him a distracted nod. “That’s my theory.”

A notch forms between your eyebrows. Your gaze drops to the carpet, your thumb is pressing into the tempting lush shape of your lower lip. His heart careens into his ribcage in a desperate, love-struck attempt to break free. He can’t be with you as Bruce. Bruce has a secret identity, a secret life. But Batman is freedom. He’s the choice to wake up and try to make a difference. He’s fearless and fear inspiring. There’s only so few hours in the night and he can’t afford to lose them.

************

You explain, “it could be Penguin. It could be someone else. We’ll know more when Gordon has my blood report.”

It feels strangely liberating to talk this through with Batman. You can’t talk about it with Bruce—though you know he’s trustworthy, you’re not sure he’d support the…extremes…you take to uncover the truth. And you don’t want to worry him either.  Hell, there used to be a time when you never kept secrets from him. Where did all the time go.

You sigh, shoulders slumping, and cover your hands over your face. If only Bruce would stop avoiding you, then you’d talk to him! God. You hope he doesn’t wake up and find you having a midnight fireside chat with Gotham’s vigilante. That would be awkward. You smile behind your palms. It would be awkward first, then funny.

Batman says your name delicately as if he might break it on his tongue if he’s not careful. The warm, supple heat of his gloves wraps around your wrists and gently pulls your hands away from your face. You are unsurprised to see the grim, flat line of his mouth, to see the haunted echo behind his cerulean eyes.

“It wasn’t me who saved those girls.” He says, “it was you.”

You find the carpet infinitely interesting. Wow. What is that pattern? Eastern-European? Late 19th Century? Is it Dracula Chic? The detail work is fantastic. The color is so rich and textured—

He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes again. “You made a difference.”

You must’ve fallen asleep while working on the Arkham article. There is no way this is real. There’s no way Vengeance is complimenting you. It’s surreal. It’s impossible. His gaze drops to your mouth. His thumb lightly presses into your lower lip. Yes, this is definitely a dream. Your heart is pounding harder than the rainfall against the window.

Batman leans toward you, close enough to feel the feather-whisper of his breath on your lips. His heavily lidded eyes drag from your mouth to your eyes. A low electric pulse strums through your veins. Your finger scramble for purchase on his arm guards and squeeze in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself. It could be real, it could be a dream, or it could be the side-effects of the drug.

“Is this real?” You mumble. “Because it seems like you—like you might kiss me.”

Batman’s gravelly voice responds, “I’d like to.”

You press your teeth into your lower lip. Bruce kissed you, but a kiss isn’t always pretense to a relationship. A kiss isn’t a promise to monogamy. Besides, you have your suspicions that Bruce is regretting the kiss anyway. There’s no harm in kissing Batman. You’re not betraying anyone. You touch his stubbled jaw with your fingertips and instinct pulls your eyes closed.

“Yes, you may.”

He sighs unevenly and then, his mouth is pressed into yours with surprising, desperate intensity. You clutch his face, opening your mouth beneath his, and moan softly at the first lick of his tongue against the roof of your mouth. Batman kisses you like he’ll die if he stops, like this kiss is all that stands between Gotham’s salvation, like he’s been waiting to kiss you for years. His tongue drinks in every soft, keening sound that he pulls from your throat. Your spine bumps into the window and you loop your arms around his neck. There is a feeling of complete, utter safety that envelopes you. And you melt into him.

His hands briefly move away from your face, but when they return—they are cool and calloused and firm. He cups your jaw, tilting your head back for him, and pressing the hard length of his body into yours.

He rasps, “I want to touch you.” His lips find the hollow spot of skin below your ear, “can I?” He suckles your skin, kissing his way down the side of your neck, explicitly careful of the bruises that dip below your collarbone.

“Yes, yes please.” Who knew Batboy could turn you into someone who whines?

His fingers hook around your sleep shorts and tug and—you hear and feel the fabric rip. You shiver in his arms, unafraid, and filled with nervous trepidation. Batman covers your mouth with his. You wish you could touch more skin beyond the scrape of jawline and his long, calloused fingers. His knuckles brush against the front of your clit and Batman hisses through his teeth.

Your hips eagerly shift, your blood ignited with desire, your head swimming with dizzying affection. He repeats in light, teasing strokes, back and forth, along your clit. Your finger slide for desperate purchase along the sleek, dark material of his armor. His other hand enfolds your wrists before pinning them together and lifting them over your head. Your knuckles rap lightly against the cool window.

“Ohhh,” You smile with understanding. His mouth latches onto your jaw and a soft hiss is pulled from your lips when his stubble scratches your sensitive skin. “You can touch, but I can’t?”

“Something like that.” He hums. His fingertip swirls over your swollen clit and it earns him another pitched moan from the back of your throat. His index finger glides between your folds and thank God he’s kissing you—thank God—because the sharp, ragged cry that you release would’ve woken the whole tower. He swallows your moans, relishing them. He grunts with pleasure when his finger plunges into you, covered in your arousal, and your walls flutter around him. He pumps his finger in and out of you, the sound of it slick and debauched, stoking the fire from deep within your abdomen.

“Be good and keep your hands up there.” He releases your wrists.

Out of sheer curiosity about what he’ll do next—you decide to listen. He kisses you senseless, kisses you breathless, and you’re certain it must be a distraction technique because there’s another ripping fabric sound from below your waist. Farewell, sleep shorts. You don’t mourn their loss for long because Batman plunges another finger into your wet, aching cunt. His thumb presses onto your clit and there’s something…clumsy…about the way he touches you. Unpracticed. Oddly, it’s a turn on. Batboy might wear a fancy belt, but it doesn’t look like he’s got many notches on it.

“Like that.” You breathe, rocking your hips in time with his fingers, “yes, yes, yes—" His thumb presses firmer, the concentric motion growing frantic, and your body tenses. You forget his instruction to keep your hands to yourself. You grab his face, hold him close, your lips smear messily along his cleft chin and pouty lips. You release a strangled moan when his fingers curl inside you.

“Stay quiet.” He warns with some difficulty. His eyes burn into your warm face. As if you’ve forgotten that you’re in Bruce Wayne’s study getting finger fucked by Batman. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

You choke out, “y-yeah, I k-know.” You squeeze your eyes shut, head lolling backward, his mouth on your throat. The familiar tightening and tensing of your lower abdomen heralds the final peak of your desire.

“I’m gonna—” Your voice pitches higher, “cum. I’m gonna cum.”

Batman gives a sweet little drawl of, “please,” at the hollow of your throat.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train. You shatter around his fingers, gush over his knuckles, your fingertips like claws on his biceps. Your mouth hinges open in a silent cry. Your thighs clamp around his wrist. He hasn’t stopped touching you. His thumb continues to stroke your over-sensitive clit. You clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle the sounds he’s plucking from you like a trained violinist. Your body spasms, twitching, the come down of your orgasm only promising another quick release if Batman keeps toying with you.

“I want to feel you,” says Batman into the shell of your ear, “I want to feel you come on my cock.”

“Fucking hell.” You blink, dazed, and swallow roughly. “Right now?”

He doesn’t break eye-contact with you. “Yes.”

“O-okay.” You nod and are surprised your brain and vocal box can string together a single sentence. Batman turns you to face the window.  Gotham twinkles and shines, gray and bright, as rain travels like independent rivers the windowpane. You flatten your palms against the glass and flinch in surprise at the first touch of his cock near your sensitive folds. He slides his cock back and forth between your folds, not entering you, just slickening his cock with your earlier release. Your eyes roll backward into your skull. Your heart thunders loudly in your chest. Just through the sense of touch alone, you can surmise the girth and length of him. You can already imagine how he might fill you.

You arch on your tiptoes, rocking your hips into his, and whine lowly. His fingers come to settle on your waist.

He says, “stay very still for me.”

“You should know by now that I’m not very good at following directions.” You tease with a lopsided smile.

The rumbling that comes from behind you sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. But, before you can turn back and see if Batman is smiling—the tip of his cock thrusts into your cunt. The world goes white.

“Oh, fuck me!” You gasp brokenly. Batman inches himself deeper, and deeper, holding your hips firm between his strong, calloused hands. He stretches you wonderfully, fills you, and your walls squeeze around him in an instinctive, desperate attempt to garner more closeness. He bottoms out. Your stomach muscles clench. Your frantic breath fogs the glass. The seconds tick by in agonizing slowness. Your body quakes. Your fingers curl with a quiet squeak on the glass. He said stay still but didn’t give a time limit. You wrestle against the instinct to start grinding your hips, desperate for friction, desperate to satisfy the craving that’s burning inside of you.  

You look over your shoulder and Batman’s jaw is dropped open in pure, lustful awe.

You say, “please.”

His striking, blue eyes lift from your joined bodies and his upper lip glistens with sweat. He clears his throat.

“You feel…” He grunts and bows his head, “will you touch yourself for me?”

You nod. Your hand tucks between your legs and finds your swollen, slick clit. Your fingertips brush against the hard, impressive length of him buried deep inside you. Batman groans through clenched teeth. With every stroke of your fingers, your inner walls squeeze his immobile cock, and you try—you really, really do—to not move your hips and start thrusting.

You manage it for like thirty seconds. It’s not even intentional. You’re rubbing your clit, panting with soft little ‘ah ah ah’s. Next thing you know, you’re dragging your hips away, and letting out a deep, unrestrained moan at the feeling of his cock sliding along your walls.

Batman suddenly crowds you, pushing you up against the window, and your breasts squish into the cold glass. Your nipples pebble beneath your thin, old t-shirt.

“I—” You begin to explain yourself, or apologize, but the words rapidly dissolve on your tongue as Batman thrusts into you. You place your both palms on the glass to steady yourself again. At this angle, the head of his cock keeps hitting a deep, toe-curling spot inside you. A collection of stars dance and twirl in front of your vision like fairy dust.

You’ve forgotten the earlier instructions to stay quiet. Your moans punctuate each thrust and Batman doesn’t try to muffle you. At this rate—you’ll take the awkwardness of Bruce walking in if it means Batman doesn’t stop.

Through heavily lidded eyes, you watch down at Gotham as Batman – the masked vigilante, Vengeance, your partner – fucks you like it’s his last night on earth. He grunts from deep within his chest. Your walls squeeze. Your thighs shake. The side of your face presses into the glass, too tired to hold your head upright, and your cheek and flecks of saliva smudges the pristine surface. Everything pulses with white-hot heat and frenzied intensity.

You blindly reach behind you and grab hold Batman’s wrist. His hand twists beneath yours, and for a wild, panicked second, you’re worried you’ve crossed a line, you think he’s going to pull away, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t. He traps your hand under his and clutches your fingers, twining them together like a Celtic knot, squeezing the delicate bones in tandem with his eager thrusts.

“Oh, oh fuck.” You announce emphatically. Every atom, every nerve, every muscle, is wound up tight inside you like a spring-loaded weapon. Your inner legs are slick with arousal and sweat pools at the dip of your spine. The windowpane is blotched with evidence of your clawing fingertips and haggard breath. All the tension inside of you snaps. You come undone. Your walls grip around his cock. He says your name with feverous reverence, with glimmering absolution, with greedy satisfaction.

Praise drips like rainwater from his mouth, “you’re so good for me.”

In the haze beneath the din of your blissed-out cry, Batman quietly says, “it’s you - you’re - I—“ and whatever else he would’ve said is swiftly pulled into the undercurrent of his bitten-off moan. He buries himself to the hilt, pressing you flat against the window, and shudders as his cock swells and pulses inside you. His arms encircle your waist, your spine rests snug—if uncomfortable—into the hard planes of his armor.

You droop, boneless and sweating, and listen to the rapid, deep, and booming beat of your heart. Batman’s haggard breath fills your eardrums alongside the pouring rain. Your eyes gently open. You are greeted by dark, warm mahogany and weathered book spines, and a woven, expensive rug. Your laptop purrs on the desk behind you.

The room looks the same. Yet, your world has changed. Batman doesn’t move. In the muddled, rain-streaked reflection of your visages, you see Batman tilt forward and rest his forehead in the middle of your back between your shoulder blades. His warm breath slips through the fibers of your t-shirt and your skin prickles with goosebumps.

You hope he doesn’t let go (you’re gonna collapse onto the floor if he does). Your eyes slip closed again, because—what’s the point in keeping them open? You could sleep here for a few minutes. Then you’ll crawl your way to the guest room later after Batboy leaves. You loosen your grip on his fingers and sigh languidly.

If your eyes had been open, you would’ve seen the longing that ensnares his expression.

*********

He wishes he could stay here forever in the warmth of you. He’s carried the memories of you like a candle in the dark. He never imagined, never thought, that he would experience this with you. You fit him so perfectly—it’s maddening. It’s an impossible dream. He catches his reflection in the glass. He can’t forget who he is. He can’t forget his family’s legacy. He’s Vengeance. Allowing himself closer to you would only result in heartbreak. And Bruce made a promise a long time ago to protect you from any pain. This can’t happen again.

He waits until his cock softens inside of you before pulling out. You mumble something completely intelligible. His lips quirk in fondness. You are normally so eloquent—you talk fast, waving your hands in dramatic displays, and piece together missing puzzle pieces at hundred miles per hour. A sense of pride smolders in his gut. He can make you speechless. He pours water onto the ember. This won’t happen again.

He adjusts himself and collects you easily in his arms, one arm beneath the bend of your knees, the other scoops around your back.

“I can walk.” You grumble, your sweaty head falling against his shoulder, “put me down.” He doesn’t bother listening. He walks silently through the dark halls of his home. Your breathing slows and your hand slides off your stomach, dangling to the side.

He crosses the threshold into your room and lays you carefully onto the disheveled bed sheets. His fingers trail across your jaw. He selfishly drinks in the sight of you in the muted, orange glow of the bedside lamp. You are achingly lovely, and clever, and stupidly determined. Your golden lion heart will be his ruin. Your eyelashes flutter in a dream. He hopes it’s a good, happy dream. He hopes you aren’t plagued by nightmares like he is.

He draws the covers up to your chin. The back of his knuckles caress your cheek in a lingering and lonely farewell.

*********

Someone knocking on your door is what wakes you. Not your phone alarm. Not the muted, cloud-struck sunlight bleeding through the big windows. You grumble and make a noise that sounds like “come in.”

You blink in confusion at Bruce standing in the doorway. You were expecting Alfred or Dory. His dark hair lays flat against his scalp and little droplets drip from his earlobes onto his gray t-shirt. Fondly, he reminds you of a drowned rat. You smile.

“Hi.”

Bruce takes that as an invitation to walk in. Your shirt reaches an inch or so above your knee, but when sitting, it’s basically useless to cover below your waist. You adjust the bedsheets to ensure he can’t see your nakedness. You have no clue what Batman did with your shorts and underwear. Did he keep them? It’s not outside the realm of possibility, you think, for a guy who dresses up like a bat to fight crime.

The mattress sinks beneath his weight, “hi.”

He fidgets with a bulky wash towel in his hands. He meets your gaze, then avoids it, strangely skittish for the man who shoved his tongue in your mouth in a public hospital room. You open your mouth to comment on it—but he speaks before you can.

“Can I see your shoulder?” says Bruce. Your mouth snaps shut with a comical clack of your teeth. How did he know about that? Then you remember Dory. On your first night, she—due to doctor instruction—waited outside the bathroom when you showered. Her thin, wrinkled mouth pursed when she saw your bruises, but she didn’t say anything. She must’ve reported back to Bruce. You couldn’t be upset with her, though. You liked her too much.

You grin, your tone playful, “what? You want me to take my top off?”

Bruce smirks and looks away from you, sighing indulgently. Your heart melts.

You poke his thigh, “close your eyes.” You immediately register the muscled tenseness of his leg but brush it off. He’s a billionaire hermit who doesn’t skip leg day. Who would’ve guessed.  

He starts, “you don’t have to—”

“Close ‘em.”

He bites his lower lip, briefly, before shutting his eyes. You wince when you pull your old shirt over your head, but you manage without difficulty. You take the sheets pooled around your waist and tuck them under your armpits. In full light, in full view, the bruises follow the curve of your shoulder and into your collarbone. You take a minute to wonder if Falcone’s prototype drug affects blood thinness. You file the thought away for when you’ve got your results in hand.

“Okay.”

Bruce’s breath snags in his mouth. His nostrils flare. Under his scrutiny, his desperate gaze, your skin throbs dully with pain. You swallow roughly as Bruce’s fingers come close to your skin, but don’t touch you. He traces the mottled landscape with his eyes. His sooty eyelashes flutter, blinking away some errant thought, and he peers at you through his wet hair.

“How’s it feel?” He asks.

You say, “I only notice it only if I’m moving that arm.”

“You should be icing it.”

You chuckle. “You sound like Alfred.”

Bruce lifts the washcloth from his lap, “lucky for you, I brought some ice with me.” His hand hovers over the worst bruise, the part of your body that took the full, animalistic force of the door. He looks at you in silent askance. You don’t even need to think about it. You trust him. You bite your lower lip and nod.

He gently, oh-so-delicately, applies the cold compress to your injury and you inhale sharply. His gaze snaps away from your shoulder to your face, his brow furrowed.

“It’s cold.” You press your lips together.

He smiles faintly, ducking his head, and hiding the full sight of his smile from you.

“That’s the point, Silver.” He cradles your elbow in his other hand and methodically places the cold compress on the injury for a few minutes before moving to another section of your skin. His eyes remain focused on his task, only looking at you when you make a sound of discomfort. A prickle of goosebumps flush across your skin.

When the compress comes to your collarbone above your breasts, you lift your eyes to the ceiling, and the cold sensation radiates outward. You shouldn’t feel warm while Bruce is tending to your injuries. Yet, your body – treacherous as it is – hums with warmth and slow, deep throbs of desire.

Even after your…adventure…with Batman last night. It can’t erase how you feel about Bruce. He’s etched into you like the lines on your palms. Your heart has his fingerprints all over of it.  

You try to focus on other thoughts, like Falcone, or the Arkham project, but holding onto your thoughts is impossible. It’s like holding tendrils of condensation that puff in front of your face in cold mornings. It all circles back to him. His gentle hands. The smell of his shampoo. The water dripping into his eyes. The length of his eyelashes. The bridge of his nose. His steady inhale-exhale.

Bruce asks quietly, “will you tell me how it happened?”

Your brow wrinkles, and something akin to grief crawls into your throat, “it’s not a happy story, Bruce.”

His hand, chilly and familiar, caresses your throat. His thumb grazes across your pulse. “I know.”

You close your eyes. “Okay…” you take a deep breath, “it all started when I noticed a pattern of girls from the same age group going missing…”

Bruce listens to all of it. Your dead-ends at other bars and clubs. The connections you made about the girl’s being runaways or estranged from their families. The terrifying close calls with drug dealers, who either wanted to rob you or kill you, or the other criminals—who usually wanted to do worse. The little help you got from Gordon. Your eventual success in getting Falcone’s attention. The shipyard. The drugs. The hallucinations you saw, what you felt, all the terror and panic, and the worry.  

You omit the fact that Batman was there. And has been there since the beginning of your days as a freelance, reckless journalist.

You hate lying to Bruce, but the story is more believable if you say Gordon was following you and just called in the EMTs. That’s easier to explain that then ‘yeah, I work with Batman, and he installed a custom app in my phone to protect me.’

At the end of the story, he says,  “the drugs triggered what happened when we were kids.” And his words floor you. You haven’t thought about that in years. A lightbulb switches on inside your mind, bright and humming, and you gasp with delight and surprise. It wasn’t just a random hallucination. It was triggered by memory, by fear.

“Bruce! You’re a genius!” You grab your tossed aside shirt and awkwardly pull it over your head. If Bruce unintentionally sees a bit of skin, well, it won’t kill him.  

“I gotta call Gordon.” You grab Bruce’s face between your hands and plant a kiss square on his forehead. “Thank you!”

You clamber off the bed, feet nearly slipping on the hardwood, as you snatch your phone from its charging spot near the door.

Bruce says your name, freezing you momentarily.

“I thought…” He swallows, “I thought it was over with Falcone.”

You shrug, then wince. “It’s not over for me until he’s behind bars.”

He slides from the bed, approaching you, and he pins you with his gaze. “But you’re not investigating him anymore, right?”

“I can’t leave this loose end untied.” You clutch your phone tightly between your hands. “I don’t…I don’t expect you…to understand. It’s…”

Hell, you hardly understand it yourself.

“It burns me up inside, Bruce.” You say fervently, “I can’t leave a job unfinished. Yes, the girls are safe. Yes, I’m safe. But Falcone and his associates remain at large. The drugs’ location and his supplier are unknown. There’s more to this story. I can feel it.”

You pause, and consider another angle, “I promise I’ll still have time for the Arkham article.”

He holds the side of your face, his expression pained, “you think that’s what I’m worried about?”

“I don’t…” You trail off, searching his eyes, and your mouth goes dry. When did Bruce start looking at you like you were the first sight of land after days lost at sea?

“Let Gordon and the PD handle Falcone.” He whispers.

“But this is important!” You argue, clutching the front of Bruce’s soft shirt, “Gordon needs to know what the drug actually triggered.”

“Fine.” His gaze hardens but raw concern is etched across his face, “you’re going to get hurt if you keep chasing Falcone.”

You smile to yourself. “Another friend of mine said the same thing.”

“I meant what I said in the hospital, Silver.” His thumb crests over the delicate space below your eye. “I care about you. I – I don’t know what I’d do if…if….”

Your heart squeezes like a vice.

“If you’re implying what I think you’re implying, then you should know the feeling is mutual.” Your lip quivers. “But lucky for me, you’re a vitamin D deficient shut-in who is best friends with a sixty-year-old man.”

“Don’t let Alfred hear you say that.”

You laugh softly and it breaks some of the tension in Bruce’s shoulders.

“I know it looks easy from the outside. I could get a different job. I could work the Arkham article for ten years and drain the Wayne bank account dry.” You smirk, then control your expression into one of seriousness. If Bruce wants any semblance of a relationship with you, then he needs to know this. This is your non-negotiable standpoint.

You say slowly, “but…for me…this is it. This is who I am.”

“A journalist with a death wish?” There is the barest hint of dry humor in his voice.

“A journalist who believes Gotham can change. All the crime and corruption doesn’t have to be the status quo.”

Bruce sighs softly and you know you have him. He can’t argue against your valiant, golden hope for a better Gotham. A safer Gotham. You believe in this truth and nothing, not even the man who holds your heart, can shake you from that conviction.

You lean forward and nuzzle your nose along his. “Be thankful I’m not dressing up and fighting crime.”

“There’s still time.” He murmurs good-naturedly.

You hum in agreement. “Hm. Maybe next year.”

Your lips ghost over his, “I think this is the part where we kiss and make up,” you mutter.

“Is it?” He guides your face to tilt to the side.

“Mhm.”

Bruce kisses you slowly. There is a lazy Sunday afternoon, bathed in golden light, hidden somewhere inside the kiss he gives you. You’re not sure if that afternoon is the near future or the very distant. But you want to discover it. You want to hold it tenderly in your hands, the same way you are holding Bruce’s jaw, and nurture it until it blossoms into a thousand, bright orange butterflies that carry hope with each flutter of their wings.

When you pull your mouth away from his, he asks a simple, modest request, “stay.”

And you are more than persuaded to indulge him.

(Part two)

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((tag list:  @imreadingrespectfully // @jotarosasscheek // @buzzfrill // @man-johnnie // @reesespieces10123 // @a-wake-and-unafraid ))

#bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader #battison x reader #batman x reader #batman x you #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #batman x fem!reader #battison x you #dc fic #the batman fanfic #fic: from above gotham glows

[ladytauria]

Pairing: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Rating: Explicit (and please mind the tags) Chapter Wordcount: 4.9k

Jason tries to sell off his first heat to make ends meet for the upcoming winter. When he’s taken by traffickers instead, he’s sure that’s the end of him—until he’s rescued by a mysterious alpha. That “rescue” comes with a price: Jason’s heat hits shortly after, and… one thing leads to another, and now Jason and Tim are bound together by a fledgling mate bond. It’s not the first time Jason’s had to make the best of things, but… he finds it a little bit easier this time, especially as he grows to genuinely like Tim. Unfortunately, just as Jason is starting to settle into mated life, Tim’s ex-pack starts getting involved, and they don’t exactly approve of Tim’s choice in mate...

i was going to wait longer to post this, but... i've been dying to share it, lmao, so i'm doing so as a birthday gift to myself <3

under the cut is a preview of the first chapter, as well as chapter content warnings. i hope you enjoy <3

CWs: underage prostitution, kidnapping, non-consensual touching, non-consensual medical exam, non-consensual pelvic exam, antiquated sexual education, degrading comments, humiliation, dehumanization, non-consensual photography, hurt no comfort, (it's coming, i promise)

tumblr is being rude and not letting me upload my divider image so take this purple text instead

Jason hasn’t stood on a street corner in over a year. He'd hoped, deep down, that he never would again. But...

Here he is, dolled up in a pair of tight shorts and a t-shirt, the combo doing nothing to protect him from the chill. Even mild as it is, the cold cuts straight through his skin.

A cigarette, unlit, dangles from his lips. He turns a lighter around and around in his palm, but doesn't light it yet.

Luckily for him—or maybe unluckily, not even an hour passes before a car sidles up to the curb. Jason's no expert, despite his brief stint at a chop shop, but he knows enough to know this one is nice. Not top of the line, exactly, but good. Shiny. Sleek. All black chrome and tinted windows, the engine purring like a content house cat before it cuts, the car rolling to a stop.

The tires would fetch a decent price. Too bad his guy is laying low, with the rest of the shop.

The man who steps out is tall, with broad shoulders and thick arms emphasized further by a leather jacket. He's bald. Despite the darkness of the hour, there are sunglasses perched on top of his head.

Jason’s grip gets a little tighter around the lighter. He forces it to loosen as he lights his cigarette. The flicker of warmth at his fingertips makes the rest of him feel folder in comparison. He takes a long, slow drag before letting the smoke pour from his nose. It dissipates in the night; the wispy cloud getting lost in Gotham's smog.

He envies it, a little.

The man's gait isn't quite a swagger. His steps are slow. Confident. The size of him is intimidating. His scent, when Jason catches it, doesn't help matters. It's thick with alpha musk, both natural and artificial. Under that is the sharp scent of burning wood. The part of Jason that's purely omega, that cares only about the safety of pack and getting fat with pups and milk, perks up. There's a low, steady heat in his blood, something that's been building for weeks now, that grows a little warmer.

Jason keeps his scent tucked tight.

The alpha leans against the wall next to him, pulling out his own smoke.

“Got a light?” he asks, casual as you please. Like they’re just two work buddies on break together.

“Yeah,” Jason says quietly.

The man doesn’t do much more than bend his head down, forcing Jason to rise onto the balls of his feet to light it. The alpha’s hand rests on his waist, above his hip, steadying him. Under his shirt, Jason’s skin crawls. He hates being touched almost as much as he craves it, these days.

The alpha blows the smoke out, into the night, and says, “Thanks,” thumb rubbing circles into Jason’s hip.

Jason lets himself shiver. Knows it’ll be interpreted as desire; not a reaction to the dread settling in his belly.

Last chance to back out, Todd, he tells himself.

He thinks about his squat. About his nest, if you can call it that; assembled from old paper and cardboard, and things he found in the very bottom of lost and found bins. About the thin blankets, the creeping cold.

About the way the absence of his pack bonds grows harder and harder to bear with each passing day; the empty spaces aching like phantom limbs.

He won’t survive a heat on his own. Even assuming no one finds him, or that the difficult-to-reach location keeps him safe… He just. He won’t. Not with what he has.

Some of the men who have picked Jason up like to make small talk. Even flirt a little, like… Like it’s something real, and not a sick perversion. This guy doesn’t. “How much’re ya askin’, kid?” He’s still rubbing Jason’s hip.

“Depends on what you want,” Jason says back. He licks his lips, and then looks up at the man through his lashes as he takes another puff, hoping the move comes off as sensual, and not stupid. “My mouth…” Jason shrugs, exhaling smoke. “Fifty. But…” He leans back, tipping his head back, exposing a little of his throat.

The alpha watches with interest; greed in his gaze.

Jason keeps tight control of his scent—but he loosens it now. The milky scent of his puphood is an undertone now; slowly being overpowered by a more adult, omega scent. It’s thick and sweet, with just a hint of spice. The lure of impending heat floats between them.

The alpha’s grip tightens on his hip. His breath has caught in his chest.

Jason stubs the cigarette out on the wall and lets it fall from his fingers. It pains him to waste one like that—but it was only ever a prop to start with. He presses against the alpha’s side, wrapping his arms around the barrel of his chest, head tipped back. “If you want to make a proper omega outta me… I think a thousand is fair. Don’t you?”

God. He wants to ask for more. Heats are usually around three days. Alphas… Alphas may not be able to match an omega’s stamina in that time, but there are no shortage of other ways for them to touch him. To violate him. But he’s pushing it already, asking for a thousand. He’s a crime alley street whore, not a pretty little O with a silver spoon in his mouth and gold on his throat.

The alpha’s hand slips to Jason’s lower back, just above the swell of his ass. It— It’s a fight not to let revulsion sour his scent, his expression. His skin crawls. His stomach rolls.

“A thousand,” the man repeats, rolling the words in his mouth. Then his lips quirk up at one corner. “Yeah, kid. I think a thousand’s fair.” He stubs out his own cig before pulling out his wallet; a beat-up leather trifold.

Jason’s teeth catch on his lip. He watches him count one, two, three—five hundred dollar bills, folding them in half and offering them between two fingers.

“Half up front.”

He’s sure the alpha must be able to hear the way his heart thunders. If he does, though, he gives no indication. Jason takes the money, pushing it into the pocket of his shorts.

Then he lets himself be guided to the car. Just before Jason steps off the curb, the alpha grabs him, yanking him against his chest. His arm locks around Jason’s chest like a vice. Jason claws futilely at the arm around him. Though the alpha growls, scent sharp with pain, he doesn’t let go.

Jason twists. Kicks. “Let me go—“ He’s lost all control of his scent now; his terror is thick and sour in the night air.

The alpha covers his mouth—Jason takes his chance. He sinks his teeth into the meat of the alpha’s palm, clamping his jaw down as tightly as he can. Blood floods his mouth.

“Fucking bitch—“ The alpha snarls, dropping Jason.

Jason doesn’t think—he just runs, stumbling before righting himself.

Unfortunately, the universe has never been kind to Jason Todd, and she’s not about to start now. He’s not even sure what he trips on, only that one minute, he’s running, and the next—

He plummets.

He manages to avoid face planting, catching himself on his hands. Before he can push himself back up, though, the alpha reaches him—his boot slams into Jason’s side, knocking the breath from him.

The alpha kneels beside him, hand closing roughly around the back of Jason’s neck. He scruffs him roughly; thumb and middle finger pressing down on his scent glands, palm pushing at the back of his neck. Submission floods Jason’s veins. Unwillingly, he slumps into the concrete, all the fight leaving him.

He lets out a pup’s call—not for pack but for anyone. It’s small and helpless and immediately cut short by the alpha hauling him up and over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

Tears pool in his eyes.

He’s not strong enough to resist it. Not strong enough to do anything but twitch as the alpha carries him into the car. He drops him in the trunk, securing his limbs with zip-ties, rendering Jason utterly immobile.

Baldie slams the trunk shut, trapping Jason in the dark.

#jaytim #timjay #batcest #tauriawritesfanfic #tauriawritessmut #happy birthday to me <3

[yona049]

𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Part 4

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Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

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𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙧!!!

𝗜 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀! 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝗶𝘀 𝗲𝘅𝗰𝗹𝘂𝘀𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗗𝗖 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗰𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝘄𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗗𝗖! ^○^

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Warning!!

>Blood

>fainting (again ik)

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Superman was flying right beside the bat jet, fully in thought when the comm in his ear beeps.

"She left you a voice message, you know." Batman says sitting comfortably in the cockpit of the jet.

Superman smiles a little with his fists stretched out in front of him, per usual.

"Did you listen to it?"

"Of course, she could've been contacting another villain."

Superman rolls his eyes. "She's not a villain! Why do you always have to be so suspicious!"

Batman turns his head slowly and Clark didn't have to use x ray vision to see Batman's eye roll.

"You know what! Nevermind, play the message."

The light banter between him and Batman brings little smile to his face before he straightens up and listens to the voice message.

(Voice message Y/n recorded in Part 3)

Clark smiles hearing the nickname 'Glasses' then hears a little chuckle from batman.

He looks back to see batman totally straight-faced and not having moved since the last time he looked.

"I have super hearing remember?"

Batman presses his lips together, a little embarrassed getting caught laughing, before quickly starting the jets decent.

"We're here."

Superman snorts before following behind, and the jet finally landing on a small decserted island.

Once their both firmly on the ground, Batman confidently walks into the jungle.

"Who exactly is our lead? We're really far off from Gotham right now, there's no way any bad guys are around here."

Batman shakes his head, pushing a few leaves out of the way.

"I wouldn't call them bad guys, more like, reformed, thanks to my help-"

Making a quick side step, Batman avoids a vine charging right at him that superman effortlessly catches with his hand. Only after he grabbed it a red and black hammer is swung against the back of his head and breaks into hundreds of little woodchips.

"Hey! That was my favorite hammer!" a girl walks out from the bushes. Harley Quinn! Dressed in casual clothes but hair still tied into two ponytails.

"You should've warned me you'd be coming Batman!" Ivy, also wearing casual clothes stepped out of the bushes and yanks the vine out of Superman's hands.

"I sent a communication through hours ago, you should've gotten it by now."

Ivy's eyes slowly slide over to Harley, who giggles innocently.

"Red! Baby, did I mention Bat's is gonna swing by?"

~~

Y/n was slumped down on the floor right where Batman and Superman left her. Her fist was clutched shut tightly with blood leaking from between her fingers.

"Why is my hand bleeding? Why can my blood burn things?!"

Her heart beats quickly but she quickly takes deep breaths in through her nose then out.

"Ok, ok! Calm down, it's probably fine! Just bandage it up!"

She shakily pushes herself back up to stand. She slipped suddenly and almost sent herself flying over the railing and into the cave rocks below.

She growls and hits her head with her free hand.

"C'mon Y/n! Pull yourself together!"

She quickly runs to the medical cabinet, grabbing a hand full of bandaid and wrapping her bloodied hand quickly.

Once it was neatly and tightly wrapped up, Y/n felt herself breath again, until the bandages drop from her hand as the blood melted through the cotton material.

Y/n growls and squeezes her first shut again. She looked around for anything she was able to use to keep her blood frop dripping holes into the ground.

"Computer! Is there any way you could contact Batman right now?!"

The computer beeps once before it's voice echoes though the Bat-cave.

"I'm currently unable to reach him due to comm's being out of range. I will alert him as soon as he's back in range. Is there anything I can help with?"

Y/n scrunches her nose before stomping her foot on the ground in frustration.

"UGH! Shit!"

She looks back down at her hand before getting a small idea.

"I-I need something indestructible! The Bat's gotta have something like that here!"

The computer takes a moment before it makes a accepted sound.

From one of cases where Batman's suits are displayed, a door opens to a suit that looks close to all the others with the exception of bits of a golden metal embedded in it.

"This suit is made of Nth Metal. A metal that is used by Hawkman and others of his kind, nearly indestructible."

Y/n bites her lip and takes hold of the chest plate before yanking it off the mannequin.

"Sorry Batman!"

Feeling a bit of relief she looks around before spotting a notebook and pen.

After a few moments she's comfortably sat against a wall on the ground with her hand resting in the chest plate letting her blood drip from her palm into the chest plate like a bowl.

The notebook was resting on her leg as she scribbled down notes. Perfectly content and distracting herself with small doodles and notes.

"I really hope Batman and superman get here fast!"

She mumbles before leaning back and looking up at the roof.

"Clark, I really need you right now."

~~

Back in the jungle, Batman and superman were sat up in Harley and Ivy's small tree house.

The house walls made from vines and wooden floors, of course mixed in with some solar panels for electricity for Harley.

"This girl, she's got my Toxin in her blood? And she hasn't died? That's not possible, her organs should've melted from its acids by now."

Batman spots a visible flinch from Superman before quickly adding,

"Well, they haven't, we believe that the Joker venom and Scarecrow toxin have something to do with that. Was there anyone on the island recently?"

Harley was sitting next to Ivy playing with her hair when she chimed in.

"Well, There might've been some nasty looken guys on the island a few nights ago."

Harley pouts and looks up at Batman.

"They grabbed some of the Hogweed on the far side of the island, one of the plants carrying Ivy's toxin."

Superman growls before yelling,

"And you let them?!"

"Of course not!" Ivy yells back.

"We killed alot of them, but one guy got away! With a very small amount of the toxin."

Batman lifts his forearm and types onto the small screen in his cuff.

"This means they didn't have enough to make more than 1 green vile. Their intended target was one person from the start."

Superman clenches his fists with a few small knuckle clicks.

"That night I went to the storage, there weren't any other viles, only the one I took straight to you. It was a trap intended to poison Batman."

Batman looks down thinking for a second before swiftly standing up.

"We need to get back to the Reporter, make sure there aren't any other Toxin's we missed!"

Superman agrees and they both walk to the exit together before hearing Harley's voice, stopping them for a second.

"If I know anything 'bout Mister J, it's that he never makes mistakes. And if he does, it's always included in the plan somehow."

Batman only nods back at her before using the grappling hook to swing down from the tree.

It was a few minutes away from the island when batman gets a notification in the bat jet.

"What is it?" Superman asks having heard the alert.

"It's the girl, she asked the computer to call for us about 2 hours ago."

Superman feels his heart skip a beat and without another word a sonic boom follows his speeding up.

Batman puts the jet into super-speed and follows quickly behind Superman.

Landing aggressively onto the floor of the bat cave he scans for any sight of Y/n. When he spots her sitting on the ground, the chest plate was almost overflowing with blood and Y/n was out cold. The note book she'd been writing in had fallen onto the floor beside her.

He speeds over to her and lifts her hand out of the pool of blood that had burned her sleeve and only slightly burned her skin.

"She's lost alot of blood!" Superman yells to batman when he puts her back down on the med bay bed.

Batman makes quick work of her hand when he uses a thicker bandage used for Super's to wrap her hand.

"Stupid girl! Get her linked to the monitors!" Even for Batman, he had a slight bit of worry entangled in the anger in his voice.

Superman takes a stick on heart rate monitor and placing it on her chest right beneath her collar bone.

"She needs blood, but no human blood is gonna save her now!" Batman declared.

Superman realized what Batman was suggesting and shakes his head quickly stepping back.

"No! We have no idea what my blood will do to her! We don't even know if my blood is Human compatible!"

"CLARK!" Batman yells aggressively grabbing Superman by the shoulders.

"She may not have a choice! Save her, Clark. I know what she means to you."

Superman clenches his teeth giving Y/n a small glance over batman's shoulder.

"Alright, but I don't know how she's gonna handle Superman giving her blood."

"Then don't be Superman."

#batman #clark kent #clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent x y/n #superman #superman x reader #superman x y/n #superman x you #scarecrow dc #dc joker #dc comics #dc universe #dcu #henry cavill #henry cavill superman