#Gotham was actively making things worse for them
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unacknowledgeable · 23 days ago
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Continued: Serial killer reader x yan!batfam
.........Ooooookay, I guess yall really liked my serial killer!reader? I guess I'm honor bound to continue??? Oh noooo, the horrorrrr. But seriously, I'm glad! Because it only gets worse from here! >:}
Anyway, this was really difficult to write because I literally could not find good starting and stopping points, I tried to make my thoughts flow into each other as seamlessly as possible but there's SO MUCH I wanna write for this, it’s eating me alive, (also like, feel free to send asks bc I get sidetracked a lot in my writing and looove just answering questions as jumping off points, so please gimme gimme)
That being said, enjoy!
WARNING for disturbing imagery, untreated mental illness and trauma, blood, and depictions of murder (seriously)
So obviously, this M/c is a serial killer, so how do they go about keeping this hidden while simultaneously living with the world's greatest detectives?
Simple, ya don't.
Okay so that's not completely true. Compared to the average criminal, you put in a lot of effort to not get caught, but the average criminal doesn’t live with THE Batman either
Compared to the rest of your family though? You basically put in the bare minimum required to hide your… unsavory activities
Of course, you'll wash your blood soaked clothes yourself, in the lesser used washrooms of the manor, but once in a blue moon, when you’re too tired to care or your catch of the night put up a greater fight then anticipated, you'll throw your tainted clothes in with the rest of the families
And they just… don't fucking notice.
Or when they do, they just assume that one of the others had an unfortunate run in with some criminal while in civvies 
You've overheard many admonishments from Dick or Alfred over the years, telling Tim or Jason to “Please stop putting bloody clothes in with the whites, there's a basket for them two feet away!”
It was always pretty hard trying to keep a straight face when hearing those scoldings, but you always did, you didn't want Damian demanding to know what was so funny and dampening your mood
Or Cass giving you one of her calculated looks and suddenly getting nosy, that would make losing your clothes to Tim’s closet a lot less worth the laugh.
It’s just that, this assumption is waaaaay more plausible then say, the serial killer they've been tracking relentlessly for literal years, is just…tossing their VERY incriminating evidence in with the family's laundry, then passing out on some couch in one of the many sitting rooms of the manor, while the family goes out and discovers their latest victim
It's just easier to assume it was one of the others, Dick would never connect you, of all people, to the gore tossed haphazardly in the hamper, it's way more likely to be one of the many crime fighters of the family, not the soft spoken hermit of the manor, and even if that was a possibility in his mind, you don't even have a scratch on you
Not that he’s ever bothered to check you for injuries before, like he does almost religiously for the others
And Alfred? Well he's of the belief you'd grown out of your… tendencies, that it was a one time thing. Despite his reputation as an omnipotent presence in the manor, he never did realize just how deep your mental issues ran. Not until it was far too late.
You don't even have a specific weapon either, half of the time you'll just take one of Alfred's steak knives and hit the lower levels of Gotham, wandering around the decrepit streets till you found someone suitable 
Other times, when you’re in an exceptionally bad mood, be it because Damian said something particularly venomous or Alfred missing an important event for you because something came up with one of your siblings, or even when your classmates decided it would be funny to key your car-
Or it's just one of those days
Those days when the abstract voices simmer louder in the back of your mind, pushing and nagging. Images that you desperately want to forget but can't help the need to recreate. All threatening to boil over until you either crumble into a sobbing heep on the floor or go out and do the one thing that has always been able to shut. them. up.
Those days you’re… forgetful
On those days, you forget to grab one of Alfred’s pristine knives, but that's fine, Gothams streets are littered with dangerous items, so there's no shortage of tools at your disposal. You're creative, resourceful, you can use whatever's on hand at the time, whatever's in reach.
But if there's nothing? No sharp objects, no discarded bricks or loose pipes or even a half empty beer bottle, well… you're no stranger getting your hands dirty
Those times however, are pretty hazy in the aftermath.
You’ll forget certain details, like how they gripped your arms in a vain attempt to draw your own blood as you drew theirs, in the event that if they dont get away, at least you'd be caught, (all it leaves are dark, tender bruises along your arms, that you'll spend weeks poking and prodding at, in the hopes of reliving that moment)
Or how they'd flail their legs, inches from the ground, trying to kick your legs out from beneath you (it was kinda cute, how much shorter they were then you, how little their attempts to free themselves did when it mattered the most)
Even their last, warbling pleas for mercy were lost to you. You know they said something, could vaguely recall that they spoke, too absorbed in watching their bloody lips turn blue as the oxygen in their body slowly ran out (No no please please…My girls are waiting)
No, no you don't remember much but what you do remember, what you always, always remember, are the eyes 
You remember the tears, the fear, the acceptance, the rage, the refusal, the disbelief, the confusion, the indignation, and most of all the recognition. 
Whether it be them recognizing just who you are or realizing that this is who will end their life, you don't know, you’ve never bothered to ask. 
You prefer to think it’s the latter, it's hard to explain, but it makes you feel so so important
When it’s over, and the adrenaline in your veins soften, your breathing calmer, the blood rushing through your ears no longer so deafening, and you can feel the pleasing ache in your limbs, you sit, and asses the damage, as you always do
You always make sure to grab their wallet, take out the ID and memorize it, before gingerly putting it back, and finally walking away, head clear and numb in the cold Gotham air
There's no real reason why, its mostly force of habit at this point, it started with your very first kill, you don't feel like breaking the little ritual now, or anytime soon
It just feels wrong, to take a life and not even know whose life it is...was.
Later, long past any reasonable hour, you lay in bed, fresh out of the shower and thumbing the bruises, listening to the voices over the family's communicators (you stole one of Dicks, he has a nasty habit of leaving them around the manor) as they patrol the Gotham streets for crime and mayhem
You honestly can't help the small smile that graces your face, falling into sleep, as you hear the quiet, defeated sigh over the highly protected com link, “B, I've found another one, it's…it’s pretty rough tonight”
The pause is long before a small, gruff, “I have your location, ETA in 10 minutes”
You slept pretty good that night
Damn, sometimes the shit I come up with scares even me, again, feel free to send asks (shh I'm not begging), the brain worms are always hungry and I have sooooo many thoughts about this thing. lol 
Hope you enjoyed!
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chaoticwriting · 25 days ago
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Part 1
Fenton Crime Family 2
-Batcave-
The batmobile enters the cave with a resounding boom. When it stops, Nightwing, Batman, Robin and Red Robin jump out of the car with Batman going to the batcomputer to make a report. The rest go to change their suit when the elevator bell sounded. Out comes Alfred with a tray of tea and snacks.
Alfred: Returning early today, Master Bruce?
Bruce: *Grunts* Someone has already captured all the rogues before we reach them.
Red Robin: And Oracle can't find any footage of the person in question. All she got is blurry and fuzzy images and the next moment, the rogue has already been tied up. The only thing we know is that the rogues that got beaten up all are around The Bowery.
A revved of a motorcycle enters the Batcave and Red Hood enters with Black Bat and Spoiler following from behind. Red Hood gets off his bike and sits on one of the sofas while taking a plate of cookies from the tray.
Red Hood: I think I know the guy you are talking about.
Red Robin: You know?
Red Hood: Yeah. There is a new gang in The Bowery. They call themselves the Undead. Their MO is completely different from any other gang in Gotham.
Red Robin: So our guy is part of this gang?
Red Hood: Worse. The guy is possibly the leader of the gang.
Red Robin: What?
Red Hood: You say any video of the guy is corrupted in someway right?
Red Robin: Yeah. The image is blurry and the audio is unusable.
Red Hood: Yeah. That's the same thing that happens to all the spying devices I use on them. No recording devices can directly record the leader specifically but from what I know, the leader is supposed to be a child.
Batman: A child?
Red Hood: Yeah. And no. She will not get adopted by you. Apparently, she has a personal vendetta against rich people.
Nightwing: Welp. There goes my new sister.
Robin: I would appreciate it if father put more restraint on his adoption problem.
Batman: *Grunts*
Red Robin: What else do we know about the girl?
Red Hood: Not much actually. Most of the people around her are children around Damian's age so we can assume she is also around that age.
Red Robin: What about her gang?
Red Hood: Remember how I say their MO is completely different from anyone else? Yeah, that's because they don't seem to work like a gang.
Batman: Explain.
Red Hood: They don't partake in any illegal activity at all except for some sketchy gold selling that doesn't have any source. Even those golds are sold at a very high price because they are old gold. Apparently, the collectors are going crazy for them.
Red Robin: Then how do they obtain money?
Red Hood: Using their money as capital, they bought buildings and shops and made their gang members work there. Hell if not for the fact that I know it's a gang, I would have mistaken them as a company.
Red Robin: Anything else?
Red Hood: The leader also has a brother and an unknown sister. Both are older with only the brother ever showing up. White hair, green eyes and around Timmy's and Cass's height.
Black Bat: *Frown*
Spoiler: Wassup BB? Got any news?
Black Bat: I meet the brother.
Red Robin: What? Where?
Black Bat: On a rooftop. He says he is on the lookout for rogues.
Nightwing: You are not hurt right? He didn't attack you?
Black Bat: No. Not hostile.
Red Hood: I thought so. My underlings also say that The Undead is quite friendly. They wouldn't actively hunt other gangs unless provoked first.
Batman: Find out more about them. All of you go to bed. I will finish the report.
Red Hood: Well I guess that's my cue to go. See you never old man.
Red Hood then gets on his motorcycle and exits the cave. The others also move and return to the manor. The others realize that Cass is unusually absent minded the whole time they are going to bed. Cass is usually quiet but her eyes also show that she is not focusing on her surroundings.
She lays on her bed after showering thinking heavily on today's event. The guy that she meets on the rooftop seems so familiar to her. She just doesn't know who.
-The Bowery-
Ellie is not having a good day. First, Danny and Jazz are pressuring her to go to school at breakfast. She says she doesn't like school and their response is how can she not like it when she never experienced it herself. To that response, she has seen how Danny struggles with class and she is pretty sure he is not having fun.
Then there is that new gang that suddenly rises up. It's one thing to make a new gang. But then they have the audacity to send people to kidnap Danny. Sure, Danny is strong enough to raze Gotham to the ground if he wants to. But it's the principle that counts. She is going to punt their group to the ground for doing something like that.
And then there is this Arkham breakout. Why can't all these guys just stay in Arkham anyway? It's not like there is much for them to do outside. After she beats up Condiment King (Ellie swears she is going to kill this guy for covering her in mustard) and Professor Pyg, she gets the news that Danny has already beat up all the rogues near The Bowery.
On the bright side though, she met this cute guy named Damian. He has a little temper but not something she hasn't dealt with before. She is apparently some rich guy's son but she really can't see the similarities in their mannerism from what she sees in this Brucie Wayne guy. After talking for a bit they promised to go out on a date at a zoo. His dad sponsors it and apparently there is a new animal in the exhibition.
After all things are settled she goes back home to have dinner with her family. After teasing Danny a little bit about his date, she goes to bed excited for the date.
Part 3
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rambling-at-midnight · 2 months ago
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Guide Me Home
Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader
Summary: While walking downtown, you inhale fear toxin. It's up to the Bats to find you before your heart gives out.
Word count: 3.1k
Warnings: Scarecrow attack, (kind of) graphic hallucinations (only a small allude to blood though)
Fun fact: As I wrote this, 'quiet' started to not look like a word anymore.
You rub at your eye, muttering below your breath. Wind has been whipping through the Gotham streets all day, drying out your contacts to the point of discomfort.
The next time you blink, one flips up. Cursing, you cup a hand over the affected eye and blink until the stupid contact rights itself. Digging around your purse, you find your suspicions to be true: after the last time you needed to use your emergency backup contacts, you forgot to replace them. The small bottle of contact solution is missing, lost to the abyss of the purse or somewhere else. All you know is that it’s not here.
The only alternative is your glasses, and those are always a last resort. With an outdated prescription, uncomfortably heavy bridge, and scratched lenses, they’re far from ideal.
It’s fine. You’ll splash some water on your face when you get to the cafe and blink a lot. They’re fine.
Your friend is already sitting by the time you get there, but hasn’t ordered their drink yet. You haven’t seen them for several months, though you used to see each other every day during undergrad. They’re only here for a work conference. They live in Metropolis now, and are wearing an ‘I SURVIVED MY VISIT TO METROPOLIS’ shirt to show it. A couple Gothamites around them are actively laughing into their hands at the sight of it. After all, compared to this city, really nothing is worse.
After the usual greeting, hug, and exclamations over how long it’s been, you say, “Sorry, but my contact’s actually killing me right now. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll watch your stuff,” they say cheerfully.
The bathroom’s about as good as someone could hope for in Gotham. The remains of scrubbed-away graffiti lingers on the wall around the mirror, and a paper towel with a suspicious red stain hangs over the edge of the trash can. Not quite the vibe this place is going for, judging by the painted ivy around the walls and the hanging plants, but oh well.
You blink, squeeze your eyes shut, rub them, and open them again. Much better.
There’s a drink in front of your friend by the time you make it back to the table they found, pushed in the back corner where things are a little quieter. “They have seasonal syrups,” they say, sipping the drink. “Though a lot of them are named after supervillains.”
You scoff and shrug off your coat. “Please. Clayface is hardly a supervillain. He’s just a washed-up actor.”
“That must be nice,” your friend says wistfully. “Did I tell you I had to replace my car last month?”
“No!”
“Yeah! Some alien dictator had beef with Superman. A lot of cars were thrown in that fight.”
“Ugh,” you say wistfully. “We had some good memories in that car.” They’d had it since undergrad.
“Gone but never forgotten,” they say, holding their cup up for cheers, and you both remember that you haven’t ordered anything yet.
Even though you’re on a bit of a caffeine ban—boyfriend’s orders—you order a coffee. One a day won’t hurt you, not when you were averaging at least four during the recent busy season. The pathology lab you work at always has a huge rush of biopsies ordered between Thanksgiving and New Year’s. Now that it’s a little into January, you’re not scrambling quite so much.
With your drink in hand, you head back to the table to keep catching up. Your friend started a new job with a much better boss than their old one. They’re thinking about proposing to their partner of five years. Their dog got into their family’s big holiday meal and they had to order last-minute Chinese takeout instead. And they can’t decide whether to cut their hair or keep growing it out.
Then it’s your turn. You’re four years into your job at the lab, kind of feeling like you want a change, but the generous Christmas bonus is making you think twice. Your apartment is okay but not nice. Your cat is healthy and happy and extremely spoiled. Your family lives across the country, all with separate plans, so you stayed in Gotham for the (surprisingly uneventful) winter.
“What did you do for the holidays, then?” your friend asks, their drink long since finished. Judging by their eyes drifting back to the counter as you speak, they want another.
“My boyfriend’s family celebrates Hanukkah and Christmas,” you say. “Nothing too fancy, of course, none of us are terribly religious. But it was nice to see each other on a regular basis for a week straight.” Jason would disagree, but only out of principle. “We’re all busy people.”
“And your boyfriend? Jason, right? How is he? What does he do for work, again?”
Here comes the hard part. No matter what happens in your personal life, you can’t talk to anyone about it unless they’re in the know. Keeping Gotham safe requires a fairly large system; you and several other scientists or similar professionals are able to contact the Bats through Leslie Thompkins, Lucius Fox, and Commissioner Gordon, but of that number, only a fraction know their identities.
Working overtime at the lab as a new hire, you were the only one Leslie could reach at midnight when Black Bat came in contact with a mysterious substance through an open wound. From midnight to eight a.m., you collected blood and skin samples with hands that shook under the scrutiny of Batman’s white-lensed gaze. Your treatment was a gamble but a success, and after that, the Bats started to come to you more and more. So many of their rogues use biowarfare, after all. Still, it took over a year for Black Bat and Spoiler to take off their masks around you. At that point, you’d only seen Red Hood once, when he brought Robin in and ordered you to never tell Batman that he’d done so. Months after that, he took off his helmet around you, but only because of a nasty cut on his neck, and the domino mask beneath it stayed on. You’d known each other for a year and a half before he spoke more than five curt words to you at a time. Analyzing a new street drug was the first time you two ever worked together, and it was fun. After that, he just kept coming back.
It took so long to gain their trust, and you won’t risk it. But there are so many secrets. How can you explain to anyone else that not only is your boyfriend related to Bruce Wayne—yes, the Bruce Wayne of Gotham, billionaire, CEO, activist, and philanthropist—but he is, in fact, the man’s very publicly dead son?
So you can tell people about your boyfriend named Jason. You can’t introduce him to anyone from outside Gotham; the jagged scar on his cheek and glowing green eyes tend to raise more questions than answers. You can mention that he has a large family. You can’t tell them who his family is. You can tell them that Jason works flexible hours, usually at night, so the two of you see each other often despite your busy schedules. You can’t tell them what Jason actually does for work.
“He runs a not-for-profit community service organization,” you lie, the words familiar and tasteless from how often you’ve had to say them. And he sort of does, but with a lot more violence and criminal cavorting than most other not-for-profits. “He’s really passionate about helping Gotham’s kids that come from low-income households.” The foster system reform laws passed last year were lobbied by Wayne Enterprises, but it was the Red Hood showing up in politician’s houses in the dead of night that really sped up the process.
“I talked to Avery the other day,” your friend says. “They’re convinced you’re making him up.”
You sigh. Avery is another friend from college. You two were in the same friend group for years, but were never particularly close outside of it. “We don’t like to take pictures together, okay?”
Your friend eyes you with a faint air of dissatisfaction. “Well, if you say so. I was actually hoping to meet him while I’m here.”
You try not to let it show how your heart leaps into your throat at the thought. Around the lump, you say, “I’m sure he’d love to, but he’ll be stuck all day at the office.” Lie. He’s at home right now, baking muffins and wearing an apron with the words ‘Kiss the Cook.’ Damian and Tim scribbled over the two ‘S’s with Sharpie to make it ‘KiLL the Cook,’ but the sentiment is still there.
“Right,” they say slowly.
The meetup doesn’t last long after that. At the end of it, you hug and promise to meet up more often, even though it’s unlikely. With a wave, they head off for their conference, and you’re almost out the door when you blink wrong and—
Half the world goes blurry.
You feel the contact fall down your cheek and onto the ground.
“Goddamnit,” you hiss under your breath.
Glasses it is.
You’ve been wearing contacts for so long that you can take out the other one without breaking stride. The wind hasn’t let up in the slightest, and it makes your nose run.
Sniffling slightly, shoulders hunched against the chill, you don’t see the pumpkin until it’s too late.
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They’re after you.
It’s not safe, not for you, not for anyone, they want you, they’re grabbing you, hands on your shoulder, people screaming—screaming at you—for you to stop—no—for—for something to stop?
Something is wrong. Dimly, in the back of your mind, you know something is wrong, but your hands are shaking and your bag is ripping, someone is clawing at you, screaming, desperate, they want you to fall back so they’re safe (from what?) and someone else shoves you and you go spinning out, bag in one direction and you in the other and—
They’re changing, the person clawing at you, turning into a monster, and you scream.
They’re after you
(who is after you)
They want to hurt you
(why)
(what is going on)
And you can’t see, something is wrong, you hear glass crunch and then the whole world goes out of focus.
You can’t see.
They’ll get you if you can’t see, and now you can see them, the dark shapes rising from the shadows, claws out and maws gaping, hungry, hungry, hungry for you and your marrow and your heart and they’re going to get you—
You run.
You trip over something (or someone; something like a bone crunches) and your heel slides and your hands catch you but not really, chin clipping the ground so hard your teeth click, and your hands burn, and your chin aches, but they’re still behind you, behind and getting closer—
You run.
You run and they get closer and you see the corner of something dark and blurry, and maybe it’s another monster or maybe it’s a building, and you skid to a stop and throw yourself behind it.
It’s not a monster. It smells awful—a dumpster—and the ground is wet, you hope from rain, but maybe it’s blood
(you’re sitting in a pool of it)
(you’ll be covered)
(the monsters will smell the blood and come running and they’ll hear you shuffling, they’ll hear you panting, they’ll hear your heart pounding, pounding, pounding—)
You scramble to the farthest corner between the brick building’s corner and the dumpster—maybe their clawed arms will be too short to reach you—and hide your face in your hands—you need to stop breathing so loudly—you need to be quiet, quiet, quiet—
People continue to scream. The city, the city Jason and his family try so hard to protect, everyone is dying and you’re going to die and maybe they’ll die, too, or maybe they’ll survive, and maybe they’ll find your dead body and that would ruin Jason, or maybe they won’t and you’ll rot behind the dumpster, smelling just as bad as the trash inside it—
Quiet quiet quiet.
You can’t stop shaking, your teeth won’t stop rattling, and you have to be quiet quiet quiet.
But your heart keeps pounding, faster and faster. It hasn’t slowed down since the monsters came, it’s only getting louder and faster.
Dimly you think you might be having a heart attack.
Everything gets a thousand times worse when one of the monsters shouts your name.
How do they know your name?
Footsteps on the pavement and people have stopped screaming.
Dead, you think. And you’ll be next if you’re not quiet quiet quiet.
The monster shouts your name again. It’s louder—they’re closer. You curl into a tighter ball. They can’t find you.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Your chest hurts; your heart wants to jump out of it.
Jason, you think wildly. Jason will save you. If Jason finds you, he’ll keep you safe. Your hands fish at your side, but find empty air: your purse is gone. There’s no way to reach him, and he can’t even track your location through your phone.
The monster shouts your name again. It has a deep voice.
Another voice joins it, deeper, pitched lower. You can’t quite make out the words.
“They’re around here,” the first monster insists. “B, we don’t have long, this strain is strong—”
“They’re strong,” says the second monster. “Their heart can handle it.”
Something thumps and a third monster says, “Everyone else is clear. Signal had to take two people to the hospital, but they’ll be fine, don’t look so upset, B.”
“You have the antitoxin?” the first monster demands.
“Relax, Hood,” drawls the third monster. “‘Course I do. So you tracked them here?”
“Yeah, I just—” Again it shouts your name. It sounds almost upset. “Please, it’s me, I can help you. Come on. You’re safe. You inhaled fear toxin, I know you’re terrified, but it’s me. You know me.”
It’s trying to lure you in. You won’t fall for it.
You squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath. Let them move on. Let them search somewhere—
“There you are.”
A hulking figure is blocking the light.
The monsters found you.
“Stop it!” you yell, trying to sound brave. “Leave me alone or—or you’ll regret it!”
“Please,” it wheedles, “I’m just trying to help you. Don’t you recognize me?” It reaches out with clawed hands and you kick frantically, but there’s nowhere else for you to go.
“Hey, aren’t these their glasses?” asks the third monster. “What happened to their contacts?”
“Don’t come any closer! The Red Hood will get you, I know him, if you hurt me he’ll kill you! Stop it!”
“I’m really sorry about this, honey,” the monster says, and its clawed hand latches around your ankle and you howl. The sharp points dig deep through skin into muscle and sinew, and it hurts and you’re going to die—
“Jason!” you shriek. “Jason, help me!”
“I’m right here,” the monster lies. “Please, I’m right here, look at me—”
You won’t. You won’t do it. You can’t watch while it kills you. “Jason, please!” you bawl again, but it’s too late. The monsters have you, you’re surrounded, he’ll never forgive himself but what could he even do against them—
Sharp teeth dig into your neck.
You’re dead.
“There we go, darling,” the monster says. Strong arms wrap around you—it wants to crush you to death—and you struggle, but there’s no use.
Except—
You can hear now, kind of, the rush of blood in your ears is receding a bit, and something heavy lands on your nose. This time, when you blink your eyes open, the world’s edges have sharpened. And the monster in front of you—
Well, you recognize the dark hair with a shock of white, and the brilliantly green eyes would be visible if not for the white-lensed domino mask, and the jagged scar on his cheek.
“Jay?” you murmur, hand coming up to touch it. He doesn’t flinch away. It took so long for him to stop flinching when you touch his face. Over his shoulder, you see Batman and Spoiler watching with satisfaction and slight worry. “What happened?”
“Scarecrow,” he says grimly. “He gassed the street, but only about twenty people were affected. I was patrolling nearby, and when I saw your purse on the ground—” He grimaces, then fixes you with a hard look. His two hands can span most of your head, and he takes it to press a firm kiss to your forehead. When he pulls back slightly, without looking away, “I want their heart checked.”
“The antitoxin—” Batman starts.
“I don’t care,” Jason snarls.
Your hands loosely hold his forearms, still shaking a little. “How’d you find me?”
“I tracked you,” he says softly.
“But my phone—”
“Honey,” he says gently, “of course that’s not the only one.”
Well. You should have guessed that, honestly.
“I’ll go check on the victims,” Batman says suddenly. “Come on, Spoiler.”
“Glad to see you’re okay,” Spoiler says to you, then dashes after Batman. In a whirl of capes, they’re gone.
“I’m so sorry,” Jason says in a rush.
“Jay—”
“I should have protected you,” he grits out, white lenses turning to slits as he squeezes his eyes shut. “This should never have happened—”
“You couldn’t have known,” you say softly, letting go of his arms and wiggling beneath them to wrap yours around his torso. Your nose wedges against his chest kind of uncomfortably, but now you can smell him, the familiar gunpowder and a little bit of sour sweat, and the faint tremble in his bones that mirrors the one in your hands. He clutches you close, head buried in the crook of your neck.
He croaks, “I’m so sorry, so sorry, so—”
“You saved me,” you mumble into his armor. “I knew you would.”
“I almost didn’t.”
“Jay.” You pull back to look at him seriously. “Even when I couldn’t think straight, I knew you would come. I’ll always know that, no matter what toxin’s messing with my head.”
Judging by the twist of his mouth, he doesn’t quite believe that. He’ll beat himself up internally for days, you know.
But you also know that while Bruce runs his tests in the Cave to make sure there’s no more toxin in your system, he’ll hold your hand the whole time. You know he’ll hold you tight in the bed you share tonight. You know, as long as Jason lives and breathes, he’ll always protect you.
“I love you,” he says thickly. “So much.”
“I love you too.”
“Let’s get you checked out.” He helps you up and holds you close and you know that you’ll be okay.
Jason’s here, so you’ll be okay.
DC Taglist
@evalynanne @mismatchsposts @cliosunshine @fictionalwhor3 @bellathecatastrophe
Let me know if there's anything you want to see from me. Inspiration strikes at odd intervals, and I get lonely.
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DPXDC: I wanna be like most girls ghosts.
or Danny: What should I do to make my mom happy?
or ~Danny deserves a little teenage rebellion as a treat~
Maddie: I just want this damned Phantom to stop pretending to be a hero! All ghosts are pure evil, who is he trying to deceive? Danny: Oh, really? And Danny took it personally.
It’s not Danny’s fault that he’s a good kid and wants to make his parents happy. But why would he have to be a monster to make them happy? Why must they hate him to be happy?
Danny’s obsession was going crazy.
Well, when your own parents call you a monster in the face, it hurts. Why do they always believe that only their opinion is the absolute truth? They have no idea how much worse things would be if at least some of the ghosts really behaved the way Maddie and Jack think they’re supposed to. If he really is evil by nature, is there any point in fighting his own fate? They want to see him as a villain, he will become one. He will. He just needs a little help and practice. And not bring it to the level when Clockwork has to clean up his mess. Poor guy is without a vacation for how long? Couple of millennia?
Johnny 13: Sup. Danny: F*ck off, Johnny, I’m not in the mood. Busy thinking about world domination. Get out of here or I’ll call Kitty. Johnny 13: What’s wrong? You’re usually so grouchy only towards the end of the week. Danny: Nothing. Just parents. Again. They are wonderful but I can’t help but feel sometimes that they, em… Johnny 13: Suck? Danny: Right…Damn. I’m a terrible son. Maybe something is wrong with me. Johnny 13: What? No, no, dude. You’re just growing up. And you’re a little late, usually teenagers go through that stage before they graduate. Well, you’ve probably been busy with other issues, so just missed it. Danny: I wonder whose fault it is. Aren’t there ghosts who enjoyed to ruin my life in the middle of school day?
Johnny 13: Oh, bother. Anyway, you’re entering a beautiful time of emancipation, where you’re going to shape your own view of life and, along the way, to get drunk on cheap alcohol at parties, maybe to go to jail and to become the greatest disappointment to your family..And then you will be ashamed to remember it for about the next ten years. Danny: Well, it looks like I’ve already done two out of three additional things. Great success. Johnny 13: When did you get drunk? Danny: I didn’t. Johnny 13: Oh. Want to fix that? Danny: What? No. What an idiot wants to add a headache to his problems? Johnny 13: Well, your loss, then I’ll go terrorize the bars of Gotham alone and no one can stop me. Let’s see what your boyfriend will say about it. ~~~~~ Danny: Bartender, another shot of Dead Man’s Fingers, please. Red Hood: Babe, haven’t you had enough? Danny: Have you ever felt that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many sacrifices you make, in their eyes you’ll always be nothing more than a monster? Nothing more than a mistake? Oh, Death doesn’t give people like me a break. Red Hood: …I’ll have what he’s having. *gives the bartender a sign to switch the rum shots to a batburger milkshake for them, and starts talking to Danny so that he doesn’t understand Hood's scams*
~~~~~
Johnny 13: Other people’s kids are growing up so fast. It seems like yesterday he didn’t know how to shoot ectoblast, and now.. Kitty: Stop trying to make me feel bad, we’re leaving. Johnny 13: But the boy needs our support, honey boo!
~~~~~
Danny: I'm fine. Really, I am. This isn’t the first time mom’s called me a monster. She often called me that when she was upset with my behavior in my childhood. Huh, it's even funny. Jason: There’s nothing funny about that. Danny: No, you don’t understand. Looking back, I was really a very active child and didn’t know when to stop. Not surprisingly that I often annoyed my parents. They’re very busy people, and Jazz couldn’t always keep an eye on me. And I was often afraid to go to sleep alone because there were shadows in the darkness of my room. Well, I used to think they were. But I pretended everything was okay to not distract parents from work. Jason: Hey, it’s not your fault. You were a child. Obviously, kiddo requires a lot of attention, they must have understood that. You are the second child in the family, right? Danny: Well, Jazz was different. I don’t know. Anyway, I thought if the monsters behind the curtain and under the bed were just like me, well, according to my mom, you know, then they wouldn’t want to hurt me. And since they look after me, they are friends. So I kinda greeted all the suspicious noises and howls. Huh, I was a strange kid. Jason: If you smile at someone in the dark alley right now that someone is more likely to wet themselves or faint. Danny: Rude! I’m not that scary. Admit that I’m adorable. Do it right now. Jason: Stunning, darling. But still carry a gun and a knife, please. My childhood taught me that what's hiding in the dark is worth beating up. Danny: Come on, what should I be afraid of? Death? Anyway, I want to try this shit. Like, the inevitable one. Being a bad boy, you know? Hood *raises eyebrows*. Danny: Oh damn it man, I'm talking about ghostliness. I want to try to be like most of dead ones. I want to unleash my side of the trickster and the villain. But only a little bit. I have to be supervised so that things don't go too far. Would you help me, honey?
~~~~~2 hours later~~~~
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~~~~~
Goons used to expect a lot of weirdness from working with the boss.
Sometimes Bruce Wayne would go into their base and yell at the Red Hood like he's one of his kids. Of course Wayne's well-known as 'Gotta adopt them all' but the guy must really suffer from insomnia to count the Red Hood into his brood of chicks several times. Sometimes the boss would fight Robin or Nightwing over differences in morals…or for biscuits. It varied from moment to moment. Sometimes the boss caught the local street children, fed them and taught them to steal correctly. And most of the foundlings stayed with them under their protection.
To make a long story short, Red Hood is not the typical crime lord that some of them had to deal with before. Which is a blessing. Thanks Lord for the health insurance. But still the crime lord. Which means he's still scary, and sometimes deadly.
Anyway, when the boss brought in a guy who looked more civilian than any civilian in the whole Gotham and said he was going to be their intern, they thought it was a joke at first. Despite the fact that Hood was not in the habit of joking while working.
The teenager was too well-mannered and sweet to come from Crime Alley. Phil thought the guy was gonna run when he saw the first murder, Jessica didn’t think the domestic boy wouldn’t chicken out at the sight of a fight. But arguing with a boss’s orders in their profession is like asking for a bullet in the head, so these conversations were taking place outside of their boss's sight. God, how can they teach him anything? What do you take from a boy who’s only good to do the coffee run? Fenton will fall if they’ll give him something heavier than 10 pounds. And then boss will yell at them because he treats the new guy like a princess on a pea. Well, at least that’s what they thought until the boss decided to give the new guy his own assignments:
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~~~~~
Red Hood: So, what have you learned during your internship, my young Padawan? Danny: Well, it looks like I’m gonna suck at being a criminal mastermind. I think I may have to find myself some other profession. Red Hood: Come on, you just need a little more practice. Danny: Thank you but I don’t think that’s fit my obsession that good. Don't misunderstand me, I wanna be like most ghosts. But I was wrong to go to hit that goal only base on human stereotypes about my nature. Red Hood: What a pity. The newbies just learned not to flinch when you walk in. But, to be honest, I'm not gonna miss the adrenaline-boosting roller coaster of you at work. Danny: Oh, and I guess to hold on to the concept of humanity was really stupid too. I clearly no longer fit in and I’m finally ready to accept that. So, hopefully, if you get into trouble, you can rely on my ghostliness and call for help. I am the spirit of many talents and of my word. I can haunt your enemies or walk through the walls of Arkham Asylum. Whatever you need, I’ll be here. Red Hood: I’ll bear that in mind.
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luvrodite · 4 months ago
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ᯓ★ ONE. OCTOBER 1 | FUCK OR DIE
GOT ME CALLING OUT FOR HELP (S-O-S) [3.8k]
in retrospect, it was only a matter of time before you got hit. you should consider yourself lucky — there are worse fates than being fucked like your life depends on it (it’s gotham. of course it does) or: you get hit and jason deals with the fallout
content warnings. f!reader, dubious consent due to intoxication, chemical aphrodisiac, established relationship, dry humping, fingering, penetrative sex, begging, unprotected sex, creampie, prevention of pulling out.
ⓘ minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact, you will be blocked!
<< kinktober masterlist | week 2 >>
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It goes like this:
On a monday evening, Pamela fucking Isley decides to take her quarrel with Gotham's newest weapons company – God, could they fucking give it a break? B had only busted the last one a few weeks ago before they'd brought the city down on everyone – to new heights.
Jason's sitting in traffic with a bag of groceries slung around the handle of his bike when he gets the call. He's eager to beat you home, ready to make you dinner and heavily intent on wining and dining you after a long weekend of missing each other.
His fingers tap against his thighs impatiently, impatience sitting beneath his skin like an itch. Spikes of activity during the week had meant his plans for Friday night – dinner and a deserved night off – had been pushed to the backburner. He'd returned home in the early stillness of dawn, unable to get more than a couple of hours with you before your phone had rung, a friend's emergency pulling you out of bed with an apologetic grimace and a promise to reschedule your date night.
The headset in his ear notifies him of an incoming call, the syllables of your name dulled by the clinical, robotic voice of his phone's intelligence system. His mouth curves up into a smile beneath his helmet.
"Hi, baby," he answers immediately. "I'm on my way home, you need anything? I just left the store but I can go back–"
You cut him off in a tight voice. Later, he'll be ashamed that the first thing that comes to mind is, not another fucking postponement. Now, his brows furrow at your tone, stomach dipping uncertainly when it becomes clear that this is something more serious.
Your voice wobbles, high-pitched and tearful. At the same time, the dash on his bike begins to flash in rapid succession, the paging system he'd installed for the bats to communicate with him glaring back at him, blood red.
ORACLE: CHEMICAL LEAK DOWNTOWN. BATS + R.ROBIN EN ROUTE. ALL UNITS STANDBY.
His dread plummets and for a moment his throat closes over. You're speaking to him but he struggles to make it out through the ringing in his ears.
"Jason, I'm – I'm home but I don't – I don't know what to do."
He bites back a curse and tries to swallow the lump in his throat, grappling for words of comfort.
"It's okay," he soothes, straining to keep his voice level. "Listen, sweetheart, can you go lock the door for me? I'm – shit – I'll be home soon, alright? It'll be okay. We'll fix it."
He doesn't give himself time to linger on the call after you confirm you've locked it, barking out a command to dial Oracle that his system fails to pick up twice, only registering after he steadies himself.
She picks up on the third ring. It irritates him how unfazed she sounds when he explains the situation to her. He hears the click of her keyboard in the background, the hum of her monitors. Each passing second as she patches through to Nightwing is agony and the slow crawl of traffic does little to help.
His leg has begun to jostle the bike with the weight of its shaking when she returns to their call.
"You're not going to like this," she says and he feels the bile rising in his throat.
"What." He grits it out through his teeth, unable to manage much more than that. He hears Oracle sigh.
"Looks like an aphrodisiac," she says clinically. "Her plan was to get them caught compromised enough to lose credit publicly."
"Oracle." She hears his growl for what it is – Tell me whether or not it's over.
"It's non-lethal," she affirms and he sighs harshly. The tightness in his chest loosens ever so slightly as she talks. "Ivy let it off near city hall because most of the shareholders were scheduled to hold a meeting – that's where your girl works, right? Alf's working on an antidote but she should be relatively fine until it's ready. Just – keep an eye on her."
Tim joins the line then and Jason startles at the sound of his voice in his ear.
"I don't know what the fuck she wanted to achieve," the boy grumbles. He's a little out of breath and in any other situation, Jason would have something to say about that. Tonight, he's not in the mood for jokes.
"Red," he barks out. The kid makes a distracted noise, and he can hear the sounds of a scuffle on the other end. "You tell Ivy if anything happens to my girl, I'll make sure she's next."
He doesn't wait to hear what's sure to be a non-committal answer at best, kicking off and veering between the lined up vehicles. There's an outroar from the drivers around him, laying on their car horns. Someone pokes their head out of their window to scream at him.
He hears none of it, the blood rushing in his ears keeping him single-minded.
This string that twines him to you isn't new. It wears signs of age, shows the years in the way his fingers reach for yours in the early moments of his day, the turn of your eyes to his in any room. He's seen a few summers with you at his side but the fear –
Blood, coagulating, the cold brush of death, splintered wood beneath nails and a haunting smile
– the fear never stagnates.
A bitter, resigned shard of him breathes out as he speeds through the streets. A veritable sword over his crown, this almost seems expected. Loathing colours the skyline and he, the fool, to think he could hold this one, precious, beloved thing unscathed.
He forgoes the groceries in his haste, leaving the bags in his haste to throw himself up the stairs and out of the parking garage. Pulse thundering in his ears, sweat coating his palms, he scrabbles with the key to your shared apartment.
The door flies open and a hand is grabbing him by the front of his shirt before he can slot it through the lock.
You, wild-eyed and frantic, pull him inside with a bitten off sob.
"Shh, shh, I'm here, come here."
He kicks the door shut, reaching behind him to flip the locks with one hand. The other curls you protectively to his chest, fingers splaying over your back. The sight of you calms him considerably and he chokes out a stuttered breath, the lump in his throat dissolving to give way for a flood of relief.
You're burning in his arms, the thin undershirt you've got on soaked through with sweat, face glowing with perspiration. Eyebrows knitted, you cling to him tighter and he finds himself making noises of comfort.
"Jason, I –"
"Shh. I know, honey, I know," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes are tearful, salt spilling over lashes and rolling down your cheeks. "Come on, let's get you to lie down."
"No," you whine, pitching miserably as he shuffles the both of you towards your bedroom, face creasing with every movement. "Hurts."
"I know," he whispers, hating the way his voice cracks. His eyes burn painfully. "'ll get you a towel, alright?"
You're deposited on the bed and he makes a turn for the bathroom, wetting a cloth. When he enters the bedroom again you've pushed yourself up, kneeling on the bed. You've shed the pants you'd worn earlier, left now in only and undershirt and your underwear. His name falls from your lips pitifully and he steps forward, lips turning down into a commiserating frown.
You shy away from the cloth when he presses it against your forehead, letting out a hiss as it makes contact with your burning skin. He brings a hand to the nape of your neck and you seem to like that much better, sighing under his touch. Jason takes advantage of this to keep you in place, mopping the sweat off your face and neck, trying his best not to give into your dissatisfied squirming.
"I know, I'm an asshole," he mutters, when you cry out his name, displeasure making itself clear on your face. "Get better so you can yell at me for it, alright?"
"Don't wanna – yell at you," you mumble, wetting your lips as they part.
He clocks the dilation of your pupils a little too late and shakes his head adamantly, trying to draw back but you've got a hold of his shirt, pulling him forward. He catches himself with a hand agains the headboard, a knee pressing into the mattress beneath him.
You stare up at him, mouth turning down into a pained grimace.
"C'mon honey," he mutters, pleading, feeling his face flood with warmth. "Don't do this to me. Be good, you'll be alright, okay? Any minute they're gonna call and tell me Alf's got an antidote ready – shit, maybe we should just drive you there now -"
"No," you sob, face crumpling under the weight of your tears again, pushing up on your knees to fling your arms around his shoulders. The effort of the movement makes you stutter out a gasp and he's forced to band an arm around your waist to steady the both of you.
Your tears wet the skin of his neck, your body pressed flush against his. He becomes aware, regrettably, of the skin beneath his fingers, your undershirt having ridden up to expose the softness of your lower back.
"Please," you hiccup into his shoulder. "Please, Jason – Please."
He'll have to ask Oracle later if second-hand exposure to the toxin is supposed to have an effect on him. At the touch of your chest to his, he feels himself warm all over, mouth drying when you begin to keen, arching up into his touch in an effort to get him to do something.
"Fuck," he curses. "Fuck. Alright, just – come here."
He kicks his shoes off, the sneakers clattering against the floor, and crawls onto the bed properly. Sat up against the headboard, he meets your baleful gaze with a raised brow and reaches for you.
Jason shakes his head when you go to straddle his lap, maneuvering you against his chest until your back rests against it. You let out a whimper, displeased, but he shakes his head.
"This is all you're getting, alright? Just – it'll tide you over until they call."
He spreads your legs until they hang over his own, your thighs bracketing his and leaving you open. His blood thunders in his ears, hand trembling as he reaches it up to your mouth, fingers prodding at the soft plush of your lips.
Your tongue laves at his digits, a muffled moan trapped in the recesses of your throat. One of your hands curls around his wrist, the other perching against his thigh, nails curling against the fabric of his jeans. He can feel you shift against him, hips canting ever so slightly over his own.
Awful, wretched, lecherous, he stiffens under the movement, jeans tightening. His free hand wraps around you hip with the intent of pinning you in place and stopping you. Somehow, he finds himself guiding you back and forth instead.
You tip your head back against his shoulder, baring the soft line of your throat as you drool around his fingers. He can feel the wetness pooling around his knuckles, the softness of your ass against him, separated only by a few layers. If he cranes his neck, he'll probably find your panties sticky with your need. The thought alone makes his eyes flutter.
The room is blanketed in muffled whimpers, the whispers of rustling sheets and his shaky breaths. You've quietened down some since he'd gotten his fingers in your mouth, but the heat seems to have returned with a vengeance when you begin to fuss in his lap again. Your fingers dig into his thigh and you whine, tugging at his wrist in an effort to push his hand where you need it most.
He hushes you with a squeeze to your hip and tips your face to meet his. Bleary eyed, silvery tracks smattered across your cheeks, you're struggling to hold on. He lowers his mouth to yours, a chaste kiss that deepens when you part your lips to lick into his mouth.
"Jason, come on."
"No, don't take it off," he whispers when your hands make to tug your underwear off. You whine and he hushes you again, "Shh, I'm going to take care of you, be patient for me, alright?"
He slips his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and watches you shudder at the first swipe. Similarly affected, he feels himself twitch when his fingers make contact with the soft slickness of your flesh, gliding against silken folds.
"Oh," you sigh, sagging slightly into him.
"There you go." He presses a kiss to your sweaty temple, trying to pretend this is just another night together and he's being a loving boyfriend, that you're not delirious with want just because of the toxin running through your bloodstream. "That's my girl."
He presses gentle circles against you, closing his eyes and ghosting his mouth over the curve of your shoulder. The smell of sex is thick in the air, that heady musk and sweat that he could drown in. Your breaths come in pants now as he works you open gently, thumb rolling over your centre.
"Just like that," he rumbles, straining to keep his head on straight. It's difficult, when you arch against him, his name spilling from your lips in adoration coloured mewls. Your arm raises, curling behind you to embrace his neck.
It doesn't take you very long to come, pent up and sensitive – he discovers this when his hand grazes over your chest to stroke your face and you keen so loud he fears he'll come in his pants at the sound, your mouth, bitten raw, dropping open as you moan. A few strokes against your centre and you come apart in his arms, hard. The tremors wrack your body long after the fact, your core pulsing around his fingers.
He, ever the fool, expects this to sate your hunger.
Whatever Ivy's put in her newest concoction is potent. You gather your breath quick enough and it becomes apparent that just the one isn't nearly enough. He's pushed back against the headboard, stunned into silence as you clamber onto his thigh, pawing at him like you can't get close enough.
You struggle with the fabric of his shirt before giving up and any questions he has sputter off into silence when you begin to rock back and forth on him. The denim of his jeans is unforgiving against the thin, sodden material of your underwear, providing a harsh friction that you lose yourself to. He watches, his heart racing, you taking your pleasure for yourself.
It isn't as though you've never done this in front of him – he remembers, blurry, the aftermath of a dinner date that had seen you riding his thigh on the couch, still in your dress.
But this… This feels different.
There's an urgency to this, a franticness running beneath your skin that pushes your hips down harder, more unforgiving. Your face screws up, salt misting your cheeks and neck.
For a moment, Jason almost feels as though he's the one that's been hit. You take on a blurry quality, smudged around the edges like wet paint, wanton, hazy. A gauzy film over his eyes, he blinks, and blinks.
When you come once more, it shatters and he's aware of the stain that's bled into the dark denim on his thigh, a stickiness that's smeared between your thighs. Your panties are ruined and he gulps when he drags his gaze up from between your legs to your face.
Quiet, hungry, you're already staring at him. Your chest heaves with exertion but you remain still otherwise, lips parting in invitation, eyes half-lidded.
"Baby–"
"You said you'd take care of me," you intone beseeching, voice affecting a trembling, delicate quality.
Fuck.
He's never been good at denying you much. Already, he feels the urge to take you into his arms and promise to make it better, but he forces his hand to stay, curling his fingers in the bedsheets.
You crawl forward, until your lips are ghosting over his, eyes swallowing his field of vision until all he can see are the stars in your irises. He feels the
"Jason, please, it still hurts," you whimper quietly, a wounded noise that carves him from the inside out, guilt and shame poisoning his every nerve. He's at war with himself, wanting to ease your pain – he feels responsible for it, in a way – and hesitating similarly. Is this right? Is it okay?
Before he can come up with an answer, you press your mouth to his.
The last of his inhibitions crumbles completely under the plush of your mouth.
He rolls the both of you over, relishing in the gasp you let out, the sight of you splayed against the mattress. He's quick to divest himself of his clothes, tugging his shirt off recklessly, not minding the sound of ripping fabric he vaguely registers hearing. The jeans go next, and his underwear in one, flung to some corner of the bedroom.
Your spit slick mouth curves up into a delighted, drunken smile when he crawls over you, body eclipsing yours with every intent of ravishing you.
Jason holds himself up with one hand, the other reaching to the bedside table and rummaging in the drawer for the box he keeps there. Only, he comes up short and dread dawns over him in a cold wave when he remembers –
He'd used the last of the condoms a few nights ago. It hadn't mattered in the last couple of days, the weekend too busy for the both of you to do much else but curl up next to each other, too exhausted to consider working up a sweat.
"Fuck," he whispers, shaking. "Fuck, baby, there aren't, um…"
Your eyes fill with tears at the unfinished sentence, a hiccuped sob stuttering out of your chest.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," he tries to soothe you, a hand smoothing down your face. "I'll just – I'll run to the store, I'll be back before you know it."
"No, please, just–" Watery eyed and upset, you tug him closer as though fearing he'll take off. "I don't care, I don't, I just – I need you, Jason. Please."
He stares at you, heart thundering in his ears. "Fuck you without –"
"Need you now," you whimper, lips tugging down pitifully into a pout that cuts through his chest.
It isn't as though this is his first time fucking you raw –
Tipsy laughter, hushed whispers of it's fine, just once, we'll get the morning after pill.
– but still. This is different, another ballpark entirely.
You stare up at him, desperation in every crease and curve of your face, pleading with him. Too far gone to care, you beg him.
"I'll, um," he rasps out, throat dry, "I'll pull out."
You make some sort of noise that sounds like a vague affirmation, tugging him closer hastily. Poor, pretty girl. His chest aches at the sight of you, needy, looking to him to fix it.
"I'll fix it," he finds himself muttering, lining himself up with your entrance. You've similarly taken to murmuring under your breath, hands carding through his hair, devotion in your every touch.
"Need you so bad, please, please, baby."
The slick that smears against his head, the soft warmth of you, nearly makes his eyes roll back into his head. A drawn out whimper spills from your lips at the press of his hips, the first inches of him pushing into your tight heat.
You sink into the mattress as he notches himself further inside, mouth opening. You paint an obscene picture, your lips bitten raw, naked chest arched. He lowers his head to mouth at your nipples, teeth teasing at the sensitive points. You're warm, so warm beneath him – around him.
He's given only a moment to breathe before you push your hips up, impatient. Fucking yourself against him, your fingers dig into the muscle of his back for leverage, tucking him close enough to you that he brushes against your neck and tastes the salt on your skin.
Jason sets a harried pace, bucking forward against you. You begin to cry out again, every resounding slap of his skin against yours drawing out a moan that curls tight around him and presses down on his stomach. You exchange panted breaths between open mouthed kisses, tongues and teeth clashing messily, muffled pleas that beg for more, more, more.
Filthy, debauched, it doesn't take very long for you to approach your peak. Jason, lost in the wetness of your cunt, feels his own building and knows this is a dangerous game he's playing, toeing the line of recklessness.
"Close," he pants, feeling the tell-tale fluttering of you around him, your orgasm imminent. If he can just hold out until he's gotten you there –
Your legs wrap around him, hold so tight he's not able to do much more than rock against you in desperate, quick rolls of his hips.
"Inside," you warble. Your hands come to cradle his head, coaxing him down to kiss you, licking up into his mouth sweetly, teeth catching on his bottom lip. "Mmh, please, baby? Please? I – Jason – want it so bad, need you inside."
"Oh fuck," he gasps, voice hitching, breath stuttering. His face creases, overcome, and you grin, dazed, drunken, pulling him into another sloppy kiss. What's he to do?
You scream into his mouth at the same time that Jason comes. His vision whitens at the sensation of your pulsing heat, the unforgiving tightening that demands his orgasm. His fingers dig into the soft flesh at your hips, burying himself to the hilt and surrendering to your claim.
Warm and wet around him, the evidence of his debauchery coats the inside of your thighs and clings to the base of him. He's light-headed, a little winded, and it takes him a moment to gather his sensibilities. When he looks down, he finds you a boneless puddle beneath him, eyelids fluttering tiredly.
He should pull out. He knows he ought to – but he's broken so many rules, what's another? Jason gathers you in his arms and rolls over gently, tucking you against his chest, a hand skimming up and down the length of your spine comfortingly.
"Fuck," he whispers out into the air, and you murmur atop him. He glances down, meeting your bleary eyes. "Y'just had to go and get caught in that crossfire, huh?"
"N'my fault," you grumble, pressing your face back into his chest.
"Gonna give me a heart attack," he grumbles, dropping a kiss to your crown. Then, with a look over at the bedside table, he jostles you a bit. "Hey. Don't fall asleep. We still have to get you the antidote."
"Wake me when 's ready," is your answer, tone somehow managing a prissiness unexpected of someone who'd just been fucked to within an inch of their life, and he drops his head back into the pillows, incredulous.
This girl would be the death of him.
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first kinktober 2024 fic let's go!! i genuinely didn't think i was going to be able to commit to kinktober this year (i'm still nervous about whether i'll be able to) because finals are literally just around the corner and i'm stressing. but hopefully you enjoyed the first installment to this year's kinktober and the coming ones don't disappoint, either!
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greenglowinspooks · 1 year ago
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(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 3)
Tw: Vivisection mention, torture mention (GiW agent receiving), me not actually knowing how telegram works
Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually.
(Pt. 1 here) (Pt. 2 here) - (Pt. 4 here)
(Masterlist/subscription post)
It’s an average, ordinary afternoon in Gotham, and Jason is in hell.
Specifically, Jason is in hell because he’s been researching the GiW for the last week or so, ever since a cryptic message from Scarecrow of all people.
He still hasn’t gotten anything substantial out of it that Scarecrow hadn’t already provided. Most location data had been previously scrubbed from the database, weaponry details were apparently all stored physically, and the experiment logs seemed to be only accessible from within one of the bases, whose locations Jason did not have.
Apparently Babs and Tim were having similar issues with gathering information. He had sent a copy of the files over to them in a moment of weakness, but they were having the exact same results as him.
To make things worse, the GiW was more active than they had been previously, combing through Crime Alley and the rest of Gotham tirelessly. At least they weren’t harassing him anymore, he thought, but now he had even less of a clue what they wanted.
And to top it all off, the Joker had escaped Arkham a few days prior to Jason receiving Scarecrow’s note, and he still hadn’t done anything. That could only mean that he was planning something big, which meant more grief for Jason, because the clown was obsessed with him.
So yes, Jason wasn’t having the best week.
He got up from his computer, stretched, and walked over to the window.
The sky was Gotham’s usual grey, clouded with a toxic miasma made up of traditional pollutants and the aftermath of gas attacks both, which could generously be called ‘smog.’
The streets seemed busier than usual, or maybe that was just because Jason was having a hard time keeping his eyes focused.
With blurry vision and a dull ache in the back of his head, Jason paced through his apartment, going through everything he knew.
The GiW, or Ghost Investigation Ward, were part of a secret government project having to do with ‘ecto-entities,’ which were mostly made up of ghosts.
The GiW was able to kidnap and steal away anyone who was ‘ecto-contaminated’ to be dissected, and it was completely legal.
According to the non-censored patrol reports he was given, Jason himself was considered ecto-contaminated. So were Bruce, Damian, Steph, and Cass.
There were also several rogues that were in the same boat, but their names had been redacted, presumably by Scarecrow. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he guessed it was either for leverage or privacy. Knowing Crane, it could be both.
Anything useful about the GiW seemed to be stored physically within their compounds, or on an operating system that couldn’t be accessed outside of certain areas.
Anything useful about ghosts was conveniently removed by Scarecrow.
And, lastly, he knew from capture logs that they had numerous captive ghosts which were definitely being experimented on. One of these ghosts was named Daniel, last name redacted, and had been turned over by his parents in return for allowing them to run their own experiments on the boy.
From what he could tell, it had been around fifty two days since he had been turned in.
Fifty two days of experimentation and dissection.
Jason had to find him.
But first, he had to find the locations of the GiW bases, and plan his entrance carefully. He couldn’t let them get away because of a simple mistake.
The only location data he had been able to find was on a picture of the boy, Daniel, a picture of a vigilante in a red suit, and a quick note left about Daniel which hadn’t been transferred into the main database.
The note was…
Jason had been around crime for a very, very long time. He understood it intimately, in a way most people would never hope to achieve.
He understood hatred, too.
And yet, the words in that note were almost incomprehensible to him.
They were mockery of a child in pain. A child that was not seen as human. A child that was seen as a threat, a monster.
The man had detailed the security surrounding the child being cut back. Apparently, the kid had some sort of sonic scream. They were removing the muzzle that inhibited it because he had screamed himself hoarse, and he couldn’t make a sound anymore.
He also mentioned that the kid was cut open at least once a day, sometimes multiple times. He was opened up, played with, and sewn back shut.
The man joked that they should just put a zipper on him, so they wouldn’t keep wasting their stitches.
Jason really, really wanted to kill that guy.
The metadata on the note traced back to a newly-bought building in Gotham’s financial district, while the photos both came from Amity Park, Illinois.
Amity Park, Illinois did not exist in any official capacity.
Tim, who had taken the Batplane to check the precise location listed in the metadata, had reported that there was a town there after all, and it was on complete media lockdown from the rest of the world. He hadn’t even been able to use Bat, Justice League, or Young Justice channels to message anyone outside of the city until he left.
Jason had checked the building in the financial district firsthand, and found that the man who had submitted the note had done so while resting on a patrol of the city. He seemed to go there often to avoid his superiors, and Jason found it easy enough to get the drop on him the third time around.
His advanced interrogation techniques hadn’t been enough to get the man to name any locations. Worse, the man definitely recognized Red Hood, and would definitely tell the rest of the GiW about what had happened as soon as he left.
So, Jason did something about that. He couldn’t kill him, unfortunately, so he did the next best thing.
The GiW sent him to a public hospital within a few hours of finding him with shattered hand bones, broken arms, and a throat with near-permanent damage. The man wouldn’t be able to speak for a month at least.
He might never write again.
Jason, having read the note over and over until the words stained the backs of his eyes, thought it was the least he deserved.
Jason sighed, stopping his pacing. He wasn’t getting anywhere with this. If anything, working himself up was only going to lower the chances of him magically coming to a realization about where the kid was or what in the hell was going on.
He walked into the kitchen, popped some leftovers into the microwave, and started them up.
Once they were done, he brought them out to his desk, intending to eat as he continued to work on the GiW case.
When he saw his screen, he froze.
Telegram had been opened to a new chat with someone he had never messaged before.
TooFine: who are you?
TooFine: why are you looking into the giw?
The messages were a couple of minutes old, probably sent while Jason was spiraling pacing. He just stared at the screen, dumbstruck.
Shakily, he responded.
RedDead: How the hell did you get my contact info
Whoever was on the other side of the screen paused for a second. Jason considered sending a quick text to Babs to tell her what was going on, but he decided that he could handle this by himself.
TooFine: got it from the backdoor I put into the giw system.
RedDead: Shit
TooFine: ok your turn
TooFine: why r u looking into the giw? seriously man
RedDead: I don’t have a single reason to tell you. Give me one and I might answer your questions
TooFine paused again. Clearly they both had issues trusting someone over the internet, and rightfully so. What they had both admitted to doing was incredibly illegal, and if someone turned them in, they would be in deep shit.
TooFine: ive been trying to take down the giw since it was created. I can help u if ur honest with me
RedDead: Oh yeah, because no one has ever lied to another person on the internet before
RedDead: But fine
RedDead: I’m looking into them because they’ve been shadowing me for over a month at this point, among other reasons
TooFine: other reasons?
Jason sighed. He shouldn’t have added that. He knew that the other guy would ask, but he said something anyways.
RedDead: They’ve got a kid. I don’t like it when people hurt kids
TooFine: Danny? he’s alive?
RedDead: From what I can tell
So he knew the kid. Or, at least, he was pretending to. It would make sense for him to be cagey about his intentions, and for him to be desperate enough to reach out.
TooFine: oh my god
TooFine: do you know what city? fuck
TooFine: fuck fuck fuck
TooFine: I need to find him man please
RedDead: He’s somewhere in Gotham
RedDead: I’ve been trying to find him for a week now but no dice. They keep everything important on separate servers
TooFine: listen man you’re a good hacker but you’re not as good as me. you need my help if we’re gonna find Danny
RedDead: Okay, what are you trying to get me to agree to?
TooFine: i’m coming to gotham and we’re going to meet up
RedDead: Hell no
RedDead: Stranger danger
TooFine: if I tell u who I am will you say yes
RedDead: ?? How am I supposed to verify if you’re telling the truth
TooFine then sent him what seemed to be a selfie. Jason’s jaw dropped at the kid’s sheer audacity.
RedDead: There’s something seriously wrong with you
TooFine: my name is Tucker Foley. i live in amity park. i’m in 10th grade
RedDead: ???????? WHAT THE HELL
TooFine: i can send u my address too
RedDead: PLEASE DON’T??
RedDead: WHAT’S YOUR FUCKING DAMAGE? DON’T DOXX YOURSELF TO ME
RedDead: WHAT IF I WANTED TO KILL YOU OR SOMETHING? WHAT IF I WAS A FED
TooFine: i have to take that chance.
TooFine: Danny is my best friend. they’ve had him for over a month and no one’s doing anything to help. mr. Lancer was the only one who cared and he gave up after they blackmailed him
TooFine: they’ve had him for OVER A MONTH. I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD.
TooFine: Sam and Jazz and I are coming to gotham and we’re going to find him no matter what it takes
TooFine: you have to help us
Jason considered, for a second, the choices he’d made in his life that had led up to this moment. He also considered, if he was in this kid’s position at his age, if he would be doing the same.
He decided to throw the kid a bone.
RedDead: [4735.jpg]
TooFine: HUH
RedDead: I’m guessing you know me
TooFine: RED HOOD??????
RedDead: No I’m just a very dedicated LARPer
TooFine: am i gonna die for Danny right now
RedDead: If I were literally anyone else, probably
RedDead: But no, you’re not. I’m gonna help you find your friend
TooFine: your username is red dead and you’re. yeah ok
RedDead: Oh come on, it’s funny
TooFine: Danny would love you
RedDead: So Danny clearly has great taste in jokes
TooFine: nope. literally loves puns and wordplay
RedDead: Nevermind
They both paused for a second. Then, Jason had a thought.
RedDead: Wait you’re in the 10th grade and you’re hacking into government databases?
TooFine: please don’t tell my parents.
RedDead: And how are you supposed to explain a sudden vacation to Gotham to your parents?
TooFine: wait so you’ll help me?
RedDead: I really hate to say it but I’m not the best at hacking, and my usual help is busy trying to track down the Joker. So, yep, we’re teaming up
TooFine: LET’S GOOOOOO
RedDead: God. I’m asking a 16 year old to help me take down a government agency and save another 16 year old
RedDead: I feel like the bat
TooFine: oh my god this is awesome. Danny is gonna flip when the actual real-life Red Hood comes to save him.
RedDead: I already regret this
TooFine: too late.
TooFine: btw do u have any place for 2 teenagers and 1 adult teenager to stay in gotham? preferably without dying but yknow.
Jason groaned. He was really, really gonna regret this, and he knew it.
Still, the alternative was some overeager kid dragging two other idiots to Gotham to find their friend and getting themselves killed. At least this way he’d have help, and damn good help at that.
He really was turning into the Bat, wasn’t he?
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hana-no-seiiki · 1 year ago
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WHAT’S UP DANGER?
— [ CH 01 ] WITH GREAT ABILITY COMES GREAT ACCOUNTABILITY
pairings: yandere! various (batfam, spiderverse) x miles morales! reader
tw/cw: no yandere themes for this chapter, characters get aged up later on but are teens to young adults now, reader is gender neutral but characters refer to them with masculine terms (hijo, man, dude), spoilers for spiderverse movies. but ofc since this is a crossover it won’t be completely the same.
status: unedited
[masterlist] [next]
REPLY TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST
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“Mama, stop you’re covering me with your saliva—!” You groaned as you made a half-assed attempt at pushing your mother away.
It was the first day of your attendance at Gotham Visions and you weren’t the least bit nervous. Not at all. Totally. It wasn’t as if you were just thrusted into this situation with no choice whatsoever in addition to the pressure of your family’s wholeass livelihood on your shoulder. No. You were completely cool with this situation. In fact, you were so cool that you’re almost late to your first day of classes.
“But you look so adorable, mi hijo!” Your mother rubbed her face all over yours, messing up whatever you decided to put on.
“Papa what are you doing? Arrest this woman at once, for gross misconduct or whatever—“
“You do look adorable, and if I do I’d have to be fair and arrest you for vandalism.”
You freeze at your father’s not so subtle call out, before swiftly slithering away from your mother’s bear-like grip.
“Augh! I’m going to be late! Hasta luego!”
It was August. The start of a new school year for you. A new life away from your family and friends.
Gotham Visions University. A campus filled with elitists; fancy rich people. The cream of the crop. Your future school. Being a scholar there would have been fine, amazing even! If it wasn’t something you won through a lottery. You felt like a thief, an imposter. Going to a school for prodigies and rich kids as an average old joe is one thing, going to a school for prodigies and rich kid as a poor lottery student is another.
“[Y/N]! How you doing man? Lookin fancy. The uniform so fits ya.” A kid hangs his arm around you. If you were being completely honest you weren’t sure about his name, but you hung out often for basketball and other activities around the neighborhood. With the amount of people that knew you around the community, it was difficult keeping all those faces in your head so you often covered it up with nicknames.
“Psh. See ya next friday for shawarma?” You winked, cringing a little inside for your actions.
But to your utter surprise, the kid in turn blushes before giving you a massive grin. “You bet. My treat!”
And just a few seconds afterwards, he hits you at the back of the head before leaving, “Hey! Ow.”
“[Y/N]! Good luck on school dude! We’ll miss ya! Don’t be a stranger okay? We’re still friends even if he isn’t here.” He waves you goodbye before returning to your mutual posse of friends.
You wave back at them, your expression slowly turning into a solemn one. “I’ll miss ya guys too.”
Grabbing your trusty wireless headphones, you make your way down the block. Sticking random name-tags you drew this morning to distract yourself from the overflowing anxiety in your system.
Unfortunately, it never is a good idea to be so distracted when walking by yourself.
“Contra!” You hissed as your body hit the pavement. No doubt ruining your uniform that your mother painstakingly agonized over getting perfect and neat for your first day.
Then, the sound of a police siren entered your ears.
Can your day get any worse?
“What did I tell you about not looking both sides twice before crossing the streets?”
Your father’s sermon began.
This . . . was going to be a long ride.
“That I shouldn’t do it.” You replied, completely uninterested in the conversation and looking out from the window.
“You’re lucky it was me y’know! What if some deranged man decided to run you over?”
Your faced smooshed on your hand as your elbow rested on the window sill. “I’d send my cop of a father after them then.”
“Don’t act cute with me [Y/N].”
“But it works oh, so, well.”
Your father sighed, “It does.”
“But with great ability comes great accountability!
“Yeah yeah, that isn’t how the saying goes! . . . It was my bad it won’t happen ag…” Right as you were about to tune out of the interaction with your father once more you notice a bunch of people looking towards your direction.
People you knew.
And now they were taking pictures.
“Wow, aren’t you the popular kid?”
“Mier — Can’t you run the red light or shout at them or something? My poor privacy is being invaded!” You desperately tried to hide yourself with your hands but to no avail. The sounds of clicking only grow louder, and your father’s pace on the car slower.
“Yeah yeah~ not this cop.”
“Papa!”
Suddenly, the attention is ripped off of you as a loud crashing noise resounds from above. “Woah.”
Your dad flicked his tongue in annoyance as he checked the damages. “Those vigilantes! Red Hood is one thing, but that Spider-man partner of his. I swear. He just swings by without a care in the world. I just got this repaired last week!”
“I think he saved you from having to get yourself fixed as well. You know, in a hospital. The place with all the bills that just tears holes into your wallet.” You checked the situation outside, confirming the lack of interest in your situation as people crowded spider-man’s fight. “And myself from a mob too. That man’s a whole multitasker and a half.”
“If you ever get a sibling, remind me not to teach them cheek.”
“That if depends on you, yknow.” You gave your dad the smuggest grin you can muster.
Hey, if he’s going to make you face hell for the next few years you might as well give him a portion of it while you had the time.
The car halts, signaling your arrival at the aforementioned hell. “Study well. Our future depends on you, [Y/N]. Love ya.”
“I know.” You groaned, struggling a little to pull your baggage outside of the vehicle and leaving as soon as you got it secured within your grasp.
You are only able to take a few steps when your dad interrupts with the police car’s loudspeaker.
“Where’s my ‘I love you too, papa’ huh?”
“Papa! Seriously?” You screeched, unimaginably embarrassed beyond belief.
“I love you.”
“Right in front of my future peers?”
“I loovveee youuu.”
“On the first day of class?!”
“Mwah mwah—“
“I LOVE YOU TOO!” You relented. Making a sharp turn from facing the originator of your future bully’s material, towards the entrance of Gotham Visions.
Once you get in you make an attempt to greet the people there, but is cut off by their mocking voices referring and imitating the situation earlier.
The embarrassment fills you up once more and you fail to notice your path intersecting with another.
Directly bumping into people seriously knocks the wind out of a dude. That’s probably why those people in those ‘mangas’ he always made you read fell in love at first sight. They were just so light-headed that they couldn’t think clearly.
“P-pretty girl—“
“It’s nice to meet you too.” said pretty girl as she steadied your form. Noticeably less affected by the impact “You’re quite the looker yourself.”
“Ack, sorry! I just get nervous around- yeah.”
She giggled. Oh lord, even her laugh was pretty. “Lovely papa you got there.”
“Augh, you don’t have to remind me.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, slowly regaining your balance.
The bell rings. The real hell has officially begun.
Once pretty girl made sure you were alright, she began running off.
Wow, even the way she ran was pretty.
“W-w-wait, what’s your name?”
“Gwen!”
You sighed as left you behind in the crowd of students.
This wasn’t so bad, you thought. You made one acquaintance at the very least. Maybe your new life at this school would be better.
Your new life at Gotham Visions was, in fact, not getting better.
You were fumbling through the motions like a newborn thrown to the wolves. If you hadn’t built a relatively tight knit friendship with Gwen you were sure you would have ran away by now.
Everyone always ignored you when you greeted them. Your dormmate didn’t even see you as someone worthy to interact with and would often stay awake at ungodly hours doing whatever the hell he was doing on his laptop while you suffered from his ‘background music.’ Your parents only ever talked to you about academics when it was the last thing you wanted on your mind at weekends. You were always, always late to class.
You were practically falling apart at the seams.
You just . . . wanted everything to end. But you couldn’t bring yourself to defy your parents and so you brought it up to your studies. Purposely failing exams so you’d be kicked out soon enough.
“A zero. How terrible. A few more of those and you’ll have to kick me out huh?” You looked at your Physics teacher with a loosely smug look on your face. You hated Physics, the sciences and mathematics the most out of all subjects. Everything second you spent learning about it could have been spent drawing or doing something you actually adored.
You shrugged, “Maybe I’m just not right for this school.”
“If a person wearing a blindfold picked the answers on a multiple choice exam at random do you know what score they would get?”
“. . . Around 25%?”
“That’s right!” She flicked her pen towards you face before pressing the butt end of it to your paper.
“The only way they would get all the answers wrong . . . “ She then twirls around, marking your grade from 0 to 100 by placing the respective numbers to each side. “Is to know which answers are right.
“You’re trying to quit, and I’m not going to let you.” The smug look only your face slowly dissipates and transfers to her own visage. “Now I know you’ll probably try to worm yourself out of this which is why I’m calling in back-up.”
“Wayne.” The woman moved her gaze to your classmate. A strained smile on her lips as she stared him down.
You didn’t know the billionaire’s son that well, or any of your peers but Gwen for that matter. Just that he was as stuck up as his gelled up hair. Always sneering at you whenever you had to sit beside him with those uncannily pretty green eyes of his. You thought that it may have been your smell or something. Maybe he could tell how poor you are in comparison by your scent. But judging by the fact that he was just as much of a loner as you were if not more, you’re beginning to think otherwise.
“I’m assigning you two an essay, not on physics but on yourselves. What kind of person you want to be. I know you two are quite different in terms of personality and backgrounds, but I have a feeling it’ll all work out.” She walked behind the two of you, roughly placing her hands on both of your shoulders before squeezing you closer together. “And no, Damian. I’ll know if you decide to finish it all yourself. Don’t test me.”
“You two are dismissed!”
Damian takes one look at you and you can tell he’s listed a thousand things he disliked about you already. He re-secured his backpack prior to giving you one, heftily stern warning. “Listen, we’re going to meet at my house this weekend. 6pm. Don’t be late.”
“Sure! Where’s your . . .” and before you could even complete your question, he was gone. Just like that. “. . .house. . .”
You grabbed your own belongings with a moan; betting that the trust fund kid’s own probably costed a hundred if not a thousand more times than yours.
You swiftly go to your room. Mind completely empty and disassociated before an idea crosses your head.
You dial in the numbers on your phone before you could even think properly.
“Hey, Unc. Mind if I come over?”
No matter where you went. The route to your Uncle Aaron’s house was always in the back of your head. He was your true home. The only man who understood you — who made the effort to understand you.
You spot him on his couch, looking as cool and swag as ever with his legs spread a little bit apart. He laughed as you smooshed your face to his window before opening it and letting you tumble into his abode.
You lazily dropped the bag you brought filled with spray paint.
He patted your head and massaged your scalp, the stress you felt already noticed and acknowledged. “Sup little dude. You lookin’ down. Is this about . . .”
“What? No. I’ve already moved on—“You shook your head. In all honesty, the only good part about Gotham Visions was that it kept you distracted from grief. But before you could continue you spot a familiar image settled in a frame. Emotions started crashing down upon you like a tidal wave. “You . . . kept the picture.”
Aaron rubbed his thumb across your cheek as your eyes began watering, “You know I can bring you over to visit him. It’s pretty close by y’know.”
“I- I think I’m good. I came here to just chill out, y’know?”
“Let’s go, I know a spot we can let some of that pent up art juice out.”
A smile. A real one. Not one you forced on yourself whenever you met with your classmates, Gwen or your parents started to make a reprise on your face. You almost don’t remember the last time you did it because of your emotions and not due of the façade of being okay.
“See ya.”
You take one last look at the photo before rushing out with your uncle.
“Mig.”
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thevoidstaredback · 9 months ago
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How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have
In Danny's defense, dying scared the hell out of him. Living in a house of ghost hunters was a bad idea, so he left. It didn't matter that they were family. He was a ghost living in a house of Ghost Hunters whose life's work was the very thing that killed him in the first place. He died turning on the portal his parents had spend nearly thirty years working on with two witnesses to his demise. The natural response was to destroy the portal and leave without telling anyone.
He didn't get to that point, though. The first few months after The Accident had been constant ghost attacks, one after another. Danny had tried t understand what was happening, but between his friends on some level denying his death, the ghosts attacking on sight, and the powers he was developing not getting themselves under control, he was reaching his breaking point.
On top of all of it, the portal destabilized.
No one had been in the lab, thank god, but the ghost portal collapsed in on itself. The running theory his parents had was that the ghost boy had been the one to break it. Danny's running theory was that the constant back and forth and overloaded the system. No new actually knew what had been the thing to turn it on in the first place, so no one could actually prove anything either way. At least, that's what Danny hoped.
Danny knew, in the deep recesses of his mind, what to do to get it working again. He knew what to do to keep it open if he so chose.
It had never been his choice in the first place.
Danny had known it wasn't entirely safe for him when the house started to turn on him, but that had only been solidified when the portal had gone down, Jack and Maddie Fenton doubled down on hunting down the Ghost Boy. He was the only ghost left in Amity Park, so he was the only one the trackers would lock onto.
Six weeks before he turned fifteen, Danny left his home. He didn't tell Jazz or Tucker or Sam, and he most certainly didn't tell his parents. Quietly, he packed his things - only those of which that would be easy to carry - and left. He didn't bring his phone or laptop with him. He thought about leaving his wallet, but figured that'd be useful to him.
The last thing he did before leaving Amity Park was go to the police station and tell them he was leaving willingly. He refused to elaborate as to why. They didn't need to know that. He didn't tell them where he was going, either, just that he was leaving.
It was an accident that he ended up in Bludhaven. Four weeks of traveling had tired him out. His powers only making it worse. He was low on money and food, he'd been sleeping on benches and in alleyways, his clothes were all filthy, he hadn't showered in days- He was ready to collapse.
Bludhaven, from what he understood, had a much smaller homeless population that her mother city Gotham, but it was still a lot of people. Particularly homeless youth. Danny was just another kid in an alley when he'd finally collapsed.
It took three days of sleeping behind a dumpster before anyone noticed him. In that time, he'd only woken up once. Not having eaten in a while, he had no waste to expel, so his body had focused on keeping he rested before allowing him to wake up. That was when he'd realized the actual danger he was in.
He had no idea if human weapons could still work on him or not, and he was not trying to figure that out any time soon. So, before the group of armed guys who'd just come into the alleyway noticed him, Danny let the invisibility wash over him before he flew up and away.
On the rooftops is where he found the city's vigilante. He was dressed in a black suit with blue accents and a black domino mask. His weapon looked like a broken bo staff and was strapped to his back.
Danny was not inclined to meet this man, but he'd never seen another hero in action before! Sure, he knew they existed, but he'd never actually gone looking for any. No one in Amity had, actually. It was a peaceful place. Well, until he opened the portal on himself, but that was hardly his fault.
Sure, he wasn't going to meet him, but maybe following him around wouldn't hurt? As long as he didn't get caught, he should be fine. It was only for the night, anyway. He'd probably never see this man again after this.
At least, that was the plan until he accidentally followed the man home at three in the morning. In his defence, though, he didn't know that it was that early or that Nightwing - as he'd heard a few guys call him - was going home! Regardless, he was going to take this to the grave. He was going to leave Bludhaven come dawn and he was never going to tell anyone the he knows where Nightwing lives.
Again, that was his plan. Danny ended up falling asleep on the rooftop opposite the building Nightwing lived in. He slept through the day, only waking up when rush hour foot and road traffic got too loud to ignore. Just as he was getting ready to leave the rooftop, he spotted movement in Nightwing's apartment.
Now, he couldn't even begin to say what had made him stay, but he did. He sat back down and watched as Nightwing moved around his apartment.
It was messy, messier than he'd have expected, but he wasn't one to judge. What really caught his attention, though, was the uniform Nightwing was wearing. Now that begged the question as to why the hero - vigilante was probably the better term here - fought crime at all hours of the day. Why approach the problem both legally and less legally? Why align yourself both ways?
Danny was always a curious boy when something sparked his interest.
He was swift in his movements as he pulled out the binder of paper and scholork he'd taken with him. Opening up to the first blank page, Danny started to write.
He was a hero, whether people thought of him as such or not. He only ever wanted to help. Maybe he could help this guy. Maybe he'd feel some kind of accomplishment if he managed to help Nightwing.
Step one is to observe.
Part 2 Part 4
Tag List: @flame-343
I need to point out that I have gone off of the original prompt, if that wasn't already obvious. In the og prompt, Danny is an adult. In this one, as I continue my take on it, Danny is a child. I didn't mean for it to happen, but the words don't listen to me, I listen to them.
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indulgentdaydream · 5 months ago
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i LIVE for the nurse!reader work!!! i was wondering if you could do more nurse!reader where jason gets badly injured during patrol and she has to like stitch him up
OR
one where shes training as a family doctor and jason walks in on her comforting a little kid while she gives him an injection/shot?
either one is fine!
btw...YOUR WRITING IS SO COMFORTING
omg thank you!! I'm so happy my writing brings comfort to people. I usually use writing as a way to bring comfort to myself 😂
This can be read as both a stand alone and a sequel to Meet Cutes, my original Nurse!Reader work! It's not necessary to read Meet Cutes to read this
Comfort
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Jason Todd x Nurse!Reader || Fluff Word Count: 2,014 Warnings: Blood, stitches, concussion, brief nod to Jason’s death by the mentioned date (April 27th)
2/6 fic of the line up! there was no way in hell i was getting them all out by his birthday I have no idea what I was on when I said that (pain killers. it was pain killers) (prescribed pain killers)
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It was an unbearably hot night in Gotham. One that had Jason shucking his thick leather jacket off and fisting it in his hand as he stumbled through the alleyways.
Stupid Killer Croc. Stupid sewers. Stupid heat for making the sewers smell even worse. Stupid him for letting that oversized lizard get the jump on him.
Jason enters the clinic through the back door, as per usual. He didn’t need you getting caught up in vigilante problems just because people had seen him coming and going from this place.
The bright lights of the clinic have him flinching, his head pounding inside his helmet casing. He closes the door behind him by leaning against it. He hisses, pressing the fabric of his jacket to the bloody gash on his left shoulder blade. His armour had cracked off in a jagged line, leaving the flesh exposed. Killer Croc had used it as a nice place to sink one of his claws in when he picked Jason up off the disgusting sewer floor. It wasn’t bad. Fairly deep, but, as he usually told you, he’s had worse.
Usually, with injuries as simple as this, Jason would go to his nearest safe house and tend to it all himself. But, with this particular wound, he couldn’t reach around without his shoulder screaming in pain, nor without potentially giving himself the shittiest stitches known to man.
Best he could do for now is clamp his jacket to it with his right hand. Second best thing he could do was trip and stumble his way through Gotham, making wrong turns and headed in five different directions before he had picked the right one.
His head was stuffed with cotton. Maybe sewage. He wanted his helmet off, too suffocating for him in the moment, but he didn’t have his domino mask on.
Jason knew you were always the last one working. You would come in a few hours later than your other coworkers, just so you could keep the clinic open just that much longer for the unwilling victims of Gotham's nightly activities.
He wasn’t a part of those victims. Jason was one of the willing ones.
All in all, he admired you for your effort. A small star in a smog filled night sky. Brighter than what people realized.
Jason stepped towards your office door. It was open giving him a solid directory. His steel toes felt heavy on his feet. That’s what he’s blaming for the fact that he tripped over his own feet, his head swimming.
Jason fell against the door frame. His left shoulder hit the edge, pulling a deep groan of pain from him. He bumped into the door, sending it flying into the wall. He finally regained his balance, still leaning his head on the frame.
He faintly registered your gasp of surprise.
“Hood!" you cried, jumping up from your office chair, stepping closer, "What happened? What's wrong?"
Jason hated the way he gravitated towards you. He leaned into your touch when you grabbed a hold of his arm to steady him, to move him closer into the room.
This is weakness. He thought briefly through the thick fog surrounding him. Relying on some nurse. He should've never let himself get close to you. You don't even know his name. Or what his face looks like. But having you run to his aid with such a worried expression on your face is far too close to have you.
"Lay down. On your stomach."
Jason blinked. Your voice brought him back to the present, his head still spinning. He was sitting on the cot, pushed up against the wall. His jacket was hanging off the back of your office chair, bloody. The shoulder of his shirt cut off by your scissors, revealing part of his chest and back, too.
He doesn't remember any of that. Maybe he is in worse shape than he thought.
"Hood. Lay your ass down."
Jason followed your orders, "You have such graceful bedside manner, Nurse."
You scoff, already slipping your gloves on and dissinfecting yourself, ready to work.
You applied the stinging disinfectant to Jason's skin, making him suck in a sharp breath. The noise sounded odd, yet still recognizable through his voice modulator, "More like Nurse Ratched."
You pout, confused, "Who?"
Jason sighs, feeling his cheeks burn a little, "Nevermind..."
Your silent for a while, continuously threading the needle through Jason's skin as you pull it together.
"So..." you drawl out. "You gonna tell me how this happened?"
Jason was silent for another moment, "Mmmm... would if I could focus right now, sweetheart."
You paused on the last stitch, "Hm?"
He shifted his head lightly, peering at you through the corner of his vision, "What?"
You let out a breathy laugh, "I'm guessing you hit your head, too?"
Jason let out another robotic hum, "Got thrown into a wall."
"Did you now?" You step back from him, finished your work.
Jason nodded, "Lizard."
Stifling another laugh you started to clean up your tools, "You got thrown into the wall by... by a lizard?"
Jason didn't move, his speech a little slurred, "Fuckin' overgrown murder lizard..."
“Murder Lizard?”
He briefly waved a hand in dismissal, “Whatever his name is.”
“…Killer Croc?”
“…yeah. Him.”
You tapped his gloved hand, "Can you sit up and answer some more questions for me, Hood?"
Jason groaned as he pushed himself back up, moving slow. Once he was up, his head began to pound all over again. He reached up, pressed the release button under his jaw. A small hissing sound of the releasing pressure sounded.
He saw you stiffen, your eyes a little wide in shock, "What are you doing?"
“'s fine. I trust ya," He lifted the red helmet off until you were able to see his whole face. He remembered that not even a domino mask was hiding his eyes in the moment "'sides. It's too tight f'r me right now."
Jason believed he was a sight to see. All scars, disheveled hair, the yellowing bruise along the right side of hjs jaw from a few weeks ago, his crooked teeth and his crooked nose. Your eyes were wide, taking him in. He couldn't tell if it was in fear, shock, or awe. He was so much better at reading people, usually.
“I know,” a small smirk tugged at his lips, the right side of it staying lower due to the pain of his bruise, “Much more of an ugly mug then you were expecting, eh sweetheart?"
He saw you narrow your eyes. You didn’t like that comment. He could tell. What did he say? Nothing but his own truth.
…did I just fucking call you ‘sweetheart’?
A beam of light entered his vision.
He cringed back, "Ugh!"
You held up your small flashlight, switching it between Jason's eyes, "When were you born?"
Jason blinked rapidly, rubbing at his eyes now that you had pulled away the light. “April 27th,” he paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. Fuck. That’s not it.”
You opened your drawer again and put the flashlight away, “You have a concussion.”
"No shit," His head was pounding to the point he could hear it in his ears.
"I'll let you go on two conditions."
Jason kept his eyes on you. He enjoyed the sight of your face much better than that agonizing light.
“First. Promise to rest up,” you gave him a pointed look.
Jason shrugged. He’d try.
“Promise.”
He groaned, “Fine. I promise.”
You looked pleased with yourself. He tried to push away the want to put that look on your face all the time.
“Second. Call somebody you know and trust to drive you home.”
He looked away from you. There was no one he trusted with that info. His safe house or this clinic. Or you.
“Fine,” you rolled away in your chair and pulled out a pen and paper. “Go get changed into some civilian clothes and I’ll call you a taxi.”
“You’re not payin’ for that,” Jason said quickly. His head hung low as his head pounded to the beat of his heart.
“That’s fine,” you pulled a roll of gauze from your drawer and stepped closer to him. “Do you have any Alieve or Tylenol at home?”
He barked out a laugh that ricocheted through his skull, “With how much I’m in here? Who do you think I am?”
You gave him a deadpan look. You began wrapping his shoulder and his stitches.
He gave a small smirk. He liked looking at your face. A nice sight for his sore eyes.
He blinked again. You were very close to him. His heart picked up in time with the throbbing of his skull.
He looked away, scowling.
Weakness.
“If I give you anything, I have to write down who I’m giving it to. It’s policy, I’ll need a name. Do you have alieve or tylenol at home Red?”
Jason let out a hum. He leaned forward pinched his nose bridge in thought again. Everything was fuzzy, “Maybe?”
“What name am I writing then?”
He didn’t even think to hesitate. He registered how that was a bad thing, but his concussion was stopping him from thinking properly. “Jason Todd.”
You let out a laugh right next to his ear.
He flinched, wincing at the sound, “What?”
“That’s the fakest name I’ve ever heard.”
It took him a second to register what you meant. That was his name. You were one of the few he had actually introduced himself to as himself in a while, and you didn’t believe it was his name.
You finished wrapping his bandages and stepped away. He found himself missing the warmth. “Mhmm. What address are you gonna give me now? 1234 Main Street?”
He scowled a little more than he already was. He felt his ears burn, “567 Main Street North.” It was one of his safe houses he was getting rid of soon. A place no one would find him by the end of the week.
You laughed again. It grated on his ears, but he was sure it’d be music without this concussion.
The rest of his visit was a bit of a blur. You told him to go change into civilian clothes. He remembers telling you it was fine, that he didn’t mind having the Red Hood be seen taking a taxi. You reminded him his shirt was half torn off. He put his armour back on and zipped up his jacket over top. You were calling a taxi by the time he had gotten his helmet back on.
The entire time he was trying to guess what your laugh sounded like normally. Surely he’s heard it before? Why couldn’t he remember?
Right. The concussion.
Red Hood was stepping out the door of your office when you called after him.
“Stay safe.”
He let out a small laugh, looking back over his shoulder at you, “Never do, sweetheart.”
You laughed too and he felt his ears burn again. He needed to shut up and stop letting that slip.
“That’s the third time you’ve called me that.” You crossed your arms, leaning back in your chair. “You must really be out of it.”
Jason frowned behind his helmet. He doesn’t remember three times.
…okay maybe two. But not three.
You gave a knowing smile, ignoring it, “You just have to make sure I always have my work cut out for me, don’t you?”
Jason smiled behind the helmet, “I like seeing you.”
He wanted to bash his head against that brick wall again. Especially when your grin got a little wider and his face got a little hotter.
“‘Kay, bye.” He walked out before you could respond.
Jason never did wait for the taxi. He left through the back door like always and made his trek back to the closest safe house. He clutched the box of tylenol he had stuffed in his pocket, feeling the tug of his stitches when he found his bike and revved the engine before peeling away into the night.
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unacknowledgeable · 23 days ago
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I’m imagining the families switch to yandere mode will come soon after reader is outed as a serial killer, it’s already bad enough with them missing out on their kid/ sibling’s life, because they just didn’t notice, but people are dead now!
It would be an easier pill to swallow if they were like Jason and killed criminals , but no, they kill innocent people.
dozens of people gone and the culprit not being stopped because they just…didn’t see the signs?!
imagine she sheer chaos that would come about if people found out their identity as a Wayne? There is absolutely no way that people would believe that Bruce just allowed this to happen, he’d go from brucie Wayne the philanthropic himbo to another morally bankrupt billionaire who let his kid kill people for funsies.
even if the public believed the truth everyone would -rightfully- blame him for literally having a Chinese parade's worth of red flags in the damn face, in his own home and not seeing it
Not me giggling smiling and kicking my feet over this, the worms are eating gooooood today ya'll.
So, like I said in my last post, before even writing most of this stuff I made sure that I had a whole timetable of important events and how old the characters are during them and what not, so I DO know how the MC gets caught. Though that could be subject to change if I find something more interesting
 That being said, I never really planned for the general public to find out about readers' crimes. Once the bat fam finally catches on and tries to huddle them away, as far as the rest of Gotham is concerned, this major serial killer is still at large.
I also really really wanted to make it clear that y/n? Is not a good person.
 Be it by circumstance or their own making, they simply just aren't. Yes, the hand they were dealt by fate was cruel and painful, but they chose which direction they went in based on their life experiences. Reader is fully aware of that, and is rather peeved with the batfams pity party on how it’s “all their fault you’re like this”
 Because??? No? It's not??? Sure, they definitely didn’t fucking help, and most times made it worse with their actions, but you already had a slew of mental issues that were left unchecked, genetic ones inherited from your mother and father, and those formed by early childhood trauma and neglect. But you chose this, they didn't hand you the knife and or force your hands around your victims necks. It was all you. You wouldn't let them take the one form of control you had left.
Obviously you were not inherently evil because of forces out of your control, but you did choose it, and you will not let them delude themselves into thinking otherwise. Hurt people, hurt people, as the saying goes.
 But does that make what the batfam are doing okay? Keeping the reader locked within the Manor, the family taking on the roles of Judge, Jury and Executioner and thus denying the General Public and the victims families the right to Justice, as well as denying the reader the right to a fair trial.
  Going against their own morals by asserting their own feelings of guilt over the law, and in doing so, they are actively obstructing justice. Complete and utter hypocrites. But they always have been, haven't they?  Things get even more confusing and strange when even after the reader is caught by the batfam, is jailed in what's essentially a glorified prison. The murders. Don't. Stop.
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hpgal · 5 months ago
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DC x DP : Those Glowing Green Eyes
CW: Blood, Gunshot Wounds, Violence
TLDR: Danny is on the run from the GIW and ends up in Gotham heavily injured where he gets found by a gun wielding vigilante.
Word Count: 2313
Everything hurts.
But when did it not?
But this time it wasn’t just injury number 67942 causing these aches and pains, though it did contribute to it. The mental anguish of being ran out of my own home and turned away by those I loved. Because I was a ghost. That pain was worse than the wound in my side.
Now the GIW is chasing me across the country and my last scuffle with them left me hurt worse than ever. They’ve been pushing hard this time around, new toys, more numbers. It was ridiculous. Seeing my own family there made me hesitate when they jumped me too. I didn’t react, just stared in horror as my own mother aimed a gun at me and my own father cheered her on.
Despite it all, I am still convinced there is hope. That there was. But when she pulled that trigger, all hope was gone. 
Now, that leads me to the present. Somehow I escaped and now was walking around with a gunshot wound in my side, a bum wrist and I think a head wound in an unknown city. Thank The Ancients for the luck I had with a portal to The Ghost Zone being nearby. I fell through it but had to immediately find another door to the mortal realm when I saw Vlad nearby, who has also been hunting me since this began. 
So here I am, in a dark, dank city. The ectoplasm here is toxic as hell and tastes like multiple smokers' houses smashed together and death. Night was falling and it got cold here fast. That could just be my core or it could be that I am slowly bleeding out. That was unclear at the moment.
Either way, I walked the street looking for shelter, mostly ignored by others or simply stared at. Honestly, I did not mind, I didn’t want the attention. Even with the toxic ectoplasm here I could heal up quickly and bounce back to the Ghost Zone to expel the toxicity of it with the help of the feeder ghosts and be good as new. It was abundant here, not nearly as much as Amity Park but it was a close second. That little fact told me this city reeked of death which meant it was probably also dangerous.
Maybe once this whole my parents and the government trying to murder me passes, I could come back here and purge the toxic ectoplasm as Ghost King. Because that is the only thing left for me to do, become Ghost King since my human life seems to be over. I have no clue what there is left for me to do with everyone I loved and the U.S Government wanting me dead
Too bad I can’t fully exercise that power of King until I come of age next year. I could’ve resolved this and just hid in the Ghost Zone for the rest of my undead life. Vlad wouldn’t be able to touch me then. Curse my stupid half alive and half dead existence, no other ghost would’ve had to wait but the council likes to be a pain in my ass. Probably in spite of Clockwork in all honesty, I half joke to myself.
My mind reels as I think about home, my friends, even Vlad. All of them had turned overnight. Even Jazz, though she showed hesitancy at every turn. Their eyes seemed to have a tinge of red when I saw them attack me for the first time, reminding me of Freakshow and his mind control abilities. That was the only thing I could justify holding out hope. But I didn’t see that in my moms eyes this time when she shot me.
Even Vlad switched from the whole crazed rich fruit-loop routine of trying to make me his son to attempts on my life. By the Ancients, if he were there this last attack and not in the Ghost Zone, I would’ve been dead. I had no doubts about it. It was pure luck that he didn't notice me in the zone.
I grimace as I continue walking, holding my side, warm blood seeping through my white shirt and the bandages I put on it already. My vision and mind feel foggy as I turn a corner, instantly clearing for a moment when my ghost sense activates, sending a shiver down my spine, hair standing on the back of my neck.
Now?
Really?
I nearly groan both in pain and frustration at this change. I look around pissed off only to find a guy in a red helmet across the street. My entire being on edge as I see him. He didn’t look like a ghost but he gave the impression of having an association with ghosts. He had higher ectoplasm in his body than normal. Even more so than most Amity Park citizens. For a second I thought I saw the flicker of a core but just as quickly as I saw it, it goes away. 
Could he possibly be possessed?
The gears turn in my head as everything screams at me that he is bad news regardless. The moment this masked man steps towards me, I muster all the energy I can and start to run, my decision being made. There was no way I could fight in this condition. Every inch of my body, my muscles scream at me for this. My side burns and my vision is blurry at best.
I risk a glance back to see him following and pick up speed. Grateful for my inhuman abilities still being of use despite my injured state. It’d be easy to go ghost or phase through a wall on a normal day but this was not normal, even for me. There are so many ways I could lose this guy but no, I keep running, oblivious to anything except the urge to escape this new, unknown threat.
Him following me all but confirms my suspicions that he is bad news. I mean I saw those guns on his side. They could be loaded with anti-ghost bullets. I’ve been shot once today, I do not plan on doing that again. Ever. He has to be a hired gun by the GIW is the only explanation to this.
At some point in the chase, I look back to see he is managing to keep up with me, which in hindsight made so much sense with my injuries. I turn right only to find this was the wrong choice. Because of course that would be my luck today. I screech to a halt, nearly crashing to meet the dead end head on, a brick wall separating me from escaping. I lean against the wall in frustration before turning to see if he was in the alley yet.
I could just phase- ”Demon brat what have I told you about stepping in my turf?” Damnit.
I am so tired. I am trapped. I am injured. This day just freaking sucks.
I glare at him with as much intensity I can muster. If only I could use my powers, scare him away. Now that he was closer it was clear he was a human who experienced death. Not a ghost. Not a halfa like him, just a human. But if he did that then the GIW would be sure to find me again in no time. And the stranger called me a demon brat. That has to be some sort of slur to ghosts, although I am not familiar with slurs for ghosts. Is that even a thing?
I shake the thought away and focus on him. I look him up and down, taking in his appearance and movements, ready to fight back.
Despite the mask covering his face, I could feel this stranger looking at him up and down despite it being dark. Maybe his mask had some sort of night vision built into it. He was assessing and judging him. And I was doing the same to him between the glares, my superhuman night vision letting me miss nothing in this dark space.
He looked like what I imagined a human vigilante would look like. Except 10 times scarier like he wouldn’t care if he helped civilians or not. Maybe this guy was just here for an adrenaline rush or some other bullshit reason a normal human would act like this. The red mask was intimidating, he was well built and tense, ready to pounce on him like I was on him. Except he wasn’t fighting death itself right now so he for sure would win without me using powers. Maybe he is a hired gun by the GIW with how he is sizing me up.
The vigilante takes a step towards me, “Woah, woah, you're bleeding.” he seems to hesitate but I glare back up to him like a feral animal. This had to be a trick right? The care and concern in his voice wasn’t real.
I backed up against the cool brick wall behind me, sinking into a low stance, ready to jump and fight back. I let the wall support me where it could and where it couldn't, I sucked it up with gritted teeth. I had faced worse before. If I died here I’d probably become a full ghost anyways so I could haunt his ass for the rest of his life, exercising the full power of Ghost King just to be petty for the inconvenience. Serves him right for the scary vigilante routine. Too bad for him, I am scarier and I would not fall for cheap tricks.
I try to make myself as intimidating as possible. Hell, the blood seeping from my head and how ready I was to fight probably made me look like a feral, wounded, animal right now. I mean that is what everyone else thought I was anyways, right? I bare my teeth at him, my canines most definitely unnaturally pointed.
“Seriously, kid? Two can play this game.” The man takes a step closer, I watch, calculating. 
Then his eyes glowed green.
At least that had to be what happened under the mask. I felt the surge of ectoplasm being used when it happened and I snarl at him in response. This would be a harder fight than I thought. How did I miss the ectoplasm tainting him, enhancing him this way? The fact he could willingly do it meant he was trained and well versed in his abilities.
Well shit.
He seems taken aback at my response, not expecting me to not be frightened. Well tough luck buddy. “I can do that too.” I say with venom dripping off my tongue between gritted teeth, not willing to let this guy get the best of me.
I look up at what I presume are his eyes based on his mask and allow my own eyes to flare neon green, brighter than his. A show of power and dominance that some ghosts use to avoid a fight. Maybe I could avoid this fight entirely if he had the innate understanding many liminal beings had when experiencing this with or without knowing what it means. Either way it was clear he knew something.
“I have been hunted, shot, maimed, and tortured by much, much worse.” I threaten. “You do not scare me. And I sure as hell am not going to go down to a nobody like you.” My vision  continues to blur and darken at the edges as the adrenaline from the chase starts to wear down, the rapid heart rate pumping my blood much faster than I need it to be to prevent blood loss as more blood seeps from my wounds. That little trick took more energy from me than I anticipated.
The unknown man looks at me, his body language indicating he was confused and concerned. I nearly wanted to laugh but I needed all the energy in case I had to fight. “Shit.. you’re not Demon Brat. Kid,” he starts, his body relaxing ever so slightly, “you need help, let me help you.”
The man takes another step forward, holstering a pistol. When did he draw that to begin with?
I flash my eyes again, a bit weaker this time as I feel my legs start to buckle under me. No. Not now. I can’t go down now. Panic welling up inside me as I growl at him and try to steady myself against the wall.
“Go away,” I muster, throat dry, “this isn’t your problem.” I manage to say as my last attempts to get him to screw off.
The man takes another step towards him, now in arms reach, “Look, I know a doctor who might be able to help you. She-” I stumble a bit and he reaches out ready to catch me, still keeping from touching me, “Shit- kid. She won’t turn you away. She can help. She doesn’t share the identity of her patients. She treats the Bats. You can trust her if not me”
My body shakes at his words. Or maybe I was shaking the entire time. God it was so cold now. Almost as cold as being dead for real. And man do I have experience with that. My entire body felt so heavy and aches everywhere. It was almost peaceful, in a way. Except I hated how dark my vision had gotten and blurred.
Something about how he speaks and acts, I decide in my haste, wanting to not die a second time to trust him. My body relaxes, no longer ready to fight him. Was it a bad idea? Probably but I did not want to die in an alley this time. My vision darkens and the last thing I remember is falling into his arms as my answer to him.
Please help me, stranger.
--------
A/N: This was a fic I planned on writing but got burnt out after writing the first chapter so I figured I'd post it here, maybe it'll motivate me to continue it.
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siddyyyyyyyy · 4 months ago
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Hi! Just learned about you blog and whatnot and had a request. Jason Todd x Reader where Reader has been kidnapped? Maybe by Joker or Black Mask or someone else from his past?
Safe Again
Jason Todd x Raeder
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wc: 1.9 K summary: Jason saves you from being captured from Black Mask warnings: kidnapping, injuries, standard Gotham violence, blood a/n: SUCH A COOL REQUEST!!11!!!1!!1 thank you for the request, it was so much fun writing about it
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You feel your head pounding aggressively, making it hard for your eyes to focus on anything in the small room. It‘s cold and weird, you can‘t really remember how you got here. The sounds of chains being dragged on a cement floor made your breath hitch, finally starting to feel the aches in your limbs. You must‘ve been hurt badly in several places, especially in your knees for some reason.
»Awake?« A deep rumbling comes from the gates, looking up from the already bloodied floor. The smell just makes you sick, already feeling worse than you already are.
»Don‘t worry, he‘ll be here in a while. But not to come and save you,« what seems to be Black Mask circles your chair, hands behind his back, »but to fall into my trap. You‘re just a distraction, sweet girl. He should have known better than to fall in love. How foolish.«
You can‘t exactly focus on his words, fighting against the dizziness. The room feels incredibly cold but you are sure it isn‘t really that chilly. First, your legs start to tremble before it builds up from there, becoming a shivering mess.
»Oh, poor thing. Scared? Don‘t you worry.«
He stands in front of you, some bigger figures standing in the back and possibly watching.
»It‘s just for a little longer.« A creepy face comes in your view, never having seen him up close or in person before. The mask brings another wave of danger into your brain, holding in your breath. Your body is all tense but you can‘t stay still, trembling everywhere.
Finally, the room spins and you process his words. Before you fall into unconsciousness you realise… Jason will die when he gets here.
He should have seen it coming. All the terror attacks on innocent civilians before, now getting to his loved one. Bruce and Dick told him he should keep a clear head and not blame himself, but he can‘t afford listening to them when he knows that it‘s all his fault.
It seems like too much, he can‘t catch a break. He won‘t allow himself to do so. Once he got into the abandoned warehouse, he can hear the distinct sounds of voices. Jason stays stealthy on his feet and keeps Oracle and the rest updated as best as he can. Through all the thoughts racing in his head, he can only focus on one thing. Getting you to safety and killing Black Mask. He had enough of his antics.
»Stay low, we are guarding from outside. Three guards approaching the entrance.« Nightwing calls into the communications, alerting Red Hood of any activity.
The three guards walk in, oblivious to the vigilante watching them in a vent from above. Once they are close enough, he jumps out of it and attacks them violently, but quietly. The three men are down in a matter of few seconds, Red Hood updating Nightwing afterwards.
He lets the guards rest on the floor and makes his way down the hallway, following the distinct chatter. A few sounds of metal clanking together are heard, which only makes Jason‘s blood run colder than before. He doesn‘t want to imagine what they‘d done to you already or what they are about to do. Either way, they won‘t get to have you for any longer.
»Red, be careful. If they see you, this will bow up.«
»I know.« Jason almost interrupts Oracle. He doesn‘t know why he decided to tell them in the first place. Of course, he needs their help because he can‘t risk fighting against Black Mask on his own. He can‘t risk dying for you. He has made a promise to you, that he will be more careful in the future. But clearly, he wasn��t careful enough. Getting you captured was something he thought was possible but he didn‘t think it would happen. Now, being so close to just snatching you away and killing everyone who blocks his path, he couldn‘t just leave and wait for the rest to be ready.
Making sure he won‘t get into the view of the enemy, he catches a peek at you in the cell. His breath hitches. Fists clenching. All the sounds are drowning out from around him, but he has to keep himself together.
Eventually, he manages to pull himself out of his thoughts and hides.
»I‘m in my spot, where‘s the rest?«
Jason speaks almost speaks in panic into the comms, trying to calm himself down one last time.
»We are ready. Waiting for Oracle‘s signal.«
Batman answers back almost immediately.
Jason‘s never been this impatient before, but he knows he can‘t afford being sloppy. This is your life being at risk. No one knows what Black Mask‘s actual motive is, but he is sure he wants revenge for Red Hood‘s earlier mistakes and actions. A typical man who still lives in the past and can‘t move past mistakes or memories. So he has to take it out on others.
Once Oracle announces that they can launch their attack, no one wastes their time on doing so. Batman and Nightwing are storming in from the outside while Jason focuses on securing the area and getting Black Mask. They locate you in a dingy cell, bloodied and unconscious. Chains around your wrists and tied to the chair. It‘s a stark contrast from how you usually are. Soft, kind, the total opposite of Jason. But now is not a time to grieve or get distracted.
With quick hands, Nightwing secures you while Batman joins Red Hood on getting Black Mask. He finds him beating up the bad guy. Hovering over Black Mask, the punches only getting more powerful and deadly. Batman gets to his side and tears him away, afraid he will kill him out of pure rage.
»Stop! We need to find out what happened and why.« Bruce tries to get some sense into him, only with a little success. He manages to get him to stop punching, but not from going mad. His head is a complete mess. You can see it from the way his breathing is ragged and body trembles with fury.
»Can you stand?« A familiar voice rings through your senses as you‘re slowly awaking, the loud sounds from outside the cell bringing you back to earth. You shake your head in response, the dull ache in your knees becoming worse in waves.
Even when you can‘t properly respond, Nightwing knows what to do. One thing he promised his brother is to keep you safe. And he won‘t let anything hurt you now, not when his brother is in such a bad state.
He picks you up swiftly and gets a safe route from Oracle, getting outside before you know it. You keep fighting your consciouness. Constantly dizzy and in pain. It‘s hard to tell wether you‘ll stay awake or faint again, but Nightwing gets you quickly to the clocktower and sets you down onto a soft surface.
Damian is already there, ready to assess any damage taken on you, thanks to his medical skills. Your eyes have difficulty focusing again, but you can feel everything around you. At least you can feel how bad your legs and head are hurting.
Turns out you have deep bruises around your knees, most likely for the case you'll try to escape the cell. It wouldn‘t even be possible, considering the heavy chains that were keeping you seated on the chair.
As if that wasn‘t enough, Damian realises you got a pretty serious concussion as well. That explains your constant dizziness and sluggish state. It‘s almost impossible to talk to you, only getting a few random words from you before you fall back into unconsciousness.
Oracle keeps the two other men in the warehouse updated, telling them you are in a stable condition and that the area they‘re in seems to be empty. It‘s strange, Batman knows something is wrong. It shouldn‘t be empty. Black Mask shouldn‘t be so weak at the moment, he would at least fight back or start some monologue that‘s suppposed to upset them and get under their skin. But no, none of that is happening right now.
Jason is still not in the right headspace, mind clouded with pure rage and fury. But luckily, Batman notices someting strange in the Mask of the enemy.
»Wait,« He crouches down in front of him and gently takes the mask off of the villian, »this is a decoy.«
They managed to get you into a peaceful nap while Oracle is busy controlling the situation and getting Batman and Red Hood out of the building as fast as possible. The moment they found out that Black Mask was actually some goon working for him, Oracle also found out about a bomb located inside the building. Now it was only a matter of time when it will explode and the clocktower is filled with heavy tension.
Waking up was probably the hardest part. Every of your limbs feel heavy and numb, peeling you eyelids open. You are still in the clocktower, knees bandaged up and clearly still under some heavy meds. The sun is just rising outside, it being quiet besides the light ringing in your ears. It‘s a moment later you realise the hand in yours, recognising it shortly after. The comforting weight and warmth rests in your palm, making you look down at it.
The couch you are laying on feels way better now after that rough cell, shifting lightly to adjust on it. Even with the light movements, Jason stirs awake by your side and tightens his grip on your hand.
»Sweetheart?«
»What happened?«
You ask back, fosucing on the several bruises littered across his face and dried blood on on his suit, his hands still gentle but rougher.
He sighs out and doesn‘t respond yet, carefully hugging you as he kneels next to the couch, his arms enveloping you safely.
»Black Mask captured you. We got you now. Batman is making sure he doesn't escape.« He whispers back after a moment while he keeps you in his arms. It feels safe again. You can‘t really remember what exactly happened in there, but you are more than grateful that everyone seems to be safe.
He doesn‘t talk much about what happened as well, just savouring the moment of being safe. Once you got into a safe house, he made sure to take care of you as best as he could. A warm bath, patching up your knees and some cuts across you body again. Being as careful as possible, he lets you rest on the bed as he cooks something up in the kitchen.
Somehow, it still feels a little strange. Not able to move your legs much is something you‘ve started to hate only a few moments later.
But at least there‘s always an excuse to be carried around by Jason. He walks in with two plates of steaming soup, setting one of them down onto your lap with a spoon. A small TV plays a random soap opera in front of the bed as you both start to eat together. It‘s warm and filling, having missed his cooking skills and presence.
You end up craddled in his arms as he reads you from some book he still had in the safe house, falling asleep to the familiar lull of his voice. The sleep you get is peaceful and full of rest, getting the perfect amount of rest and comfort in his arms. He also rests plenty, although he mostly looks over you during the night.
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lotus-slumbers · 7 months ago
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Yandere batfamily x addict reader?
Would they exploit and manipulate the reader, making em solely dependent on the family for their fix — either to originally trap them at the manor or continuing to supply em forever, because it makes the reader dependant on them, acting all cuddly and desperate. or would they reform and sober up the reader? Have em go through a whole rehabilitation process style.
Gotham’s not safe for the poor reader, imagine all the villains who’d kill em for the drugs they’re so dependent on? But it’s okay! Because the Wayne’s will protect em. Whether the reader wants them to or not isn’t up for debate.
If you’re uncomfortable with this topic I totally understand. Just send me a message to say pls??
Yandere! Batfam x Addict! Reader Headcannons
Tw: addiction, substance abuse, etc.
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— If there was anything that could accelerate the Batfam abducting adopting their darling sooner, this would be it.
— In their eyes, this is a type of abuse. Abuse from all of those around you and nobody is safe from the pointing of their accusatory finger. Not even those people who truly are innocent and have tried to help.
— You may notice people around you drawing away, avoiding you. Maybe some friends who you used to talk with who shared the same addiction, others a dealer who supplied you.
— Though, you may not notice this at all because they'll work quick.
— The term "self-harm" is thrown around once while discussing your habitual substance abuse and that's it. That's all it takes to make them snap and agree unanimously that, yes, this is for the best. Today is the day, if they have everything completely set up for you or not.
— Within twenty-four hours, you'll be in the manor with your family. Right where you belong.
— Rich people get same-day delivery!! Woohoo!! 🙌 🚚
— Of course, that isn't the only motivator for the Wayne's to take you. As much as it pains them to see you suffering at your own hands, they understand just how well the scum of Gotham can and will hurt you.
— They'll take care of the vermin that supplied and enabled you all the same. They have a duty to Gotham, it was going to happen eventually, just now there might be a little bit more passion to it... They won't tell you about it, though.
— The Batfam would most definitely attempt to nip the problem in the bud, forcing you to go cold turkey immediately.
— Bruce will have everything thought out. He's spent countless hours since learning about your issues researching in depth everything he could possibly need to know.
— They have patches at the ready for you when you start to feel the effects of withdrawal. They have stress balls and plenty of activities to try and keep your mind elsewhere and on other things.
— And eyes on you, always.
— And a bracelet, pressed snuggly against your skin and seemingly impossible to get off, to monitor your health. Reports directly at their fingertips, whenever they want it.
— They want you in the best condition they can have you. Not just physically, but mentally too. Bruce would most likely like to have one-on-one conversations with you, about life before, your transitioning here, and, of course, how you are doing with withdrawal.
— If he thinks you're not doing a good enough job with him, he can always pay for the best help available. With his amount of money, nobody has to know either... So don't think of asking them to help you. You won't be believed or they simply won't do it.
— Bruce, Dick, and Jason would probably be the worse about lecturing you on it. Mention withdrawal to them or any desire to return to what you once had... Oh boy, good luck.
— Bruce would go on and on about your health. How he loves you. Wants what is best for you, even if you cannot see it. A deep look of disappointment and concern behind his eyes. He won't school it, he wants to to see it. Feel it and stop. Grow into the person he knows you can be, with their help. Let him protect you.
— Dick is fairly similar to Bruce in this regard, although he is a little more relaxed, trying to be on your level while also acting as your "older brother," something he takes much pride in. He'll probably baby you more than the others, offering to help find alternatives and promise rewards for your efforts (not that you have much of a choice in the matter).
— Jason, though? Jason Todd, the little boy who grew up on the streets? Watch the lives of those he loved so much be ruined and so cruelly snatched away by these exact things? No way. It hits way too close to home, especially since it's you.
— He's understanding towards you so long as you don't push too far. One mention of wanting it and he's on your ass, telling you off about it. He'll help with withdrawal. He'll help you get over it, be a shoulder to lean on and a friend to laugh with, but, God, don't you dare threaten him like that ever again.
— Tim helps with Bruce and his plans most of all, going through all the little details to help plan out the smoothest way to go about this.
— Damian is pissed that you would even ever do any of this in the first place, berating you in his weakest, more frustrated moments but this reaffirms to him that you need him.
— Really, this reaffirms all of them that, despite any guilt, they may feel for the "crimes" they committed for you, it was the right choice. That their darling needed them, desperately.
— They'll never give up on you, not in your darkest moments or theirs. They love you, through and through, and would give the world to you if only you asked.
— But they'd never, ever let you do that to yourself. Your last high was the last time you would ever, ever be.
— They know they could supply you, that it could be an easy way to control you and gain your love. Love that they are so desperately longing for, wanting to be returned, but they won't do it. They can't do that. Not to you of all people.
— It goes against their very nature, as it would harm you.
— You'll learn to love them eventually. It isn't like there is a real rush. You're not going anywhere at all. They'll take the long, high road.
— Batfam will protect you to their last breath and love you through and through. You don't need to do a thing.
— The only reason they would ever supply you is if they truly had no other options. If you were super-powered in a way they could not find a way to contain or around people they couldn't take you away from. Which is a highly unlikely possibility.
💜 A/n: Sorry that this took me so long to get to. Hopefully, it's not too typo-ridden and you enjoy it!
This is not meant to glorify any type of substance abuse or any type of addiction. This was my first time writing for such so please, if I made a mistake in my handling of the subject, reach out and let me know!
For substance abuse treatment and mental health referrals, contact the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration's (SAMHSA) National Helpline at 1-800-662-HELP (4357).
You are loved beyond measure.
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thebigbadbatswife · 3 months ago
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Sticking Noses Where They Don't Belong
Pairing - Batman x F!Hero!Reader Series - Under Your Skin Previous Part - Internal Conflict
Summary - The batfamily starts to dig into Bruce’s personal life.
Warnings - Mentions of canon typical violence, implied/referenced character death and mention of injuries. If I missed anything, lmk!
Taglist - Taglist at the end of the fic, reminder that this is the only taglist I have. If you would like to be added/removed feel free to message me!
A/N - I know it's been another long break between updates, inspiration has been lacking, but good news is that the next part should be up toward the end of this month or at the very start of next month!
Word Count - 1.6k
Sunlight streamed into the clocktower through the large clockface. Gears turned as the pendulum swung back and forth. The ticking filled the silence that hung over the three people crowded in front of the computer screen. On the screen were a list of different files. All of them included various evidence and documents that pertained to different cases that Bruce had worked on solo. 
They were all alphabetically listed and most of them had a tick next to them. An indication of a successfully closed case. The ones that didn’t either had [OPEN] next to their names, for the ones that were still being actively looked in to. While others had a cross. An indication of a case that had run cold and was no longer a priority, for the time being. All of the cold cases could be counted on one hand because of the effort Bruce had always put into them. Doing his best to make sure no stone was left unturned. Even if that meant weeks or months of sleepless nights and neglecting everything else.
Barbara, as well as Dick and Tim, were familiar with all of them except one. It had been hidden to them at first. It was hiding as a subcategory within one of the completed files. It would have gone completely unnoticed unless someone was purposely looking for it. Which they hadn’t been until Tim had spotted the incredible small arrow.
Within that subcategory was a single folder. It was marked with a bat symbol and had a lock on it. They had already made several attempts to get into the case file. Their final attempt warning them that another failed attempt would send out an alert and lock the system down. 
The only reason they had even gone looking into the folders in the first place was because of Tim. He had seen Superman bring back an unconscious Bruce, stating Harley was the cause for the state that he was in. Several days later, once Bruce was awake and talking, he had overheard the conversation he had shared with Superman. He had been asking about someone. Whoever it was, they had been with him when got injured and that had led him to wondering if there was a case that none of them knew about. 
“What about the case it’s attached to?” Dick asked. “Could there be any connection?”
“Maybe, let’s see,” Barbara replied. She backed out of the subcategory and opened up the file it was attached to. 
Even if they weren’t working closely with Bruce, just the name would have them knowing the exact contents. Everyone in Gotham, and even outside of Gotham, knew. It had circulated in the news and online circles for months. 
CASEFILE - SLAUGHTERHOUSE 
They had all seen a lot of things in their line of work that had made their stomachs churn, but this case was one of the worse. In terms of blood, guts and gore, that was. Describing it as gruesome felt like an understatement.
The night had started with a breakout at Arkham. Joker had been silent for months so, in a way, it had been expected. The months leading up to it being the calm before the storm. And like every time he got out, it had been all hands on deck. 
They had started out by checking all of his usual haunts. As crazy as he was, he still remained a creature of habit. Well, most of the time anyway. And there were a lot of his various safehouses scattered across the city. 
It was in the funhouse in the abandoned amusement park that they had finally found a clue. Signs of a struggle. Blood on the floor, a couple of teeth and a smear of that makeup the clown was so fond of. It hadn’t taken the World’s Greatest Detective to figure out who had attacked him so brazenly. 
Harley Quinn. 
She had vanished shortly after her very, very violent, breakup with Joker. A breakup that had almost taken half the city with it. Bruce had spent months looking for her afterwards, concerned of another attack from her considering her ex was still alive and he was sure she would do whatever she had to in order to lure him out.
By the time that Bruce had found out where she was headed with him, it had been too late. At the exact moment that he had run into the slaughterhouse, Harley had shoved Joker into the one of the machines. Over the sounds of the machines running, his screams had been heard, echoing through the building until they fell silent for good.
Harley had managed to escape and disappear while Bruce had emptied his stomach of what little he had eaten before the news of the Arkham breakout. But not before she had made a mess of the Gotham Zoo in order to steal the two hyenas kept there. 
No one had seen her since. Well, until a few days ago when Clark had brought back an unconscious and injured Bruce and Diana had dropped off an unconscious Harley, right on Arkham’s doorstep. While the hyenas had been sent to a sanctuary. 
“We know that Harley’s involved with whatever is on that file. The question is who was with Bruce? It wasn’t Clark or Diana. He wouldn’t ask for their help with dealing with Harley and we know, from the conversation Tim overheard, that he wasn’t by himself. So who was with him?” Dick said, thinking aloud. 
They stood there for a while, trying to think of who could have been with him that night. All they had was a long list of people he wouldn’t work with outside of League duties, for various reasons and excuses. 
“What about one of the League’s newest member?” Tim piped up. “You know, the last set of people they inducted in. It’s been a while since they last did it so the list shouldn’t be too long.” 
“It’s worth a shot,” Dick agreed.
Tim had been correct. The list wasn’t very long. A total of six people had joined during the last induction. Atom. Black Lightning. Doctor Fate. Blue Beetle. Zatanna. And you.
Your file stood out amongst the rest. It was completely neutral. Just facts. None of the comments or remarks or observations that Bruce usually included. It was completely devoid of them. Which was suspicious. Really suspicious. 
It wasn’t the only thing that stood you. There was no personal details anywhere. Not even a remark about your identity, like he had once done during his early years and had first met Selina or run into Riddler. In the boxes that should have had that information there was just question marks. It didn’t even look like there was an attempt to look into you and find out who you were. Which didn’t sound like Bruce at all. Not with his level of paranoia. Especially when it came to strangers. And even more so when those strangers were being considered for the Justice League.
Dick quirked an eyebrow and leant forward onto the desk, as if that would show him something that wasn’t there. The only information there was were the things that you had done before and after joining the League and your skill set. So it wasn’t like he had forgotten to upload things to the secure cloud that Barbara’s system and the Batcomputer shared. 
“Unless he saved the rest of the information locally, this doesn’t make any sense,”  Barbara muttered.
As they got to the very end of the file, there was one tiny that only served to confuse them further. 
Would make a good addition to the Justice League.
“He never does something without a reason. Even if it’s a really bad reason,” Tim trailed off. If there was one thing that Bruce was good at, it was making bad decisions and backing them up with an even worse defence.
With their search through Bruce’s files ending in what they had all considered to be somewhat of a failure, Dick decided to grab his suit and headed for the Watchtower. Maybe he would find some answers there. Or he would just end up with more questions. That was a running theme when it came to Bruce. 
The Watchtower was quiet for the most part. The only Leaguers he ran into were Red Tornado and Hal. He thought about asking them before deciding against it. The last thing that he needed was for it to get back to Bruce about what he and the others were up to. That would certainly bring their investigation to an end if it did.
As Dick was headed toward where he knew Bruce’s lab was, he overheard a couple of voices. Bruce’s and a woman’s. They were hushed. Doing their best to not be overheard. They were also muffled thanks to the closed door. Which made it impossible to make out what was being said.
He continued to creep along the hallway, while also doing his best to not look super suspicious at the same time. He froze when the door opened. You walked out with Bruce at your side. The pace was a slow one. The way that you were holding your side showed that you were very clearly injured. Bruce stayed close to you. Not close enough that he was touching you, but close enough that if you stumbled or something he could easily catch you long before you hit the floor.
Dick watched as the two of you walked down the hallway and he decided to head back the way that he had come from. He still had more questions than answers, but if Bruce caught on to their little investigation they wouldn’t get any answers full stop. For now, he could at least report his findings to the others and they could continue digging deeper at a later date.
*
Taglist - @the-last-twin-of-krypton @bakugous-bakahoe @fromfoolishpeopletodeadpeople @little-rivers @callalily2000 @geminicinderella @theclassicvinyldragon @aniya7 @bluebear19 @jdream55 @x-ratedhimbo @sketchiethebear @wandalfnation
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batchilla · 6 months ago
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Chapter One - Till Death Do Us Part
Till death do us part. The words swim in Jason’s mind as he lays in bed beside you, the wedding band heavy on his finger, a once comforting weight now seeming to burn, as though the metal of your shared promise made manifest was burning the very flesh of his hand, stoked by a fire of guilt and worry. 
Till death do us part. 
Sometimes, he had wondered how he got so lucky, how you could be so foolish as to pick him. 
He was scared, he was broken, he had done terrible things. He didn’t deserve anyone as good as you. As kind. As … forgiving. He might have deserved you once - he had met you a lifetime ago, a bright eyed boy wonder still growing into his mantle as Robin, a teenage Jason Todd so sure he could change the world, because he was Robin, and Robin made him magic, a force for the better. Maybe that version of him deserved you. But that boy is long dead. 
Till death do us part. 
Except you hadn’t. He had died. You were parted. Yet when he came back, there you were. Reaching out a hand of love and understanding as soon as you knew who he (as the Red Hood) was. Batman - No, it was a personal, emotional call - Bruce. Bruce had called you in, because if anyone could help pull him out of the spiral he’d been in, you could. You did. You didn’t save him - no one person did. His family did, and he did. 
Till death do us part.
You were family, he’d realised. His rock. His best friend. A title that felt utterly shallow compared to what you were to him. Roy became his best friend… and you his world. His family. You were more than just his girlfriend… and after a proposal on the snowy grounds of Wayne manor on christmas morning, his fiance, and then his wife… Until the day the doctor confirmed your pregnancy, you had made up the whole of his world, which only grew when little Mary was born. 
Till death do us part. 
You’d always known the risks. Even when you were kids, when he was still Robin, rescuing you every few weeks when your mothers position as a judge got you in hot water, you had been aware of how much worse falling for him could make things for you, and you had fallen regardless.  You knew when you first held his hand and kissed his cheek, first been spotted by the Gotham paparazzi with a Wayne, first helped stitch him back together after a patrol gone wrong, you knew the risks. To him, and to you. You might be used against him. He might not come home one day. 
Till death do us part.
Jason turns to his side, watching you sleep. You looked so happy. So peaceful. You looked like you knew you were safe - and you were. He’d die again before anyone touched you. Either of you. 
He stands, slowly and quietly, so as not to wake you as he creeps down the hall to the nursery, where Mary lays sleeping. The room is glowing faintly green from the glow in the dark decals on the wall, and the unicorn nightlight by the bed illuminates her sleeping face. He doesn’t lift her out of the tiny, child size bed - she was a light sleeper, and given she was rather energetic, getting her to sleep again would be difficult, as tempting as it was to hold her in his arms, never to let go. 
He’d cried when you told him, and when he held her for the first time - and quite a few subsequent times. She had grown so much, and yet she was still so small. So small. A sad smile comes to Jason’s face. His little cherub… his baby girl… he’d never, ever forgive himself for what happened today.  
Till death do us part. You both had wanted this. He had wanted a family with you. In his dreams, Mary would be the first of at least three. Maybe when they were older they’d take up their own mantles - maybe they’d live normal lives. He’d adore them regardless. He’d watch his kids thrive as he didn’t get to until Bruce. He’d be the father he never had, loving and attentive, and thanks to his … previous extra legal activity and Bruce’s habit of spending his billions irresponsibly when it came to his kids, they’d want for nothing.  You’d move to a city a little safer for raising kids.  He’d retire the Red Hood when you both got older and you insisted, protesting, but secretly glad to finally be able to spend his evenings curled up by the fire with you. Maybe he’d write a book. Maybe he’d get a dog. There were a dozen maybes that were each as lovely as the last, but the only certainty he’d known for this beautiful future he’d dreamt up is you’d be at his side. 
Till death do us part, afterall. He’d meant his vow, just as you had meant yours.
Today, that had changed. Roman Sionis had changed it. It had been a standard patrol, when a man in a dark suit approached. Best Jason could tell, which really meant the best Oracle could tell, was the man was a PI, a civilian. That plausible deniability on whether or not he truly understood who exactly had paid him was the only reason he was still breathing. It had been a close call. 
The man had handed Jason an envelope, inside it a blurry photograph. 
It was you, sitting near the window of the penthouse apartment Bruce had given Jason and you as a wedding gift, feeding Mary. A message scrawled in black ink on the back lists your name, your place of work, and a musing that it would be a terrible thing for an example to be made out of a pair of innocents if the Red Hood couldn’t stop sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. 
Jason still wanted that life. Roman Sionis had made it clear it could never be. 
He’d kill him. Code be damned, no one threatens his wife and child. 
But that would take time, time where you and Mary would be in danger. 
 You had known the risks, on one level. Both of you had. But when it became real, no longer theoretical…
Staring down at his sleeping daughter, Jason makes a choice.
The next morning when he drops Mary off with Alfred at the manor, so he knows she’s safe, and so that you too can properly talk, without needing to worry about her while you have what is surely to be the worst morning of either of your lives. “Thrilled as I am to see the young miss,” Alfred says, taking the bottle bag, Diaper bag, stroller, cuddly robin toy and the child that bears his mothers name, handling the sudden handoff with deft proficiency, “Might I suggest master todd that if you and Ms Todd wish for alone time you kindly call ahead?” On another day he might have laughed, but not today. 
His shoulders slump ever so slightly, and he shakes his head. “Not exactly that kind of alone time Pennyworth.”
Seeing the look on Jason's face, Alfred quickly hands little Mary off to a passing Cass, ushering Jason into the kitchen and pressing a cup of tea into his hands. “What’s happened lad?” It rushes out of him like word vomit, like bile forcing its way up his throat as he recounts it all. 
The photo. Roman. The threat. As long as you are with him, as long as he is in Mary’s life, as long as Roman Sionis is alive, you can never be safe. How he needs to divorce you, and how he needs Bruce’s help, Barbra's help, hell, Dick’s help, everyone's help, to make the story convincing enough for Roman, and how he has no idea how the fuck he’s going to tell you. 
He hopes desperately to be scolded that he’s being dramatic. For Alfred to say something pompous about how he’d be a fool to do this. The way Alfred instead rises from his seat at the table and pulls him into a hug, is the final nail in the coffin for that hope, as Jason cries into his grandfather’s shoulder. 
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magnoliasandarson · 4 days ago
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a sleigh of sorts
Dick wasn’t religious, he didn’t care for capitalism (even though he kept claiming billionaires for family), but he was absolutely determined to embody the Christmas spirit. Dick had to make things right- and to do that, he had to abduct his siblings. 
He wasn’t doing this for selfish reasons, even if it might sound like this was for him. His siblings deserved a break; they deserved to feel loved and important. He owed them that. The gifts sitting on the floor in front of Tim’s legs were only part of the equation. Rounding them all up and being together was the much bigger part. 
So maybe he was driving like a maniac through empty Gotham streets because Duke was walking alone in the dark on Christmas Eve. Sure, Duke’s an extremely capable hero, but Dick’s his big brother. It’s his job to worry. He worries about all of them, which is why he has a screen fixed above his radio displaying their real-time locations on a grid map of Gotham. 
Tim had stared for all of five seconds at the tracking display before wisely deciding to drop it (Dick knew the younger had his own trackers), instead choosing to rapid-fire question the elder to determine the reason behind his new mentality, “Did Kori bring you weird candy again?”
Dick swung the pickup through a narrow corner, laughing when Tim muttered shit and reached for the handle above him, “Tim! Timmy! Timmers,” he turned down the best of the 80s channel just enough to be heard, “This is the holiday spirit! Get with it!” 
He was so tired of the family being so dark and miserable; they were a family, they loved each other, and they could be happy for ten minutes. Was it so hard to believe that Dick wanted to be with his family?
Tim shifted so his back was against the door and fixed him with a look, lips barely forming get with it as he processed what was happening. Even if the younger was actively doubting his sanity, Dick was quietly ecstatic that Tim was even slightly playing along. It meant he didn’t hate him as much as Dick feared he did. Maybe there was still a shot at them being close again. 
Without drawing attention to it, Dick reached forward and turned the dial on the heat up. He knew that Tim would be pissed if Dick asked him if he was cold, but he also knew that without a spleen, a cold could be a lot worse for Tim than the next person. He felt his brother’s eyes on his face but chose to keep staring ahead. If Tim wanted to talk, he would. Pushing with Tim never worked; Dick knew from pushing and fucking things up countless times. 
Instead, Dick loudly sang along to Princes of the Universe by Queen while speeding hazardously toward the yellow dot on his map. Sue him, but he color-coded his siblings. Not like Bruce hadn’t done it first. 
Tim finally snapped, slapping the dial on the radio to silence it before demanding, “Why are you trying so hard?” A glance away from the road showed Dick that Tim’s body language was completely closed off, posturing like they had all been trained to do during interrogations. 
Dick pursed his lips; he didn’t want to be mad- he couldn’t be mad at Tim for not trusting him to have good intentions. He had screwed up enough with the younger over the years, but he desperately wanted to make amends. He just needed Tim to accept the olive branch for what it was, “Because you deserve it,” Dick tightened his grip on the steering wheel until his knuckles popped, “this family is beyond messed up, but it’s a family. You’re my brother- and that means something to me, Tim.”
Tim stared for maybe a minute, eyes dark and shining in the low light of the truck cab, before nodding once and turning the dial on the radio up, the loud sounds of I Wanna Dance With Somebody filling the now-heavy air. 
Despite the tension hanging between them, Dick did what he knew to do, what all older siblings are obligated to do. He loudly sang along, putting his chest into every high note he could not reach. Even though Tim was definitely still dealing with emotional turmoil of his own, Dick caught him struggling not to smile at a spectacularly missed note. 
“There!” Tim interrupted, gesturing out the windshield at Duke, standing frozen on the darkened sidewalk, staring bewildered at the hurtling pickup blasting Whitney Houston. His jaw dropped when it screeched to a halt directly in front of him.
“Heya, Dukey, wanna hop in?” Dick grinned as he turned the radio down. 
Duke’s bewildered face soured at the nickname, “What-”
Tim cut him off as he leaned out the window, “C’mon, Dukey, it’s Christmas. Get with it.” 
Dick felt his face burn with how wide his smile grew, his brother was humoring him, but he was having fun. He knew it. The plan was working.
Duke’s eyebrows furrowed aggressively as he and Tim had some sort of eye conversation that Dick wasn’t privy to before he shrugged, “Getting with it,” and hopped into the back seat. 
The truck tires squealed as they took off, “Welcome aboard, Duke!” Dick turned the dial back up on the radio and started speeding to the purple and pink dots, “We’re on a mission to save Christmas; you in?”
Tim twisted in his seat to face the back, “Just say yes; otherwise, he gets emotional.”
“It’s true!”
Duke laughed, loud and bright, “Yeah, of course I’m in!” 
Dick eyed his newest brother in the rearview, watching as he immediately clocked the blood-staining Tim’s shirt. It was funny listening to Tim bitch at someone else for being concerned. It was even funnier watching Duke smack Tim on the back of the head for “being a spleenless jerk with no self-preservation or decency to let other people be concerned about you.”  People forget, but Duke was a poet. It made for hilarious arguments.
The trio sped down the mostly empty streets, and Dick felt lighter than he’d felt in a long time. He had some of his siblings with him- and they wanted to be there. They were going to go pick up Steph and Cass, ambush Jason before he could skip town, and coerce Jason into feeding them while watching holiday episodes of crime shows. 
Easy enough, they were Robins, after all. 
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