#typical jason things.

[necrotic-nephilim]

"I think you need a little something to remind you of who you belong to." - JayTim

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

god this one is so good. this idea just. sat in my brain goo for days until i had the time to write it. this takes place like. right around Search For A Hero and before Battle for the Cowl, i would say, with dead Bruce and all, but before Red Robin. very fucked up one-sided feelings bc Jason is Jason and i love him. it's like 3.6k words and my partner edited it for me so. enjoy <3

It took Tim longer than it should’ve to notice the change.

With Bruce gone, Gotham was in upheaval.

No matter how much Tim did, there was always more. A new villain to fight, a new gang to take down, a new murder to solve. Gotham knew that the Batman was gone, for good this time.

Which meant they knew someone, something, could kill Batman.

That made Tim the fresh meat to go after. If the Batman could be killed, it shouldn’t be any harder to take down his Robin. Tim knew that every villain would want a piece of him and he had to prove himself. And for a while, he did. Tim was personally targeted by rogues, ready to be the Joker to his Robin.

Then it changed.

No one was pulling their punches, necessarily. But there was a change. Gangs that once had no problem facing Tim down were running in the opposite direction. Rogues gave up too easily, with an amount of fear in their eyes that didn’t quite match Tim’s reputation.

He should’ve noticed it sooner.

Tim knew something was wrong, at least. But he’d been so slow to notice it; now he was scrambling for answers. He’d interrogated half a dozen thugs and none of them gave him anything. Tim used every trick Bruce had taught him and still. He had nothing. It was just confirmation that they were hiding something. He was missing something, and he had nothing to show for it.

It reminded Tim of how the tide receded right before a tsunami- a quiet, deadly calm rolled over Gotham.

Someone was pulling strings. Someone was going right over Tim’s head, probably planning a big attack to sweep Tim undertow to drown in the chaos. And Tim didn’t have a single lead.

Waiting was always the worst part.

And still, the fires in Gotham burned. Whatever was going on kept getting pushed to the back burner so Tim could stop everything from human trafficking rings to street muggings. He knew he was stretched too thin, too exhausted to hold himself up.

It was a matter of time before Tim got pulled into a merciless riptide.

He just didn’t expect it to be in some grimy alley, losing a fight to a second-rate mob that jumped him.

Tim should’ve gone back to the Batcave when his shoulder got dislocated an hour ago by Harley Quinn instead of just setting it and carrying on.

He should’ve called for backup an hour before that, when he had to face all the Gotham Sirens on his own, leading to the chase with Harley in the first place.

And he definitely should’ve stayed home from patrol altogether, with ribs that were still cracked from a run-in with Solomon Grundy less than a week ago.

But Tim didn’t do any of that. Because if he was going to carry on any part of Bruce’s legacy, it was this: fighting until his body gave out under him.

Tim just hoped if this mob killed him, they wouldn’t dump his body somewhere embarrassing.

Though it was starting to look less like if, and more like when. Tim didn’t like to be pessimistic in a fight. There was always something more to do, one final trick to pull out of his arsenal. Just like Bruce taught him.

This time, though. Tim wasn’t so sure about that.

There was blood in his mouth. Blood in his eyes. He could barely stand, let alone hold his bo staff. It took every ounce of worn-out effort to block the endless blows raining down on his battered body, let alone try to punch back.

Tim always figured he’d meet a violent end.

He wasn’t sure where his comm link had skittered off to. It got knocked out of his ear under a particularly vicious blow to the head, cutting Tim off from any hope of backup. He was in this one alone.

Someone kneed Tim in his already brutalized ribs. He doubled over and groaned, falling to the ground.

He needed to get back up.

Tim’s arms were too shaky to support his weight. He just collapsed again. A steel-toed boot was raised above his head, ready to come down. Tim just closed his eyes and covered his head as best he could with his hands. Better broken fingers than a broken skull.

The boot never connected.

Instead, Tim heard gunfire.

He knew some of the men had guns, but this was a different kind of gunfire. The automatic kind, coming from a different direction. All Tim could do was watch with wide eyes as his attackers started to drop like flies tinged with red.

The ones who managed to survive the first volley of bullets were scrambling around, yelling at each other in a foreign language. Russian, maybe? It was hard for Tim to tell with his head swimming from blood loss, eardrums pulsing to the infernal beat.

From the darkness, a figure jumped down, landing in front of Tim, holding an automatic rifle over their shoulder. Tim blinked hard, trying to make out who it was.

“I only gave you miserable fucks one rule,” a cold voice growled. “Who wants to remind me what it was?”

Damnit. Tim knew that voice.

He was beyond screwed.

All the men froze. Stuttered apologies and pleas came out of half of them, messy and incoherent. They all sounded positively terrified, cowering in front of the figure.

“We didn’t know it was-”

“-just wanted to scare him-”

“He came to our territory first-”

“-but we weren’t going to kill him-”

Jason Todd fired a few shots into the sky, silencing all of them. Tim swallowed a mouthful of blood, his own heart reverberating against copper-stained teeth.

“I asked what the rule was,” Jason repeated slowly. He cracked his neck and pulled a knife off his belt, flipping it around for show.

One of the men was brave enough to step forward. “No one’s allowed to touch Robin. Sir.”

Tim’s breath caught in his throat.

What the hell?

Jason nodded slowly. “And last I checked-” he made a show of turning back to look at Tim. Under the helmet, Tim couldn’t begin to guess Jason’s intentions. “-there’s only one kid with a big R on his chest fighting with a bo staff. I was being pretty generous with all of you. Protection from the cops, from other gangs. All for one fucking rule.”

“Why are you protecting him, anyway? Vigilante freaks cause us nothing but problems-”

The man’s yelling was abruptly cut off by the bang of Jason’s gun and his brains splattering across the alleyway. A smear of pink landed on his bo staff; there was no coming back from that one.

“I guess I should’ve had two rules. No touching Robin and no asking questions,” Jason hummed lazily, as if he hadn’t just taken a man’s life. He shrugged. “I’ll add it to the tab.” He reloaded the gun.

Tim grabbed Jason’s ankle. “Don’t…” he coughed up a mouthful of blood, “don’t kill them.” It was pathetic. He could hold his own in a fight against Jason. He had before. But now, Tim couldn’t even stand and was left with barely enough strength to even grab Jason.

Like shooing away an insolent child, Jason pulled his leg free and clicked his tongue at Tim. “I’ll get to you in a second. Wait your turn.”

Then, he let loose. And there was nothing Tim could do but watch in horror.

Jason tore through every single one of the men like paper. their bodies dropped one by one because instead of the gun, Jason jumped in with his knife. For the fun of the fight, Tim guessed. Because it definitely sounded like Jason was enjoying himself, flipping through the crowd and throwing out a vile quip now and then.

In seconds, it was over. A pile of bodies with Jason as the indisputable victor, wiping his bloody knife off on his jacket. He walked over to Tim, perfectly casual.

Maybe he was saving Tim for the finale, to be killed by Jason’s own hand around his neck. That was the only reason Tim could think of for Jason being the reason rogues had pulled back so much over the past few weeks. Jason wanted Tim’s blood for himself, so he could make some kind of statement out of killing Robin. Or something like that, anyway.

“Up we go,” Jason said with a grunt, leaning over to Tim up like a sack of potatoes. Tim was hauled up with Jason’s hands under his armpits, then tossed over Jason’s shoulder, with an arm supporting him around his thighs.

At least the dead bodies couldn’t judge Tim for how utterly embarrassing he must’ve looked.

“Put me down,” Tim tried to say, but the words were so slurred they sounded like one long syllable. His head was spinning. Tim had heard of double vision, but never triple. Was that a bad sign??

“It’s pronounced thank you, actually,” Jason said, walking off with Tim in tow. Each step made all of Tim’s injuries feel far worse and he hissed, uselessly trying to claw at Jason’s back, the material of his gloves squeaking pathetically. “As in, thank you for saving my sorry ass, Red Hood.”

“Fuck you,” Tim sputtered. He was getting blood all over Jason’s jacket and it was the only thing he could see, as his vision got more tunneled by the second. “Where are you…” everything hurt and consciousness was slipping away from Tim.

Jason said something. Tim didn’t hear it. His hands went slack, followed by the rest of Tim’s body.

His last coherent thought was a long string of expletives cursing Jason Todd out.

It took over a liter of blood to stabilize Tim. Stitches on his arm, stomach, and forehead littered his battered body. He was still unconscious on Jason’s coffee table, with a makeshift IV drip giving him fluids, stripped down to his boxers.

Jason was torn between being supremely pissed off at Tim getting jumped and being sickly fascinated by the sight of Tim being bruised and bloody. Perfectly laid out for Jason.

Maybe he should’ve thanked that Russian mob before killing them.

Jason knew it was just a matter of time before that mob caused him issues. They were no real loss to his empire. He was lucky he caught them in the act before it was too late.

One simple rule and some idiots went out of their way to ignore it.

Tim was Jason’s meat and no one else’s. Jason hadn’t been ready to mark his territory yet. This sped up his plan. There were so many steps Jason had to skip to save Tim. He had been waiting for Gotham’s trust in Robin to grow secure and rooted down, putting Tim on top of the world. Then a new Batman would step up, probably Dick. It’d leave Tim aimless and vulnerable, quickly forgotten by his city the moment they had someone in a Batsuit to worship instead.

And that was supposed to be the moment Jason swooped in and claimed Tim. Protecting him from all the big mean supervillains who were salivating for Tim’s blood that Jason had been holding back for so long.

He would be Tim’s fucking savior.

But a no-name Russian mob had to go and screw it up. Leaving Jason sitting on his couch, feet propped up on the same coffee table Tim was sprawled out on. Every now and then Jason nudged Tim with his boot, just to check how out cold he really was.

The latest boot nudge to Tim’s hip actually got him to stir.

Tim groaned, trying to move. His attempt to sit up failed pretty spectacularly. His arm gave out and he slipped, head loudly bonking on the coffee table. With the concussion he definitely had, that had to hurt like hell. Jason smirked, lighting a cigarette. Another pretty groan out of Tim’s mouth before he managed to open his eyes, blinking hard to adjust to his surroundings.

Jason didn’t rush him. He just watched as Tim looked around the safehouse, craning his neck. He ran his hands over his body, feeling the neat bandage work. Finally, his eyes settled on Jason, widening slightly. Jason could see the wheels turning in Tim’s bright mind, remembering what had happened.

Tim opened and closed his mouth a few times, presumably trying to decide where to start. Jason took a long drag and blew the smoke in the direction of Tim’s face, making him cough.

“Why?” Tim finally said. His voice sounded a little raw.

Jason arched an eyebrow, playing innocent. “Why what?”

“You know what,” Tim snapped. He gestured to himself. “Why are you… doing this? Telling everyone I’m off limits and…”

“And saving you?” Jason finished, earning him a lethal glare. About as lethal as a kicked puppy could be, anyway. Jason snorted and shrugged. “Because I can.” No point in sharing a plan that was all fucked up.

“I don’t need your help,” Tim said through gritted teeth. He tried to sit up, slower this time. He still didn’t manage it.

Jason stared at him. “I’m sorry, would you have preferred Nightwing scrap what was left of you off the pavement after those asshats were through with you?”

“I can fight my own battles.”

“And lose them too. Clearly.”

An angry noise came out of Tim’s throat. “Did you just want to save me for yourself, or something?” Tim prodded, fist clenched at his side.

“Probably not in the way you’re thinking,” Jason said. He flicked ashes off of his cigarette onto Tim’s skin, pulling a hiss out of him.

Tim frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Figure it out yourself. Isn’t detective work your whole thing?” Jason made a show of adjusting how he was sitting on the couch as if he was getting comfortable. He moved to prop his feet up on Tim’s leg, one of the few places on his body that wasn’t covered in injuries. Using him like a little footstool.

Oh, that really pissed Tim off. Jason grinned wickedly, watching Tim try and fail to pull himself free. There wasn’t much weight on his leg, but he was still too weak to get his body to cooperate, leaving him to sluggishly struggle.

Tim’s face twisted. “If you think you could convince me to be your sidekick, you’re out of your mind.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a lap dog, actually,” Jason tilted his head back. “Much more submissive and obedient, that way.” He didn’t hide the obvious innuendo in his voice.

Tim recoiled. “Very funny.”

“I’m dead serious,” Jason shot back. “I don’t kill for just anyone.” Contrary to popular belief, murder was purposeful, with Jason. If he killed a lot of people, it was for a specific reason. It was a careful image of the unstable madman to make people fear him. But in reality, it was all planned. Every single body in the grave was carefully counted.

“You’re psychotic if you think I’d ever… submit to you.” Tim’s mouth twisted just having to say the words, utterly disgusted by them.

Jason scoffed. “I think there’s a misunderstanding here, Drake.” He pulled a butterfly knife out of his pocket, flipping it open. “You already belong to me. Every criminal in Gotham knows you’re mine. You’re alive because I’ve allowed it. You’re protected because I called for it. It’s a done fucking deal.” He took his feet off of Tim’s leg and brought them to the floor so he could lean up close to Tim’s pale face. “Understood?”

Like a perfectly rational person, Tim tried to headbutt Jason.

Jason pulled back, more for Tim’s sake than his own. He caught Tim’s head with his hand, forcing it back down on the table.

“I didn’t ask for your protection,” Tim hissed, breathing hard. “You can go to hell, Jason. I can handle this city just fine on my own.”

“I don’t really care if you can or not.” Jason pressed the knife to Tim’s throat, a dangerous warning against any more stupid attempts to fight Jason. “You can be Robin all you want. You can crawl back home to that disgusting cave and play house with all the other bats. I don’t give a shit how you live your life, Drake. So long as you know you’re mine at the end of the day-” he shrugged- “we can take all this slow. I was planning to anyway.”

“You were planning to…” Tim echoed, turning the words over as it sank in for him. “You were planning… what? To make me fall in love with you or something?”

Jason gave another nonchalant shrug. “If that’s how you want to dumb it down, sure.” The plan was far more sophisticated than that. Jason didn’t just need Tim to love him. He needed Tim to crave Jason, need him down to the marrow, and dedicate himself wholly to Jason. Be by Jason’s side as a strategist and partner.

They would get there eventually. Soon Tim would see and understand things from Jason’s perspective. His approach just needed to be a little more head-on.

More fun for Jason in the long run.

It was hard to read Tim’s expression. Maybe Jason was too hopeful to believe there could be some kind of arousal or intrigue there, but he could at least tell there wasn’t nearly as much anger as he expected.

Nor was there any disgust.

For a split second, anyway. Then Tim seemed to snap back to reality, trying to pull away from Jason and the knife.

“Over my dead body,” Tim said with as much venom as it seemed like he could muster.

“You know, I’ll do you a favor, Drake.” Jason lifted one leg over the table so he could sit on Tim’s midsection, making him yell in pain. Jason was a heavy son of a bitch, and his body weight did no favor for Tim’s sore ribs.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tim tried to shove Jason’s chest. He looked a little panicked, like a caged animal.

“I think,” Jason dragged out the words, just for show, “you need a little something to remind you of who you belong to. So I’ll be nice, to make sure you don’t forget it.”

He grabbed Tim’s jaw and jerked his head to the side. Tim cried out and tried to get away. He hit Jason in the chest as hard as he could. Which given his current state, was about the same as being smacked by a toddler.

“You should probably stay still if you don’t want a knife in your eye,” Jason warned. He lifted the blade and pressed it into Tim’s cheek, going deep enough to scar.

He didn’t even have to think about it. Jason knew exactly what he was doing the moment he pressed the blade to Tim’s skin.

A mark that anyone would recognize.

A mark just like the one Jason had been given, years ago.

The letter J could stand for a lot of things. And right now, it stood for marking Tim as Jason’s territory.

Jason dragged the knife down and curled it upward. Then he went in for the second cut, dragging across Tim’s cheek.

Tim had the sense to stay perfectly still while the blade moved. Pained noises came out of his throat and he was giving Jason a death stare, but he stayed still.

A perfectly obedient lap dog.

Jason hummed in satisfaction when his work was done. He flicked the knife closed and slipped it back into his belt, watching fresh blood pour down Tim’s face.

Now they matched.

For good measure, Jason bent over and pressed a kiss against the cut, holding his lips there and feeling Tim’s breath on his skin.

Jason pulled away, licking the blood off his mouth. His first time tasting Tim. It definitely wouldn’t be the last.

“I’m going to kill you,” Tim bit the words out through grit teeth.

Jason just smiled. “Don’t you have pesky bat morals about that?” He climbed off Tim, flicking more ashes onto Tim’s skin from the cigarette that had stayed between Jason’s fingers the whole time. He lifted it to his lips, breathing in. “Your suit is over there.” Jason gestured vaguely to the heaped pile of Tim’s suit.

“You’re-” Tim sputtered on his words. “You’re just going to let me leave?”

“I told you,” Jason hummed, wandering toward his fridge, “you can go live your life. I don’t care. You’ll crawl back to me when I want you to.”

“Like hell.” A loud grunt came from Tim and Jason looked over his shoulder, watching Tim slowly move. Every inch looked painful for Tim, but slowly, he managed to get his stiff joints to obey him.

All while Jason watched, offering absolutely no help.

Tim got dressed with a lot of swearing and groans of pain, occasionally shooting Jason a dirty look. He put a small bandage on his cheek, then limped away, leaving behind the shreds of his dignity.

Jason just smiled, finishing his cigarette and stubbing it out on the floor with his heel.

Tim would be back. He would make damn sure of it.

[superbat-lmao]

Jason Todd gets blown up, resurrected, and after regaining his skills and control from Talia, goes back to Gotham and goes back to school. He leaves vigilantism entirely.

He’s taking literature and philosophy classes and just about anything to do with writing.

He makes friends, he’s on his way to normalcy.

And then he sees an opening for an opinion writer for the school newspaper.

Clark Kent gets sent the same newspaper article to read in both his civilian and superhero personas. If that’s not concerning, he doesn’t know what it.

It’s an opinion article on the state of vigilantism and hero work by a student in the next town over. And it’s a problem.

Because it’s good, too good. It feels like someone had sat in the watchtower during those first few months where everyone had been trying to work out how to function with so many different stances on morality and ethics. Should any of them really be doing this? What were the lines they couldn’t cross? If we’re working outside the law, what moral credibility do we have otherwise to justify our actions?

And sure, Clark’s written more than a few pieces criticizing Superman, but there’s a point to that. He has his own reasons. This kid, well, Clark isn’t sure of their reasons exactly. Because his gut reaction is thinking this kid is just making heroes and vigilantes look bad.

And there’s a reason that all of his and Bruce’s debates on ethics happen behind closed doors. Because to be self critical is to try and prevent hubris, but to allow public criticism at this level is to lose the faith of the public.

So Clark is torn. Because if he responds, he gives credibility to what could remain a largely unknown article. And if he doesn’t, he can’t control the reaction of other people start responding to it.

He’ll have to talk to Bruce.

[rmbunnie]

March's Batman and Robin promo says Damian is going to talk with Jason, which will result in "a subsequent demystifying of what it means to be Robin, [which] has left [Damian] questioning his place." Damian's current conflict is about failing to protect this little girl from an accident, feeling like his work as Robin isn't having an impact, and Bruce not connecting with him about it. With this in mind, like, are they gonna talk about Gloria? ...I'm going with no, but it would be pretty cool.

[kittykatninja321]

controversially I do think that the under the red hood comic ending is a solid answer to “how do you get Batman to kill someone without breaking him as a character”

[glitter-stained]

Oh hey check that out:

This is from BoP(1999) #34

Fanon invention my ass

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

Why are people who look at comic books from a “critical real-world lens” so obsessed with identifying the one person who is “100% right”. That doesn’t even exist in the real world.

Lost Days wasn’t made to protest global issues. It is a comic book exploring fictional character Jason’s mental journey after being resurrected and regaining consciousness against his will and/or power. Now how dare this character, in his own story where he has his own personal objective, not go out of his way to make sure each individual child from the collective hundreds he saved from traffickers and the likes gets adopted into nice homes. Obviously we have to disregard any good he did or that he cares at all because all he did was kill the fucker at the top who was responsible. Winick also never fleshed out all 42 of the trafficked children into nuanced characters with their own thoughts and feelings which was apparently neglectful lol.

In regards to utrh, Idk what this person read but there were more drug dealers Jason didn’t kill than those he did. Not once did he ever say he wanted to eliminate the flow of drugs in the community. He took over the trade. Not to mention he explicitly stated control vs elimination is where his goals differed from Bruce’s pipe dream hence why he’s successful and Bruce is still failing. Obviously if you completely misunderstand the character’s motivations you’ll find issues that don’t exist.

People just don’t want stories to be about what they are about, huh.

[neanderthyall]

Finished rereading the lost hero and it was certainly a book. Its weird because it follows the riordan formula pretty well and yet i was so underwhelmed for the most part. Like Jason is afraid of letting people down but it doesnt really amount to anything. Leo is... like that. Piper cant stop being Not Like Other Girls and also dragging out the keeping the truth from her friends plot until the last possible second like... girl pls just tell them about ur dad

[plethorawrites]

I’m kinda curious as to how the batboys would react with a partner that randomly compliments them (like really sweet and sappy things too, “you’re so pretty, I love how smart your are, you’re perfect,” etc.) + refers to them as Boyfriend, no name, just Boyfriend

Like the reader would be all “hey! This is Boyfriend,” while holding onto him.

Ahhh, I love this concept!! (I only did part of it, but please let me know if you want the other part!)

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

Bruce: Would be very confused at first because he's always used to his partners introducing him as Bruce Wayne. And he always knew they did it so people realized their partner was dating a billionaire. He'd expect it from you, like with everyone, but then you simply introduced him as your boyfriend. Alright, that was strange. He assumed it was because it was just your coworkers he met and you didn't care much what they thought. Then it happened with your friends and your parents and each time you introduced him to someone, not as Bruce Wayne the billionaire, but simply your boyfriend, he felt his heart clench a little. His wealth or status hadn't won your heart, he had.

---

Dick: When you don't introduce him by his name the first time he meets your friends, he says nothing about it. He assumes it was a one off. But no. You kept calling him that, barely saying his name at all, if ever. It was always "Oh, my boyfriend likes that restaurant too!" And "Actually, my boyfriend has an early day tomorrow, we'll pass." He soon realized it was your own subtle jealousy showing. You called him your boyfriend every chance you got because you didn't want a single one of your friends looking at him for too long, let alone any strangers getting the idea they had a chance. He was a bit proud, honestly. He found it adorable how you'd drag his arm around his waist to emphasize your point.

---

Jason: He feared love more than anything. It terrified him to give his heart to someone when it felt so fragile he thought if it broke one more time he'd die for good. But then he gave it to you. He still felt hesitant and you knew that. Which is why you would call him your boyfriend every chance you got. You wanted him to know how much you liked people knowing who he was to you. He realized quickly that you did it for his benefit but couldn't bring himself to ask you to stop. He really liked having you say it and it made him a bit more confident in your love for him each time he realized you weren't ashamed of him.

---

Tim: You do it to tease him, but he never responded in the right way whenever you did. He'd lean in as well and start referring to you only as his girlfriend/boyfriend/partner just so it was fair. He rather enjoyed the way it sounded when you called him that. He still couldn't believe you'd actually put up with him, so hearing you state so proudly that he was your boyfriend made him elated. How would it not? He knew you meant it as a dramatic, over the top joke, but he loved hearing it anyway. So much so that you both eventually stopped with the theatrics and began using it sincerely.

---

(Aged up) Damian: He's a proud man, typically. With an ego far taller than him. You called him your boyfriend once before you started dating and he lost it, angry that you didn't give him the chance to ask you to be his girlfriend properly before you began using those labels. Then, you'd use it to annoy him at first. Never saying his name when you introduced him to your friends or family bugged him and you knew it, but you slowly came to enjoy it for reasons other than his frustration. He had to admit, he learned to like it after a while, too. You

[somnoir]

Bats and Phantoms - Part 1

Prompt: All the Phantom/Fenton Siblings end up with one of the Bats and Birds. It's just that neither of the two families know that their partner is related to their siblings' partners.

Danny and Red Hood

Going to Gotham for university was a planned decision, mind you. It was one of their many contingency plans in case the reveal went wrong. Thankfully, it didn't but his parents were still trying to change their views on ghosts for the sake of their children. Last he heard from his parents, Jack and Maddie Fenton were practically harassing every ghost they could find on culture, history, and etiquette. (He's gotten one too many complains from Box Ghost and Poindexter.) Plus the mess that was the situationship between the Fenton Couple and Vlad Fucking Masters. (Dante was about to kill himself again for that).

Gotham had enough ambient ectoplasm for him to be stable. Everything was very normal. Absolutely...

If not for the fact that Danny loathed clowns. When a clown decided to try and attack Danny, what does he do?

He did what every self respecting Fenton would do when faced with something he absolutely hates. He came at him swinging, aiming for the face.

And maybe he put a little too much power into the punch and the next thing he knew, a body was flung against a wall and breaking it on impact. Danny stares at the toppled wall and—HOLY SHIT HE JUST KILLED THE JOKER.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—BATMAN WAS GOING TO KICK HIM OUR OF GOTHAM!

But this was the Joker... The last time that crazy fucker got out of Arkham, he threatened to blow up an orphanage. Okay, he could do this. Gotham Harbor it is.

And in typical Fenton fashion, his luck was shittier than ever.

"What the fuck..."

Danny whipped around, freezing in place when he came face to face with the Red Hood. The fucking revenant of Gotham that the city spirit seemed to really favor. Fuck.

"It's not what it looks like! I mean—It is—But, like..." He swallowed thickly, trying to offer a smile but he flinches away when Red Hood snapped his head from the corpse then too Danny.

"That's the fucking Joker!" The Red Hood was pointing a gun at the corpse now, voice distorted and everything.

Yeah. Well. Shit. Danny gulped, finally deciding that since he was already half dead, he might as well clean up. Not like the Red Hood could kill him—I mean, he could, but Danny wasn't going to die by a bullet.

"You—" The gun was now pointed at him.

"It's not my fault he decided to fucking jump me!" Danny immediately argued, grabbing the clown by the legs and dragging him forward before he winced at the trail of blood. "It's a clown! A fucking clown!"

He yelped when the crime lord slapped his hands away from the corpse, "The fuck is wrong with you? Don't fucking touch the corpse unless you want that shit to traced to you." The Red Hood grunted, shaking his head. He sounded... He kinda sounded giddy, in all honesty. Why the fuck was the Red Hood teaching Danny how to get away with murder?

"What were you even going to do with the body?"

Danny cringed away. To tell the truth or not? Such a difficult question... Okay, he's pretty sure most of the Bats were like detectives and lying to this one might get him shot.

"Gotham Harbor?" He squeaked out.

Danny was met with silence and the man built like a fucking fridge (but he's so damn sure that Dan was still the tallest person he knew) didn't move a bit. Then his shoulders shook. And then he was laughing. Fucking shit, the Red Hood was laughing because Danny was going to dump a body in the harbor.

What was Jazz going to say?!

(Meanwhile, Jason Todd finds a strange boy that makes him feel strange, warm—the same boy had killed his worst nightmare. He might just have fallen in love right then and there.)

Part 2 | Masterpost

[luludeluluramblings]

One thing I always wonder in Neglected! Reader scenarios that I haven’t seen anyone explore is Married/Single Mom! Reader. It’s drama and angst potential.

Like Reader having a boyfriend and getting pregnant while still living in the Wayne manor, and everyone just takes a little too long to figure out. Maybe they do find out early with the morning sickness and whatnot but the thought of Bruce looking at Reader like 6 months pregnant and being like “Wait a minute… 🤨” and Reader wasn’t even trying to hide it that much.

And same scenario except Reader moved out either while pregnant or got pregnant after, Batfam forgets all about them and when fate does bring them together (like the Bruce/Selina wedding concept) she is literally about to pop or has a whole baby with her. Cue Bruce (and later everyone else) losing his shit because omg??? 😧 that’s his first grandchild and he had no idea!!

… And then if the Reader is married in this scenario, makes it all the more complicated (she didn’t invite anyone to her wedding? what do you mean Alfred attended when we had no idea?). Everyone is straight up hostile towards her spouse (Damian, Bruce and Jason are insufferable) and safe to say he won’t be around for long. Single mom Reader though, the amount of emotional manipulation about kids needing a family and father figures and you should move back in so everyone can help with the baby… Yeah.

Platonic!Yandere!Batfam x SugarBaby!Reader x Older!Husband

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N:OOOOO, I have something I was working on that I was having fun with that you might like!

A/N:Neglected!Reader with Older!Husband. (It's husband because it's based of that meme Your daughter calls me daddy, too. And, Reader is Female, because we're making a baby in here.)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You, sweet thing, do the typical thing and run off from home, once you turn the legal age. Checking in with Alfred on occasion, but just living your best life. Only, in typical fashion, all those years of neglect lead to severe daddy issues. And, a minor itty bitty attraction to older men.

You get lucky though because you manage to find a fine one that loves to spoil his baby girl with vacations and spa days. All the best for his baby. He loves taking you places and showing you a good time. So, it's no wonder he plans a Babymoon for you when you're expecting your first child. Anything for you.

Unfortunately, Daddy gets called into work right before the vacation. And, despite you insisting you stay, he makes you go and promises to join you as soon as possible.

(No, the man isn't cheating. He just gotta make the money for his baby.)

You have a good time, pregnant on the beach. Getting massages and spa treatments. Video calling your husband every time the baby kicks and flutters.

Unfortunetly, even though you haven't used the Wayne name since you've been married, some drug lords recognize you and decide to ransom you. Dragging you back to Gotham in your little sundress the just so hides your baby bump.

Gotham media runs with the story. Lost Wayne heiress held hostage. No one is ignoring that.

The bat's pull off a daring rescue, but you being stubborn, try to escape on your own. Fearing for your baby's life if they just happen to chose not to come. They never came when you were little, why would they come now.

You happen to injure yourself while escaping. But, manage to make it to an on scene ambulance while the Bats take care of the thugs. You happen to faint on the way to the hospital, leaving the doctor's discover you pregnancy.

Already the media is surrounding the hospital for the most drama filled story of the year. Thankfully, the paramedics have some compassion in hide the bump when rolling you into the ER.

With the media's attention, your husband flies into Gotham and makes it to the hospital just in time to ask the nurse where you are in front of Bruce.

Bruce, of course, bristles when a man his age burst in the hospital demanding to see you, but is using the wrong last name. The nurse saying only family can see you.

"That's my daughter," Bruce will say. Assuming this man is trying to claim you as his. But, he already did.

Making Bruce, the family, the nurses, the patients, and the reporter who managed to sneak in freeze when he says, "That's my wife."

Imagine the doctor that just finished checking on you and your baby walking in right after announcing that you were both okay. The look on Bruce's face when he realizes that this man, his age, not only married you, but had the audacity to put a baby in you.

Even better, the smug way your husband looks at Bruce when he brushes past him to follow the nurse to your room because husband beats father and you demanded to see him.

The drama that follows is going to be legendary.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I had this idea jotted down and fluffed it up just for this. I'm not sure you wanna know who I had in mind for Reader's husband. (Dude is from another franchise.) But, the thought of him interacting with Bruce as the guy who married Bruce's daughter and knocked her up, delights me in such a visceral way.

[kibblbread]

Jason Todd likes to eat.

He can definitely go without food for prolonged periods, but he really loves food. Not to mention, with how big and strong he is, maintaining that physique takes a lot of calories. JT will prioritize quantity above just about anything though. If it’s cold that’s not preferable but he won’t complain. If it’s not the best quality he’d shrug it off. But not having enough to eat.. now he’s feeling downright miserable.

It brings him back to crime alley, back to after he rose from the dead with no one to turn to, back to a terribly depressed mental state. On rare occasions it’s even enough to make him cry in frustration.

Making time for himself seems like an insurmountable task more often than J would care to admit.

But since moving in, he hasn’t been hungry in a long time. Even on Jason’s busiest nights, there’s always food! You cook quite often and it takes a huge load off his shoulders. JT gets especially excited about new dishes since you typically rotate a couple of simple but hardy meals. Like super excited, lol. Upon arrival he can sniff out and pretty accurately guess what he’s eating that day. Sometimes you can’t be bothered and order take-out, after eating your fill, you stick it in the microwave for Jason to handle the rest. He’s happy either way.

Absolutely nothing tops snuggling into your chest after a good meal though. Not a damn thing. A full belly, kind lover, and warm bed is more than he could ever dream for.

[solelifauna]

Yandere Batfam & Neglected Reader Prt.1

When your late mother had a one-night stand with Gotham's richest man, you find yourself at odds and cast aside by your father and his wayward family. Yet, it's only when you find peace that it all comes crumbling down.

TW: Neglect, injury, violence, death

(Y'all, it gets worse in the next post)

To be adopted by Bruce Wayne was akin to a golden ticket; rare but life-changing. You had been one of those (un)lucky souls who just happened to catch the infamous Bruce Wayne's attention, but not how you’d typically expect. You see, you weren't just some random kid, no, you were the byproduct of a one-night stand between your mother and Brucie Wayne. Of course, you obviously didn't know, and your mother was more than content in keeping who your father was a secret. So for the first 11 years of your life, you lived in ignorance of who your father was. Not that it really bothered you; your mother’s love was more than enough, and as long as you had her you knew you’d be fine. 

Then of course, tragedy struck. Your mother was caught in the crossfire between two rival gangs, a stray bullet lodging itself in the side of her head. You don't know how long you spent crying, cradling her dead body, willing her to come back to life. It wasn’t until police and paramedics had to pull you off your mother, that you realized the gravity of your situation. Without your mother and no father, you’d no doubt be sent into one of Gotham City's many orphanages left to be trafficked and killed. Running away seemed like the best option until a positive paternal DNA match came in for one Bruce Wayne. To say you were dumbstruck is an understatement. Bruce Wayne was your father? The man known for adopting children and loving them as his own was your father? You were both relieved and delighted. You didn't know Bruce Wayne personally, but just seeing the way he treated his other children gave you hope, hope that you could heal with this man and finally know your father.

So when child services dropped you at the manor, a small suitcase in tow and a shy, nervous smile on your face only to be met with poorly hidden annoyance and contempt; to say you were heartbroken would be a disservice to yourself. It was easy to discern that your presence was not welcome and considered a hindrance. Bruce spoke to you disconnectedly, offering a quick apology on the loss of your mother before handing you off to the family butler, Alfred. At least Alfred had the decency to apologize on your father’s behalf, taking his time to talk to you and show you around the manor. You liked Alfred, he seemed kind. It wasn't long until you both ran into one of your other siblings, the eldest brother, Richard or Dick Grayson. He seemed the kindest out of the bunch on tv, so you were hopeful he'd have a different reaction compared to your father. 

Disappointment was your friend once more when Dick gave you a strained smile and conversed with you with fake interest. He left as soon as the opportunity arose. Your other siblings were no different; Jason was rarely ever at the manor and when he was, he certainly didn't bother even acknowledging you (not that you minded, he was scary when he was mad). Tim couldn't care less about your presence, finding annoyance when you’d go up to him and try to converse.

Cass or Cassandra talked to you here and there, never unkind, but you knew you were just an afterthought for her; Stephanie on the other hand initially interacted with you, asking you questions and occasionally sitting and talking to you. It was soon that you realized she was just bored and you were the newest “thing” in the manor. Her interest wore off a week later, her interactions with you now short and dry.

The family as a whole just seemed to disregard you and often stilted their conversation around you. You’d notice the dining room would be filled with laughter and loud talking until you'd walk in; silence would overtake the once lively place as everyone switched to hushed conversations. It’s as if everyone but you knew something you didn't, a big inside secret that bonded everyone together. It wasn’t until you accidentally discovered that Bruce Wayne was Batman and that the rest of your siblings had vigilante alter egos that everything made sense. This had to be why everyone left you out! It was because they had a secret identity to protect and you obviously couldn't know!

You thought that once they knew that you were aware of their nightly activities, things would change for the better, that you’d be included and accepted. If anything, your admission was the worst possible thing you could have done. At least before, some of them had pretended to interact or say something to you. But now that you knew their big secret, they no longer had a reason to maintain their forced fronts and pretend to care (even if it was barely caring). They had bigger, better, more important things to worry about than some random girl who popped up and wasn't even a vigilante. 

But ever the idiot, you still tried. You still craved their love and affection, going out of your way to take gymnastics to impress Dick or take coding classes to try and engage with Tim. You even tried talking to Jason about books, something Alfred had mentioned was dear to Jason. You tried sign language with Cass but she was never around long enough for it to matter. None of your attempts were successful. You didn't even bother trying with Bruce, you knew that the man wanted nothing to do with you. 

The straw that broke the camel's back for you was when your half-brother, Damian Wayne was introduced to the manor. You thought that he'd be met with the same coldness as you, and that you’d finally have someone who was in the same boat as you, someone who'd understand. Boy were you wrong. Damian was met with such a warmth it made your skin itch and your eyes teary. You wanted to throw up, this isn't fair, he doesn't even try and he gets their love and attention, yet here you were begging for scraps. Regardless, you thought that at least you could try again with Damian, he was technically blood-related to you after all. Yet when he pulled a knife on you and almost cut your throat, instead leaving a cut on your cheek down to your jaw, you could only stare at him in shock. 

You expected outrage and at least some sort of punishment for Damian, considering he had attacked you unprovoked and that you had no prior martial arts training, you were just a civilian. Dick only pulled you aside after Alfred had patched you up, you’ll never forget the words he said to you.

“(Y/n), what Damian did was a mistake. He’s had a rough childhood with some very bad people and it's not his fault he reacted this way. I know you're hurting, and I promise that this will be the first and last time this ever happens. Please, forgive him.” Dick said softly and mourningly.

You just let out a quiet “okay” not even focusing on Dick’s words, no, your main point of focus was the large, warm hand tenderly cradling your injured cheek. You didn't even realize how touch starved you really were, practically melting into his palm. You almost verbally protested when he retracted his hand as soon as you said “okay”. He was leaving.

“Thanks (Y/n), we really appreciate it. He's a good kid, I promise, he just needs some love and attention is all. I’ll come around to check on you soon, okay?” He said, moving away from you, obviously distracted.

You just “hmmed” in response. You knew he was lying, he would never come see you after this, and you were partly right. He came around the manor all the time now, but never for you, only for your attacker. Damian never did apologize for attacking you by the way. He just moved on, most likely realizing that you weren't a threat and were not worth his energy. 

Your cheek would still forever be scared though, not that anyone cared.

That's okay though, you honestly didn't want to talk to him anyway. The entire “Damian” incident was forgotten about quickly as the family bonded and had movie nights, patrols, and hangouts that you were not invited to. Well technically you were, but you realized that your presence just ruined the overall mood so you just decided that it was better if you just stayed away. It's fine, you did NOT need them. You had other people in your corner that actually cared so you were fine (not really).

Thankfully, you had convinced Bruce (not that he really cared) to let you stay at your old school and not transfer to Gotham Prep. So you got to keep your friends, the only people who understood your plight at the manor, the only people who cared; it was after this that you decided to stop caring as well. You weren't chosen by Bruce Wayne, you were forced upon him. Wayne Manor was not your home, just a stop along the way.

So, you made your peace.

Then, of course things changed, and now the bat family was starting to turn their interests on you. 

Catching attention in Gotham was never a good thing.

[timmydraker]

CW: use of R word

Tim who, as much as he doesn’t want it to be true, is a poster boy for typical Neurodivergence. He’s more logically thinking that emotionally and needs obvious signs of someone’s emotional state that he can put together to understand how he should respond to help them.

But that’s not what bothers him because that doesn’t bother his parents.

Instead it’s his passion, though not in technology and detective work as they quickly found use for that in their business, but for bugs.

Ever since he was a kid Tim has been enamoured by insects and arachnids and even fungi. He would only read books that talked about bugs or had one on the cover, but since it helped him learn to read at a steady pace his parents didn’t mind.

At least, not at first.

When Tim got into coding just so he could make his own little web-journal for all his bug finds, they were happy he was learning how to organise and structure at just six years old, but when he only did those things regarding bugs…

Tim had his first panic attack when he watched his father pick up his terrarium filled with Diapheromera Femorata (Stick bugs) and chucked it into the bin. The glass shattered as the corner his something hard and he was forced to watch his bugs struggle to navigate the glass and rubbish, most of them injured.

His mother had gagged when she saw them and demanded the whole bin be burnt with the bugs still inside.

Tim had been so heart broken, but mostly confused. His parents traveled the world to dig up dirt and old items that were mostly the same yet they didn’t like bugs?

When he asked one his Nanny’s she gave him an answer that he would never forget, “Well, you see… only those people like bugs, y’know? The… special ones, like re-“

Tim never even let himself think of the last word she spoke and from then only forced himself to only focus on his computer work. He still loved photography but now he took photos of skylines and trees, not the beautiful beehive a few yards behind his house or the spider webs that sat between branches like art works. He took photos of Batman and Robin and for a long time that was enough to make his longing bearable.

If he still followed several pages and articles about bugs either a secret email account, that didn’t matter.

His parents were happy with him even if they still made remarks about his ‘stupid little fixation’.

It’s when they are going over the paper work for Bruce to be Tim’s legal guardian while they weren’t home with Tim’s older brothers hanging around as moral support (bodyguards) that his parents mock him.

Janet is signing some paper with a stupidly expensive pen and chatting to no one in particular when she says, “You’re all lucky we killed this nasty little bugs of his so you don’t have to deal with them.”

Everyone else in the room freezes, beside Jack who huffs a laugh and adds, “Good thing we did, he’d probably be more of a retard otherwise- talking about ‘habitats’ and bloody spiders.”

All of the members of the Wayne family are dead quiet as Tim sits there with a clear look of disassociation coming into his eyes. Alfred has a calm look on his face that tells all who know him that he’s furious and Bruce is strikingly similar.

Jason looks ready to attack and Dick isn’t even moving to stop his brother or calm anyone down.

Damian is holding onto Titus’s collar like a lifeline but seems to give the hound some kind of silent order as the usually calm dog begins to growl low and dangerous.

Jack and Janet tense and stare at both dog and master, Jack ordering him to control his dog.

Bruce stands, letting Titus growl and taking the half signed papers and throwing them in the bin, “I changed my mind, I will be taking you to court for full custody of my son. Leave my house now so I may obtain a restraining order.”

Janet genuinely flounders for a moment and begins to shout about outrage and audacity but when Dick sees that Tim is starting to cry he stands up and reminds them that he is a cop before moving to pick up his second youngest brother and leaving the room.

Tim doesn’t hear much else, only muffled shouting and the sound of a door slamming.

He distantly realises he’s in the family room, not the one they use to have guest but the real one with beanbags and a snack draw, and is being cradled by his brothers. Even Damian is beside him, holding onto his hand tightly as they wait for Bruce and Alfred.

Tim sobs into Dicks chest for Alamos a whole hour before settling more, Bruce coming into the room and Jason and Dick reluctantly hand him over to he can be held by their father.

“Tim, chum, it’s alright. We’ve got you.”

The boy in question shakes his head, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t talk about the bugs I promise-“

Bruce squeezes him tighter and kisses his head, “I don’t want that. What I want is to hear about your bugs.”

Stunned, Tim looks up at him with confusion and barely gets his mouth to move enough to ask what he means.

Dick coos from beside him on the next couch and runs a hand through his hair lovingly, “My sweet baby brother we love you, and you love bugs! So of course we want to hear about it. I’m so sorry we didn’t know how they had been treating you but it was wrong. There’s nothing wrong with you, I swear it.”

Tim sniffled, nodding absentmindedly. They gave him a moment for their words to sink in before Damian spoke up, “Timothy, I demand you tell me about your bugs.”

Jason makes a noise and elbows Damian as if to tell him to shut up, probably thinking the other was being rude, but Tim knows his brother well and just smiles. “I can do that, Dami. I… I don’t think you’ll be very interested though.”

Damian scoffs, “I will ignore that statement as it implies I would waste my time with something I don’t care for.”

Bruce smiles at his youngest and holds Tim’s hand, “I agree. Could you maybe tell us about why you like them? Or your favourites?”

It takes him a moment to respond, but when he looks at all their open expressions and gets an encouraging nod from Alfred, he stutters out a response before gradually gaining confidence as they ask genuine questions to his facts and descriptions.

They each make an effort to ask him about bugs, Jason asking a few times if he wants to check out some books that he knows use bugs as symbolism’s and Dick asking if he can tell him the difference between insects and arachnids several times. Damian and Bruce are both a bit more subtle with their support at first, but after a month Tim enters his room to find a giant terrarium with several different sections so he can have multiple bugs that might not get along with each other.

Bruce and Alfred don’t even make any comments or give disapproving looks when Dick and Jason reveal they each got a tattoo of the bug that Tim said he associates with them.

[porcalinecunt]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆!

🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩 dating two vigilante’s is already a mouthful, so much so, you’re not too shocked when you and jason give dick a little treat during his patrol ~♡

⋆˚࿔ FEATURING . . 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ JASON TODD & DICK GRAYSON X MALE! READER

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . cw — ftm!reader, open relationship [dick grayson], cuckholding, phone sex, facetime, masterbation, some degradation, cumshot, jason is a hoe and dick is a shameless cuck.

[・:。author’s note ! 「 ✉️ 」・𓂃 ࣪˖ went off the rails with this one ngl, was kicking my feet the whole time too (*ﾉωﾉ) if willing, i’ll make a pt 2 for yall <3

still nothing yet.

dick grayson sat on the edge of the Wayne Industries building, gazing upon Gothem from an eagle’s eye. seemed like the criminals he usually decends upon decided to take it easy tonight, barely making a peep besides the typical bar fights and runaway children rebelling against their parents.

but it didn’t bother him much, after all, his patrol was nearly over with bruce and cass already out ‘n about the streets. dick will finally go home, to you and his stubborn brother jason fuckin’ todd.

none of you had any clue how the things went so off the rails, starting when you suggested to your boyfriend that you wanted to try and open the relationship. dick, while hesitant at first, decided to give it a go. surprisingly, it went pretty smooth. dick went off seeing other people just like you were, yet always coming home to each other just like before.

until, someone decided to take his golden opportunity.

it wasn’t a secret that jason had the hots for you, always taking the chances to talk to you while dick couldn’t grab his attention for shit as the vigilante was too lost in his conversation with you. “dick’s a lucky one alright..” he’d say so shamelessly.

so lucky, jason hops on your ass the moment he got a hint of your open relationship. you didn’t even stop the man and niether did dick, as things quickly escalated between you and the red hood. tonight being no exception.

rinnggg! rinnggg! dick’s phone jingles to you calling to facetime him, he picks up expecting to see your pretty face greeting him. and he did!

“hey prin!—“ “oh..oh fuck!”

there you were, on your back with cum already splattered all over your stomach, you’re whole body rocking up whatever soft surface you laid on from the unseen stranger’s cock pistoning in and out of your soaked cunt.

“sorry big bro, couldn’t wait another—shit!—second for ya..”

jason’s voice rasped into the speaker, drowning out your moans. dick stared, jaw agape and pants tighter then he remembered. despite listening to your hookups, he never actually watched you get your back blown out by another man. a high pitched whine snapped him back into reality, now you’re staring right at the camara with teary eyes and swollen, wet lips.

“nghh..dick..p-pwease come home! need you to..”

another harsh snap of jason’s hips knocked a moan out of you, as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced your face back towards the camara. towards dick. “need him to what? c’mon [name], sing it for dickie!”

he mocked as dick already shuffled his way into the staircase, frantically fishing his leaking cock out as you clenched around jay’s girth.

“fuckkk..jason you son of a—“ dick hissed, fucking his fist to the sight of your squirming in orgasm. your knees threatening to snap together, your face flushed in embarrassment yet arousal and those syrupy, pathetic eyes staring back at his. a sight straight out of some fucked up porn for a guy with a cucking fetish.

“woah there! look at that dick..i think you’re little boyfriend’s into this, right? you brazen little minx?!”

jason’s breathy laugh of amusement harmonized with your hiccups and sobs as you creamed all over the red hood’s cock, his girth wet and coated in white as he slowed his thrusts down. dick, turned on yet aggravated that another man made you cum, threw his head back against the wall as he reached his own orgasm.

“[name], baby..look at me, please, look at me while i cum..! shit!”

dick let out a broken groan as ropes of white landed on his phone screen and onto the floor, yet he still was hard as a fucking rock. what didn’t help was that when he looked back at the facetime, you were already on all fours, ass up with your leaking pussy ready to be fucked once again.

“you might wanna hurry up, or i’ll fuck him raw again.”

jason chuckled as dick sprinted through the dark sky, already around the corner to get some well deserved payback. see who’s laughing still once you’re stuffed full of your man’s cock with the paramour watching.

© porcalinecunt 🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩ྀི do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.

[kenobers]

nsfw alphabet | Jason Todd

what the title says ! tw; explicit sexual content, gn!reader a/n; like always, these are just my thoughts and headcanons

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jason's gonna make sure you're comfortable afterwards. He'll wipe you down, check that he didn't go too far. If you leave afterwards, he'll make sure you get home safe. If you stay, he'll offer you a t-shirt to sleep in. For a while, he wasn't big on the physical aspect of aftercare, but eventually pulling you to his chest becomes second nature. It's like your head fits just right in the crook of his shoulder. Hey, maybe the body heat will keep with the inevitable soreness you'll feel tomorrow. He's big on eating after sex. If you have enough energy, he'll order some Chinese or throw a frozen pizza in the oven. Sometimes it's kind of astonishing how the man will fuck you until you're more than a ragdoll, then immediately demolish like three Big Macs.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves hands. He loves his hands. They're big and strong, they can protect you, please you, provide for you. He adores the way you feel under them, soft and clean. He loves to feel you press against his palm while his fingers disappear inside of you. He loves your hands, the way they feel on his skin. No matter their size, they always look so small wrapped around his cock. He cherishes every mark your fingernails leave along his back, every sting they leave on his scalp when they twist his hair. He loves that your hands can go from caressing his scars to replacing them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jason loves the sight of you, sweaty and panting, with your stomach and thighs decorated in white. He's a little more possessive than he likes to admit, and he secretly feels like he's marking you as his whenever he finishes all over your skin.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves having high sex. When the weed hits just right, so the world reduces to nothing but you...that's that good shit right there. He gets so locked in that there isn't a single thought that could pull him away. He's numb in every place that isn't touching you. It adds a certain level of passion, of desperation, for each of you because your senses are so heightened to each other. However, it isn't very often that he feels both of you are to the same level of inebriated for it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He isn't as sexually charged as you would think and he typically waits to get to know a person before having sex with them (with a few exceptions, like for a certain crime lord's daughter). So in that regard, one of his body counts is significantly higher than the other, but he's had enough experience to know what he's doing. He knows what he likes and he knows how to figure out what you like.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

So long as your legs are hooked over his hips, he's happy. Jason particularly loves it when he's on his knees while you're on your back with your hips angled over his thick thighs. It lets him get deep inside of you while still being able to look at your pretty face. Not to mention, he loves grasping your hips, spreading your legs wide. (According to trusted resource, SexPositions.Club, this is position 5. Aquarius) He also loves having you up against things. Against a wall, on the kitchen table, the handle bars of his motorcycle. The way you hold onto him in more ways than one really adds something to the moment. And yeah, maybe it allows him to show off his strength to you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Jason's tone depends on the time and place. For the most part, he's serious. He teases you, lets out a low chuckle when he gets a sought after reaction from you, but it isn't humorous. But sometimes...sex is just incredibly unserious. Like lazy morning sex, when neither of you can be bothered to do much more than roll on top of one another. Like you're horny, but Jason looks so goofy with his hair sticking up and you're a real beauty queen with your crusty eyes. Or the aforementioned high sex, when both of you are so lost in your pleasure and giggles.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

His autopsy scar stops where his happy trail begins. Before you were a regular in his bed, he didn't really think to groom himself much. But he figured he should show you some decorum, so he keeps the dark patch of hair reigned in.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Jason doesn't take sex lightly. It's either a tool or a declaration of love (no matter how lazy). If he's using sex as a tool, he isn't going to be very intimate. He'll praise you, sing songs about your body, but it isn't going to be very personal. However, when you're in an established relationship, he's very intimate. There's much more kissing and eye contact, lots more "that's my baby" instead of "that's it, baby".

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Oh yeah. Usually only if you're gone though. He'd rather have the real deal. But sometimes...if he thinks about you for a little too long...well, it's hard to hide all that when you're his size...it's just polite for everyone else if he just deals with it.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Jason's kinks are sort of a revolving door. He likes to go rougher and he likes to be in charge typically, but everything else is dependent on your moods. One day he'll blindfold you, the next you'll tie his hands together while he gives you orders you have to follow on your own. He'll be daddy once, then sir the next, but his favorite thing to here is Jason. He also gets a thrill out of doing it with the Red Hood mask on. He's also got a praise kink. There's nothing that gets him going more than hearing you babble about how good he's making you feel, about how much you love him. It goes the other way as well. He loves to tell you how good you feel, how beautiful you are, how well you're taking him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Where ever the mood strikes. Generally speaking, his apartment is his favorite place. There isn't a particular room, he just likes the knowledge that this is your space to do as you please. But he does get a little thrill whenever you manage to do it somewhere risky.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It's cliche as hell, but the sight of you in red really does work wonders for him. If he can see your nipples through your shirt, it's over. Watching you doing or say something intelligent is a huge turn on. He likes to watch you work for it. The way you oh-so-conspicuously bend over to pick something up or shiver so your chest sticks out. Make a suggestive face as you drop an innuendo only he understands and he'll see to it that your efforts don't go unrewarded.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He's not a voyeur. If he's gonna do it in a public setting, it's gonna be in a closet or a bathroom stall; somewhere that still shields your bodies from prying eyes. That's just for the two of you. Now, of course there's exceptions - like if you're trying to piss off your mobster father by fucking on his property, then he'll get a little cheeky for the security cameras.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jason is nothing, if not a giver. Just lay back and let him take care of it, baby. This is something he can spend hours doing. His tongue knows just where to work you, he knows just how much teeth you like, where the biting boarders on pain. And if his fingers aren't right next to his mouth, they're kneading your skin, raking his nails across your stomach with a featherlight touch, massaging the kinks in your thighs so you can open them a little more. If nothing else, his mouth and hands can cover a lot of ground.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Jason likes it fast and rough. He'll drag out foreplay to his heart's content, but once you're good and ready, he's fucking you like his life depends on it. Then he's flipping you over and doing it again. That said, he has his slow and sensual moments. After a rough night when he's feeling particularly sentimental and grateful for you, he'll take all the time in the world just to watch you underneath him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Pro quickie, but usually if it's an appetizer for what comes later on. It's hard to take a dick that big and casually go on about your day. So, most of the time quickies look like his fingers sneaking down your pants during your lunch break, his head between your thighs in the bathroom at a charity event, or you on your knee taking care of him before patrol.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As mentioned earlier, his kinks are a revolving door, so he would be down to experiment. He's pretty good about saying no when he needs to, and if he trusts that you can do the same, then he's open to trying new risks.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

No one recovers like this man. He can go for as many rounds as your heart desires. Unless he's already been yearning the whole damn day, Jason can last until the cows come home.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't have any toys for himself and doesn't really like to use them on his own body. However, he likes to use the vibrator on you, especially during foreplay. He likes to watch as you curl into him and shake with pleasure while he drives the toy between your legs - especially knowing that it won't be enough to satisfy you for long.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He likes to tease up to a certain point. If you're out doing something, he'll keep sliding his hand higher and higher up your thigh, then pull away completely, or lean down to say something to you so that his breath hits your neck in that one sensitive spot... But once your clothes are off, he can only restrain himself for so long.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Low groans and swears. His mouth as a mind of its own when he really gets going as he praises you, teases, calls out to you. You're his Baby, his Pretty Thing/Girl/Boy, so so good for him, taking it all like this. Oooh. Look. At. You. You can always tell when he's close because his panting turns to grunts, his sweet nothings become more intense as they strain between his teeth.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He's secretly a little self conscious about his body, particularly about his scars. Like, yeah, he's big and muscly and people always say they dig scars, but...some of his are, like, real nasty. Not to mention, that some of them have triggering memories attached to them. He finds his autopsy scar to be especially gross. It takes up so much of his chest and it doesn't seem to want to fade like the rest of his marks tend to do. So for a while when you first started having sex, he found ways around taking his shirt off. And if it did come off, it was in the dark. Once he works up the courage to finally show you all of him in proper light, he's surprised when you're more fascinated with it than anything. He can't suppress the shiver that runs down his spine when you press your lips to the crux of that T-shaped stamp. He probably won't ever love his scars, but he'll always adore the way you treat them.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's a big guy and is very proportional. He's a solid 8 inches standing tall and girthy. He's a lot to take in, which is why he's very adamant about getting an orgasm out of you before penetration.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

His libido is strong for you. As previously stated, he's not as sex charged as you would think, but he does have a strong desire for you. He initiates sex fairly regularly, but he doesn't feel the need to paw at your clothes 24/7.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He almost always waits until you fall asleep. If you manage to fall asleep quickly, then he'll follow suit typically.

[sanguineterrain]

holiday spirit | jason todd

Summary: Stuck at a shitty office party for your shitty job on Christmas Eve Eve, you’re at your wit’s end. The last thing you expect is to play vigilante for a night with the Red Hood.

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader 

Word count: 7.2k

Warnings/tags: panic attacks, reader has anxiety, creepy coworkers, office party shenanigans, canon-typical violence, jason being both a menace and a sweetheart, attempts at humor, fake relationship, silliness!

the divider

You’re grateful for a reason to escape. Someone announces that the lights on the obnoxious eleven-foot Christmas tree are burned out and you’re already on the elevator, volunteering to find spare lights. 

You hate these office parties. They’re just a way to play politics, show off fiancés, and reaffirm cliques. You wanted to skip it all together. But Mr. Emerson, your boss, had insisted that attending tonight’s party was mandatory.

Alma had told you about a hundred times to skip tonight, but Alma’s worked here since the Reagan administration and has too much pull to be fired. You, conversely, have been here eight months, and if you get fired, your next job is going to be as a henchman for a B-list Gotham villain. 

Being painfully ordinary and anxious is a toxic mix. Your doctor still thinks all your worrying is because of your menstrual cycle. He doesn’t believe in work-related stress.

So anyway. You’re just trying to get through tonight. And find some tree lights that work. 

You unlock the spare office where all the holiday junk is stored and turn on the light. 

The motherfucking Red Hood looks at you, one leg dangling outside of the window and one leg inside the office. He unclicks his harness. 

"Oh my God,” you say, hand frozen on the light switch.

Red Hood pulls his leg in from the window and steps into the office. He puts the harness in a duffel bag and roughly zips it, then tosses it unceremoniously onto the floor. 

"Oh my God.”

He glances at you, helmet eyes glowing. "No God here, just me.”

"Oh my God," you say again, near hysterics. "Oh my God, Red Hood."

"Always nice to meet a fan," he says irritably, brushing snow off of his jacket, flashing his holsters. Oh, fuck. That's a lot of guns.

"What, um—" You close your eyes, lick your lips, try to find your sanity. "To what do I—why—are you gonna kill me?”

"The fuck? You think I'd sneak into an office and kill someone in cold blood? What kinda operation you think I'm running?"

Your mouth opens and closes in horror. "Wh–I... I don't—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, Mr. Hood."

"Please, Mr. Hood was my father."

He laughs. You taste bile in your throat. 

Hood sobers. "Damn. Tough crowd. Look, sorry to freak you out, but I got shit to do. If you'll just point me to Hershel Emerson's office, I'll be on my merry way."

"That's m-my boss. Are you gonna kill him?" You can’t handle murder tonight. You’ll have a breakdown for sure. 

"Literally, what did I just say?" Hood throws his hands up. "Not one minute ago. I'm not killing anyone!"

"Yet?" you ask weakly, mind inundated with too many mob movies to watch your manners. You know what the Red Hood is all about. Everyone does. 

"No. I'm not killing Emerson. But he is a bad dude, so I gotta take care of business. Actually, I should kill him. He deserves it."

You squeak in horror. He raises a hand.

"But I'm not!" he says gruffly. "Respectfully, get a grip. You live in Gotham."

You swallow. "What're you gonna do to my boss if not kill him?"

Hood shrugs. "Eh, maybe scare him a bit. Mostly get intel to take him down. He's currently sitting on five million dollars of stolen life savings from clients."

You blink. "What?"

"Yup. What I really wanna know is which of his employees are in on it. He didn't do this alone."

Hood takes out a small roll-up pouch of what looks like lockpicking tools. You release your sweaty death grip on the doorknob, causing it to squeak. Hood doesn't look up.

five million dollars is ringing in your head. That happened here. Where you work. Your boss is even scummier than you thought.

“Is that a lockpicking kit?” you ask.

“Yup. Good eye.”

"This seems... illegal.”

"Well, I won't lie to you, most of what I do is. You won't be implicated though.”

He looks at you. You flinch. Even with the lights on, the Red Hood is scary as shit. 

"Yeah..." he says, shaking his head. "You wouldn’t do well in prison. I can tell."

Your chest hurts. "I don't think anyone does well in prison," you say, eyebrows scrunching. "Have... you been to prison?"

"Only to break out a friend. You ask a lot of questions."

"Sorry. Um, Mr. Red Hood—"

"Ah-ah. Call me Red. Or Hood. No Mister-ing."

"Okay.” You lick your lips, hoping he doesn't go back on his temporary no-kill policy. “Hood, do you think you could come later? After the Christmas party?”

He tilts his head at you. You keep talking. 

“Not that I don't admire what you're doing! Because I think taking down my boss for stealing money is great, eat the rich and all that, but, um, I came up here to get lights to replace the ones that burned out downstairs because that's a normal thing that happens and now you're here, at my job, and I'm freaking out. Oh God, oh my God—”

You grab the wall for stability, feeling like you've been rocking on a boat for hours. Sweat beads on your forehead. This time, you really do feel like you’ll throw up. Throwing up in front of the Red Hood would be humiliating. 

“Look, I got shit to do, okay? I'm sorry you're freaking out but your boss is gonna cash out in a few days and then I lose him and that five million. It's now or never."

You should've just stayed home and baked cookies. Fuck being social! This is what happens when you're social: you meet morally gray vigilantes who force you to be complicit with their crimes.

Your cheeks feel wet. Are you crying? Maybe it’s sweat. 

Hood points to the hallway. "Is there a camera outside?"

"Y-yeah.” Your voice is weak. “I think I’m having a heart attack. Can you call security on your way out?"

“Does your left arm hurt?”

“No, but—”

“Are your limbs stiffening?”

“No, but—”

“You’re not having a heart attack. Your speech is fine.”

Hood takes out a few more things from the duffel, then kicks it under a desk with his foot. You wheeze and grab onto the doorknob again. 

It’s quiet for a second. Then— 

“Shit. You're having a panic attack,” Hood says.

"Mm, probably," you say, hunched over like an armadillo. Fuck your stupid doctor. 

There's silence as you wheeze quietly. Then something small hits your head. You flinch and squeal.

"You don't need to throw things at me!" you say, beyond defeated, near tears.

"No, I wasn't—sorry. It's a Warhead. I have one when I'm feeling… not my best. They're s’posed to help occupy your other senses so the panic disappears."

You stare at the candy, confused and suspicious at once. "Is it spiked?"

"Again, what sorta operation do you think I'm running? It's not drugs. Look." Hood unwraps a Warhead and sticks it in his mouth underneath his helmet. You hear him suck on it. "Eesh, that's sour. Okay? No drugs."

So you take the candy from the floor, unwrap it, and pop it into your mouth. The sour taste immediately overwhelms you. It's like your brain resets. You pant through the sour.

"Ough," you say, face scrunching from the taste.

"Yeah, right? Life changing hack."

You suck on the candy desperately and close your eyes, trying to find your breath. 

“It’s okay,” Hood says, stilted and awkward. “Just, uh, focus on your breathing. Exhale longer than you inhale. Breathe through your nose.”

It takes another few minutes, but the feeling passes. Your chest lightens. It’s the quickest you’ve ever recovered from a panic attack. 

“I was just kidding about the prison thing,” Hood says. “You’re not gonna go to jail ‘cause of this, I promise.”

Yeah, but what if you lose your job?

You spit the Warhead into a trash can and smack your tongue a bit. “Are you sure you can’t come back tomorrow night?”

“No can do,” Hood says. “Your boss will be gone by then.”

“It's just that I'm really bad with keeping secrets and according to Google, that's how ulcers form and I really can't afford any sick days off, so—"

You yelp as the door suddenly swings open, hitting your shoulder. You spin around.

"Hey," Bill says, squinting at you. "Where have you been?”

"No!" you yell, and turn off the light. 

Bill stares at you, illuminated by the hallway light. “Uh…”

You clear your throat. "Ahem. I'm fine. It's just taking me a moment to sift through all these decorations. Please return to the party.”

You hate Bill. He’s a sleaze and doesn’t do any work. More than once, he’s trapped you by the water cooler in a conversation about his “smokin’” imaginary lawyer girlfriend.

“If you wanted me to come help you, you could've just said so," he says, reaching for the light, way too close. You don’t like his tone either.

"No!" you yell, blocking the light switch with your hands.

"What the hell? Why not?"

"Because—"

There's a creak from the back. You wince. 

Bill immediately whips his head toward the sound. "Is someone here? Hello?"

He reaches for the light. Again, you block him, swatting his hands away.

"Would you stop—is someone here?"

"My boyfriend!" you blurt.

Bill stops, looking at you. "Your boyfriend? You've never mentioned a boyfriend."

"Well, I have one and he's here."

"Okay. Why can't I turn on the light and see him?"

"Because he's... um..."

You spot the red Santa suit out of the corner of your eye. 

Oh, this is a terrible idea.

"He's changing! He's our Santa for the party. Surprise!" You make weak jazz hands.

Bill looks into the dark where you're pretty sure Hood is hiding. You hope, anyway. Otherwise Bill is going to tell everyone that you're making up boyfriends. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," comes Hood's unmodulated, deadpan reply, and you jump. "Don't turn on the light. I'm naked."

"Oh..." Bill looks queasy for a moment. "Uh—" He looks at you and suddenly grins. "Oh, I get it. You two were having fun before going to the party, huh? Didn't know you were such a wildcat."

"That’s disgusting,” you say. “I would never do that in the office.”

Bill wiggles his eyebrows. "Me-ow. Does the Santa thing turn you on?"

"I'm right here, Bill, and naked or not, I'll kick your ass," Hood says.

Bill pales and quickly backs out of the room. "Right. Sorry. Uh, carry on."

He closes the door. You push your back against it and exhale, heart racing.

"Bill is a shithead," Hood says. 

“How… do you know his name?”

“Employee background check,” Hood says mildly. 

"Oh… yeah, he's been written up a bunch of times for inappropriate behavior, but he's close with Emerson, so he never gets fired."

"Want me to kill him for you? Free of charge."

"What? No! Hood—"

"Oh, relax. I was kidding."

"Uh-huh." You turn on the light. Hood has his helmet on, and his voice is modulated again. "What're we gonna do?"

"Well, I'm gonna go make sure Hershel doesn’t fuck off to Bermuda. The lights you wanted are here, by the way."

Hood tosses you a box of multi-colored tree lights. Then he walks toward you. You plaster yourself across the door.

"Wait! You can't leave. I said that my boyfriend is going to be Santa. Bill will tell everyone. They’ll expect you.”

"I appreciate your quick thinking, but that's a hard pass,” Hood says.

"You can't leave now! Bill's gonna tell everyone I'm a liar and they'll think I was up to something worse in here, like snorting coke."

"I mean this gently: I think you should look into anti-anxiety meds. My brother swears by Xanax.”

“My doctor won’t prescribe it to me,” you say glumly. “He thinks my anxiety is made up.”

“Huh. Want me to kill him? I know a better doctor.”

"Well…” You hesitate, then shake your head. “No! No. Hood, please. They’re all gonna expect a Santa. And when I don’t show up with Santa, they’ll remember that I didn’t participate in White Elephant or any of that other office nonsense that I don’t want to waste my money on. I need this job!”

“They’re not gonna fire you for not doing White Elephant,” Hood says. 

“You don’t know them! It’s a popularity contest.”

But Hood is indeed disinterested in the fact that you'll be the office pariah. Probably because he’s never worked in an office. 

Instead, he ushers you aside without a struggle. Then he turns the doorknob.

"Wait! Wait, listen. If you dress as Santa, you'll have access to the party and offices. You won't have to sneak around. And people get really drunk at these. They'll talk. You can figure out who's helping Emerson steal money."

His hand pauses. He looks at you. You look back, wringing your hands.

"You're pretty crafty," he says. 

"...Thanks?”

Hood releases the doorknob. "Alright, fine. I'll do the Santa shtick.”

“You will?”

He tilts his head. “Should I not?”

“No! No, you should. It’ll be a good disguise.”

He hums. “Sure. But we're in this together now, got it? You blow my cover and we both go down."

"Y-yeah, got it."

Hood heaves a gusty sigh. "Next time, I'm sending Roy in to do this shit."

"Who's Roy?"

"Ah." He holds up a finger. "Too many questions."

He makes a beeline for the Santa costume and then looks at you expectantly.

"Yo. Boyfriend or not, you're not watching me change. Guard the door, Mrs. Claus."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

You turn off the light and go into the hall, shutting the door behind you. It's empty, luckily. You rap your fingers on the box of lights, leg jiggling. 

This is insane. You should just tell Hood you can't do this and let him figure out his own plan.

But then... this would make it easier to find Emerson's crime partner. And you're really sick of Bill being a jerk. You don’t want to be called a liar, or get iced out for the rest of your time here because you didn’t bring Santa. Maybe having Hood be your Santa-boyfriend would make people leave you alone. Which is a crazy reason to stick to this plan, but still. You're trying to find the bright side.

And all those people that Emerson stole from... surely, you have a responsibility to help get their money back and bring him to justice, don't you?

The door swings open. You turn around.

“You wear a mask under your helmet?” 

“As a precaution.” He sounds defensive. “Lots of people in my profession do it.” 

You doubt that. “Don’t you think it’ll be weird if Santa has a mask on?” 

He hesitates, evidently debating between protecting his identity and arousing suspicion.

“Fine.” He carefully peels off the mask and tucks it into his pocket. The surrounding skin is slightly pink from irritation. His nose and cheeks are dotted with freckles. 

And wow. The Red Hood has beautiful eyes. So vibrant and clear, like seafoam. And young! How old is he, anyway? He doesn’t look much older than you, if at all. 

His eyes are framed by thick, dark lashes, and it makes sense, Hood being a brunet.

“What?” he snaps, glaring.

“Nice eyes,” you blurt.

His brows furrow. You remember the guns.

“Um, anyway. Should we go?” you squeak out, backing away.

Hood huffs through the beard. It flutters. "We need to have some ground rules."

"Okay."

"First, you should know that I will shoot if there's a physical threat at this party. Two, you're gonna call me Todd at the party. Three, if you try to tell anyone that I'm Red Hood or that I'm taking down Emerson, I will make your life hell. And if you're his partner, you'd better tell me now or I'm gonna be a lot less jolly."

"I'm not!" you say. "I would never do that. And I won't tell anyone you're Red Hood."

"Good. Let's go. Keep your ears open for hints about Emerson's partner."

He takes off in long strides. You hurry to keep up. The Santa costume doesn't slow him down.

"So how did you find out that Emerson's stealing?" you ask.

"Got a tip. You really didn't know he was stealing?"

“I don’t have access to the finances. I work in user interface. Website design.”

"Yeah? That's pretty cool. I got a brother who's into that stuff," Hood says.

"The same one who takes Xanax?”

“Would you believe it?”

You try to picture Red Hood with a regular family. With a brother or a sister or a father. It's hard to imagine.

“How come you don’t take anti-anxiety medication?” you ask. 

“I have Pit Madness Syndrome, and it has a weird chemical reaction with that stuff.”

“Oh.” Subject change. Quickly! "Do you celebrate Christmas?" 

"Not really. I'm not a believer or celebrator of much. You can see what my plans are two days before Christmas."

"Your family doesn't celebrate?"

Hood just grunts, eyes suddenly stormy. You take the hint and stop talking.

The room where the party is isn't particularly special. It's big enough to fit about a hundred people. For all the money the company makes, you'd thought that they could afford to splurge a little and rent an actual hall. Now you know what the profits have been going toward. But the decorations are decently lavish.

"Oh, wait." Hood leans in to speak in your ear. Lightning shoots down your spine. "I don't know your name."

You give it. He repeats it, and you shiver, like your boyfriend just said your name.

"'Kay. Stay in this room. We don't know how much Emerson or his partner knows, but assume they’re willing to do anything to get away with the money."

You nod. “Got it.”

“Hey, it’s Santa!” Bill shouts from across the room. “He made it!”

You smile tightly. “As promised.”

A few people wave. Others cheer. 

“These people really like Christmas, huh?” Hood asks.

“You have no idea,” you say, hyperaware of his hand brushing your back.

“Don’t think I got your name, man,” Bill says as he approaches. He sticks a hand out. “Bill.”

“Todd,” Hood says, taking his hand and shaking. Bill winces at the handshake. You hide a smile.

“Ah, Todd. Right.” Bill looks at you, trying to subtly soothe his hand. “You’ve never mentioned him.”

You shrug. “Never came up.”

“I’m pretty private,” Hood says, putting an arm around your shoulders. “But we’re very much in love. Ain’t that right, baby?”

“Th-that’s right… honey,” you say, face going hot.

“So what do you do for work?” Bill asks. “My girlfriend’s a lawyer.”

You roll your eyes. Hood snorts.

“There’s no way you’re dating anyone. You look like you got dressed in the dark, Billy.”

You cough your laugh into your arm. Bill’s eye twitches.

“Enjoy the party,” he says icily. He glares at you, then stomps away.

“That was amazing, but I think Bill might retaliate,” you say. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Hood says. “I’ll take care of it.”

You look at him with big eyes. “Hood—”

“Not like that. Just… it’ll be handled. Okay?”

You nod. Maybe it’s insane, but you trust him. “Okay. Want some punch?”

Hood hums. “No alcohol. Thanks.”

You go to the punch bowl, a little relieved to escape Hood’s piercing ocean-eyed stare. He’s intense. Whoever dates him for real is in for a ride. 

Then again, you can’t imagine Hood meeting someone for coffee or dinner. You giggle at the image of him showing up with his guns and helmet. 

“Hey, IT.” A woman in a white sweater you’ve seen maybe once waves at you. “Cool idea, bringing a Santa.”

“Yeah, Emerson’s too cheap to,” the man next to her says. They laugh.

You smile. “Glad you like it.”

You serve yourself two cups of the alcohol-free punch. Then you turn. 

Your smile falls. Across the room is Hood and Tanya Donaldson, resident shit-stirrer. She’s trying to cozy up to him. You sigh and walk over, bracing yourself.

“Hey, baby,” Hood says, practically dragging you into his side. He takes a cup of punch. “Just met Tanya.”

You can guess exactly how he feels about that.

"Oh, is he your boyfriend?" Tanya asks, eyeing Hood like he's a slab of steak. “I had no idea!”

"Uh-huh," you say. "This is Todd."

She wiggles her fingers, grinning. “So how often do you go to the gym, Todd?” She rests a hand on Hood's arm. "I didn't know Santa was so big and broad."

Your gaze drifts to where you're pretty sure Hood has a gun strapped to his ankle, and the temptation does appear, you won't deny.

But you need this job and it's going to be really hard to explain why Santa's armed and dangerous, so you just grit your teeth. Tanya's the worst for this kind of behavior and she doesn't respect you, so bringing your hunky boyfriend is like dangling a bunch of carrots in her face. 

And it’s not like Todd is actually your boyfriend. 

"Are you flirting with me in front of my girlfriend?" Hood asks, prying her hand off of his arm.

"Flirting?" She claps a hand over her mouth, the movement slightly delayed from all the wine. "No, oh my God! I was just saying—"

"That's really pathetic," Hood says. "Don't do that."

He walks away and you follow, leaving a wobbly Tanya on her own. You smile to yourself.

"Thank you for that," you say.

Hood gives you a thumbs up. "I can plant evidence on her and get her fired if you want."

"No, I don't want to feel damned for eternity. Thanks anyway."

"You have a lot of assholes at your job," Hood says. "But you're not one. I admire that.”

You sigh. "They're not all bad. Alma is cool. She keeps me from quitting.”

"And where is she?"

"At home. She's a sixty-two year old accountant who doesn't care about these parties. Her hip aches when it's cold."

"Mm. Maybe you should follow her lead," Hood says.

"But then who would help you with your spycraft, Hood?"

He allows himself a tiny laugh at that. You wonder how often he laughs. If ever.

“Well, suffering Tanya wasn’t in vain. She said this whole party cost twenty grand.”

“So?”

He gestures grandly. “Does this look like it cost twenty grand to put this together?” 

It's true. The alcohol is the most expensive thing here. No food, except for some people that participated in the potluck, but you don't trust anybody's food here. The decorations are old. Not to mention the Red Hood as your Santa. Your boss might have spared a thousand for tonight. No more. 

“So where did all that money go?” you ask. 

Hood snaps his fingers. “Bingo.” 

“That is so shitty. I got a chocolate-covered pretzel as my Christmas bonus,” you say. 

“A bag of ‘em?” He shakes his head. “Pretty cheap.”

“Ha, no. No, I got one big pretzel. In a box. The box cost more than the pretzel, I think.”

His eyes widen. “Jesus. Even I give more than that to my guys.”

“Got any openings?” you ask, half-joking. 

Hood snorts. “Don't think you'd like what we do. Why d’you stay?” 

You shrug. “Nowhere else to go. I have to eat somehow.” 

“Crappy boss, crappy coworkers, no Christmas bonus. Hell, I feel sorry for ya.”

The Red Hood feels sorry for you. Perhaps you've reached a new low. 

He drinks the punch and coughs. “Ahem, wow. Did you make the punch?”

“No, some people mixed it here.”

“Oh, then I'll be honest. Tastes like a flavor that's not found in nature.” He throws his cup away. You trust him and set your still-full cup on a table.

“I won't even mention the potluck,” you say. 

“Yeesh. Can't eat at everyone's house.” 

“That's what I say!” 

He winks at you. You look away, flustered. 

The crazy thing is, you could get used to this. Well, not specifically Red Hood, but having a boyfriend to bring to these functions, who’ll warn you against gross punch and defend you against Tanya. 

And Hood is surprisingly good at this. If you forget the past hour, you can almost pretend that this is just another office party that you happen to be spending with your new boyfriend. 

"Hey, look! It's Santa! Dude, check me out with Santa!"

One of the finance guys who's very drunk—you want to say that his name is Matt—bounds up to you and Hood. Hood tenses, reaching for his hip (gun!) and you touch his elbow, reminding him to relax. He drops his arm. 

Matt reeks of alcohol, the front of his shirt stained with bourbon. He laughs, forehead shiny with sweat.

"Santaaa, hey, Saint Nick, take a pic with me, man!"

Matt throws his arms around Hood. Hood does not like that and shoves him off accordingly. But Matt doesn't seem to notice and holds up his phone, camera facing front. Hood slaps the phone out of his hand.

"No pictures," he says.

You wince. The guy stares and blinks, taking three to five business days to process what just happened.

"What the fuck, man? That was my phone!"

"Sorry. I'm drunk." Hood sighs like he's physically in pain, then leans back and makes drinking motions with his fingers. "Fuckin' wasted! Did you try those rum shots? Lit, dude!"

The guy cheers up, forgetting all about the phone. "Oh, yeah, for sure! I'm gonna go get one right now! Thanks, Santa!"

"You do that!" Hood says cheerily.

As soon as the guy leaves, Hood returns to his resting scary face.

"Wow," you say.

"I know. I threw up in my mouth a little."

You laugh. Hood grins. Then it fades.

"Damn it. We're getting no closer to finding Emerson's partner. I should just interrogate Emerson until he tells me."

Interrogate makes you feel woozy. You're pretty sure you know what Hood's idea of an interrogation is.

"Wait! We just need to lure them out. If they think their money might be in jeopardy, they'll sneak out of the party to go check on it, right?" you ask.

"Potentially, yes. But how do we lure 'em?"

"There's an alert if someone withdraws more than ten thousand dollars from the company. But I don't have access to the accounts," you say.

Hood smiles slowly. "You don't need it. Remember I mentioned my computer whiz brother?"

"Yeah…” You grimace. “This sounds illegal again.”

"Hell yeah it is. He owes me a favor too. Lemme call him."

You two go off to the side while Hood dials.

"Yeah?" comes a voice on the other end. He doesn’t sound at all like Hood, more like a one percenter from the Diamond District. This is Hood’s brother?

"Aliases only. I need you to withdraw fifty grand from Emerson Corp,” Hood says. 

"Why?”

“‘Cause you owe me a favor. Just do it.”

“Zombie breath.”

“Shortass,” Hood says, voice taking on a distinct older brother tone. 

“You’re such an asshole,” the voice says. He yawns. “B’s wondering if you’re coming tomorrow.”

“I’d rather die again,” Hood says. “And you can tell him I said that.”

“The broody emo bullshit is getting old, dude,” the voice says.

You giggle. Hood looks at you sharply. You press your lips together, properly chastened. Sorry, you mouth.

"Who's that?" the voice asks.

"No one," Hood says. "Did you do it?"

"Chill out. I'm getting past their firewall. So who is that?”

“It’s the TV,” Hood says.

“No, it’s not. That was a lady's laugh, IRL. And you wouldn’t lie if it was someone we know…”

“Mind your damn—”

“I’m helping him with a case,” you blurt. 

Hood throws his hand up, glaring at you. It’s silent on the other end of the phone for a solid ten seconds. Then…

“Holy shit,” Hood’s brother says. “You do have a girlfriend. Wait. Hold on. This is wild. You don’t even have a social security number.”

“I do not have a girlfriend!” Hood snaps, drawing the attention of some coworkers. You nudge him. He exhales through his nose.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, you little fucker,” he says, quieter. “She’s telling the truth.”

“Can I ask your girlfriend a question? Respectfully, what were you thinking? You can do so much b—”

“Text me when it’s done,” Hood growls and hangs up.

You look at each other for a moment. 

“You didn't hear any of that,” Hood says. “Got it?”

“Got it.” 

“Good. Let's see who gets scared. He should do it right about…” 

His phone beeps. You look around the room. 

Soon, your culprit reveals himself. Matt!

Holy shit. 

"He didn't want a picture," Hood says slowly. "He was frisking me! Motherfucker."

"But isn't he drunk?" you ask.

"No." Hood sighs in disgust. "How did I miss that? Br—someone I know does that all the time, spilling alcohol on himself so he smells like he's been drinking. God. Oldest trick in the book!"

"Do you think he knows you're the Red Hood?"

"No. But he might suspect something. Let's go.” 

You follow Matt out of the party. He's walking fast. Yeah. Definitely your guy. 

Down the hallway, Matt turns around and makes direct eye contact with you. You panic. 

“Hood!” you whisper. 

“I know,” he says. “Follow my lead.” 

Loudly, he laughs and puts an arm around your waist. “C’mon, baby, no one’ll know.”

And then you're being herded into a janitor’s closet. 

You stumble in, confused and reeling from how easily Hood plays the affectionate boyfriend role. He follows you in, shuts the door, and pulls the chain dangling from the ceiling. The single light bulb turns on. 

You take care to not knock over any cleaning supplies. You don't see the mop on the floor, however, and you trip backwards on the handle. 

Hood's reaction time is impeccable. He jerks forward to catch you, tugging you back on your feet with his hands on your arms. 

“Y’alright?” he asks. 

“Uh-huh,” you say, mildly mortified. “Thanks.”

He lets go. You shift on your feet. 

“How long are we gonna stay here?” you ask. 

Hood checks his phone. “Well, he should've moved on by now. Let's—”

The doorknob jiggles. You look at Hood in fear. His expression is similar. 

“Pretend!” you whisper, and that's all he needs to understand and move. 

You're expecting your arms around Hood, maybe exaggeratedly feeling him up. You are not expecting Hood to hoist you up by the backs of your thighs and press you against the wall. You squeal, arms shooting out to hold onto his neck. Hood's beard ends up in your mouth and you spit it out. 

The door swings open, revealing a very tipsy couple. 

“Oops!” the woman says, grinning. “Sorry. Carry on.”

The guy gives a thumbs-up. “True love.”

You smile awkwardly. Something is pressing into your hip.

“True love,” Hood deadpans. “Rock on.”

As soon as the door closes, you're squirming. 

“What is that?” you hiss. 

“My gun! Oh my God, it's my gun,” Hood says, quickly setting you down. “It's not…”

He trails off and backs away. You stand there, processing what just happened. 

“That wasn’t—”

“I didn’t—”

You both stop. Hood adjusts his beard. 

“You're really strong,” you say, wringing your hands. 

Hood nods. “Sorry about the, uh…”

“Yeah, let's just not talk about this.”

“Yup. Find Matt?” 

“Absolutely.” 

You open the door and peek out. The hallway is empty. Glory be.

“All clear,” you say, and Hood is on your heels as you sneak out. 

“Any ideas on where he'd go?” Hood asks. 

“Matt works in a cubicle like the rest of us. Emerson’s office is on the twelfth floor.” 

“Fine. We'll hit Emerson's office first. More privacy, and maybe they'll both be there. Two birds.”

“Emerson's office is protected by a password lock. He changes it every night,” you say, scurrying to keep up with Hood. 

“That's fine. I got a key right here,” he says, patting his holster.

“Wait! If the lock is tampered with, it sets off an alarm and security will come. You can't shoot it, Hood.”

He stops and sighs. “Why is everything so goddamn complicated? Alright, new plan. I'm gonna get my stuff from where we were and I'll break in the old-fashioned way.” 

Fifteen Minutes Later.

“This seems really unsafe!” you say, watching Hood dangle outside a three story window on a wire. He's attached to a grappling hook but still. Still! 

“Eh, I died once. Didn't stick. Hold the hook.” 

“I am!” As if you'd do anything but. You don't want the Red Hood to become Red Goo. 

Chilly December wind makes your eyes water and your nose cold. Still, you hold on. 

“Almost there!” he says. 

“Hey! What're you doing?” 

You whirl around and close your eyes due to the flashlight shining at them. Even though the lights are on. 

An elderly security guard glares at you. It's a good thing you're not an actual criminal… though after tonight, you're not so sure. 

“Um.” You try to hold onto the hook while hiding it behind your back. “Bird watching?”

The guard turns off the flashlight and tucks it into his belt. He slowly walks to you. 

“If you're doing something illegal, Miss, you're in big trouble.”

Well, this is fantastic. Of course it would be you that gets caught. 

The guard is getting closer. Your grip is sweaty. He peers over your shoulder. You let go of the hook, praying to every spirit out there that Hood is as good as everyone says he is. 

The guard looks around and scratches his head. You shrug, heart in your throat. 

“See?” you say. “Bird watching.”

He frowns at you. “I've got my eye on you.”

“And I commend you for that.” 

“Are you sassing me?” 

Are you? You might be. You've been spending too much time with Hood. 

Hood! You turn and look out the window. You don't see any red goo below, but it's also cold and foggy. Shit. You hurry to the elevators. 

“Okay, happy holidays, bye!”

The elevator doors open. You press twelve and close the door before the guard can consider getting on with you and shooting you a hairy eyeball all the way down. 

You hurry out and run down to Emerson's office. The door has been left ajar, which is good, right?

Bang!

You throw yourself against the wall. Shit. Maybe not. 

Ugh, you told Hood no shooting! Son of a bitch. 

“We're doing this tonight!” That's Emerson's voice. “I don't care if I have to shoot my way out.” 

Shoot? Oh no.

You carefully peek through the crack. Hood is standing with his hands behind his head. His beard has blood in it. Emerson is in front of him, gun to his head. 

Hood catches your eye. He gives you the tiniest head shake. You swallow. 

You can't just leave him there. 

Okay. Think. Emerson's back is to you. You can't see Matt, but you figure he's far enough away to not immediately shoot you. Hopefully. 

Anyway, what's your other option? The feisty relic upstairs? You can't risk any civilians getting hurt. 

Technically you're also a civilian but not tonight. Tonight you might as well be Batman. 

You slowly pull the door open further. You sneak in, then hide behind the secretary's desk.

“Is it done?” Emerson snaps.

That's when you see Matt in the corner on a laptop. 

“It takes time,” Matt says, obviously stressed too. 

“Well, hurry up!” Emerson looks at Hood. “Then we'll dispose of Santa here.”

Hood shrugs. “You can certainly try. Many have. ‘M still here.”

“Lots of bravado for a man in a costume,” Emerson sneers. “What are you, police?”

Hood groans. “As fucking if! I'm not a cop.” 

He hums. “Perhaps not. Otherwise this place would be crawling with them already. But you're alone.”

“How d'you know I'm alone?” Hood asks. 

You're glad he's calm because you're feeling the beginnings of another panic attack. But you can't panic, not now. The adrenaline pulsing through you is the only thing keeping you from going catatonic. 

You have no weapon, no plan. How the hell are you supposed to help Hood?

“You're bluffing,” Emerson says. 

“He has a girlfriend,” Matt says. “Some IT girl. She might come looking for him.”

“Then we'll take care of her too.”

Matt looks uncomfortable but he doesn't say anything. Hood is still cool as a cucumber. 

“She won't look for me. We had a fight. I forgot to buy the candy she likes.”

Candy? Why would—oh!

On the secretary's desk is a glass bowl filled with mini candy canes. You wrap your hands around it. 

“She knows my favorite,” Hood says, locking eyes with you.

You throw the bowl with all your might. Emerson is too slow—Hood grabs the bowl one-handed and swings it, knocking the gun from Emerson's hand. The candy explodes into pieces. Hood swings again, this time into Emerson's head. The bowl cracks. Emerson crumples to the floor. 

“Are you o—”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

In a blink, Hood wraps one arm around your waist and yanks you to the floor, covering your body. You curl into him on instinct. 

“I got you, I got you,” he says, patting your shoulder. “You okay?”

You nod, words not coming right now. You squeeze his hand. Hood seems to understand and he scoots you both behind Emerson’s desk. Then he loads his gun and cocks it.

“Stay here,” he says, then fires six shots. 

“Goddamnit!” Matt yells across the room. “This wasn't the plan! You're not supposed to be here!”  

Hood laughs, which is absolutely terrifying. “Don't talk to me about ruined plans, buddy. I've been waiting all night for an excuse to shoot somebody. Please make my night.” 

Matt fires four more shots. 

“Fuck you, cop!” 

“What the fuck? Fuck you more! I'm not a fucking cop!”

“Maybe it's the way you stand,” you say, teeth chattering from anxiety. 

Hood squeezes your shoulder comfortingly. “I stand like a cop? Gross. I gotta work on that.” 

“You're somebody!” Matt yells. “You're not just some guy, Todd, don't lie to me. You and that chick from IT are in cahoots.”

You huff. “He knows your name but not mine?”

“I’d take it as a compliment.”

Matt fires again. Hood tucks you behind him. 

“He won’t kill anybody,” he says, with way too much confidence, in your opinion. 

“Oh, is that why he's peacefully shooting at us?”

“He's scared, sure. But he can’t kill. Trust me, I know. Hey, Matt!” 

“What?”

Hood stands up. Your eyes bug out of your head. 

“Hood!” you hiss. “Hood!”

He ignores you, of course. 

“You won’t hurt anyone,” Hood says. He starts walking toward Matt. “You're not a killer, Matt.”

And all this time you thought Hood was sort of sane. Nope. 

“I will shoot you!” Matt warns. 

“Aw. You wouldn't shoot Santy Claus, would you?” 

Matt pulls the trigger. You gasp. It clicks. The magazine is empty. 

Hood closes the distance between them and grabs the gun, then elbows Matt in the face. Matt sprawls onto the floor. 

“Yeah, I don't risk my life on human emotion,” Hood says, loud enough so you can hear. “People can be so unpredictable. I will take a chance on a gun that only fires seven rounds, though. For a guy in finance, you're not very good with numbers, Matty.” 

You sigh in relief, slumping against the desk. After tonight, you're retiring. 

“Y'okay over there?” Hood asks. 

“Yeah.”

It's quiet for a bit. Then Hood returns and offers you a hand to help you stand. You do so on shaky limbs. 

He's got a cut on his eyebrow and a bruise on his cheek. You frown. 

“I'm sorry I let go of the hook. I thought—”

“You let go of the hook?”

You stop. “Um. No?” 

Hood squints at you. “Choosing to forgive you for that.” 

“I knew you were inside the office!”

“Yeah, sure.” 

“I'm not the only one taking risks,” you say. “Matt still fired at you.”

“Eh.” Hood shrugs. “He’s a crap shot. And I counted the rounds. I maintain my point. Factually, he could not shoot me.”

“You could've told me the gun was empty,” you say. 

“I wanted you to think I was cool and brave.” 

You laugh. “I already think that.”

Hood looks at you for a moment, like he’s trying to see right down into your soul. Intense. You cross your arms.

“So, um, ready to ditch this party?” you ask. 

“With pleasure.”

“What about them?” you ask, pointing to Matt.

“I have backup arriving soon. Let's get your coat.” 

You get your things while Hood changes back into his usual garb. He meets you at the back exit, the one that leads to an alleyway, Santa suit gone. The party's winding down and most are getting into their cars. You're grateful no one stops to ask where you disappeared to. 

There's police outside, but they're not here for Emerson. It's Bill that's being questioned by Commissioner Gordon. You stop short at the sight. 

“Hood… what did you do?” 

“Hm? Oh! There might have been some discrepancies in Bill's finances and he might have committed fraud to pay off his gambling debts. All circumstantial, though.”

“Please don't tell me you framed my coworker because he's a jerk,” you say. 

“No, but I'm not above that, for the record. I recognized Bill from when I was casing the Iceberg Lounge. That's where he racked up all that debt.”

You nod slowly. “That's how you knew his name.”

“Yup. He was a nobody, so I didn't bother with him. Had I known he was such a menace at work, well…”

You grin. “It's okay. I appreciate it now.” 

Hood nods. The silence is awkward for a few seconds. 

“So—”

“You don't have to keep working here,” he says. “You can leave if you wanna.”

“Hood…”

He puts up a hand. “Hear me out. I have a contact at Wayne Enterprises. I can get you an interview. Hell, I can get you the job.”

“And what would I owe you?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Think of it as a thank you for tonight. You didn't have to help me but you did.”

You open and close your mouth. “I don't… I don't know what to say.”

“Don't gotta say a thing,” Hood says quietly. “If anyone deserves a new year, it's you.”

“Oh.” Your throat feels tight suddenly. “Oh, Hood, that's really—that's nice of you.”

“It's been known to happen. Don't spread it around though.”

“But I don't want the job without interviewing!” you say. “I want to get it on my own.”

Hood nods. “Deal.”

You want to hug him but that seems like too much, even with all you’ve done tonight. So you take out a candy cane instead.

“I salvaged one from the bowl,” you say. “Merry Christmas, Hood.”

He takes it, tucking it into his pocket. “Merry Christmas. Need a ride?”

You shake your head. “I'm fine. See you around?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Stay safe, alright?”

“Oh, I will. Will you?”

He laughs. “No promises.” 

Then you blink and he's gone. You shove your hands into your coat pockets. 

In each pocket, there's a handful of Warheads. You smile.