#and prefers more... vigilante methods himself!!

[dcviated]

@starryskied sent:

" Don Wallcrusher... may I inquire something of you? It's mostly out of curiosity. " The Aegir inquires, mien pensive as he took a slow, methodical sip of his tea. " What is your opinion on the Inquisition? " Why does Lumen ask? Well... being an Aegir and being a member of the Inquisition himself felt like a brutal betrayal to those who suffered persecution under them before. He feels almost sick to his stomach when he thinks about it.

The hour hand of the clock has not yet fallen far from noon. A proud minute hand passing it early on its whimsical trip around the face. And yet there's a questionable liquid already mixed in with whatever the grand Aegir was sipping from his flask. His mood is good. Sometimes he just likes to be drinking. There's a song about this kind of mood, right? But then he'd need a margarita, and not just some hard liquor.

Lips pop and a slackening of posture puts a little more strain on the chair the large man was using opposite the other. Could there ever be a greater dissonance? Shark and a guppy. Booze and tea. Large wide grin and sheepish query. But Wallcrusher is unbothered as he mulls the question.

"Well I had the one that got after me when I was a kid. The town I lived in was a little ways up from the coast where you really see those folks get rowdy, but they had the reps. And I'll never forget him. Bit round in the gut, gaunt face and his beard came to like... here." His hand gestures down, a few inches past the fuzz on his own chin.

"Real sharp point. Bit of a dastard. I had uh... well. I was a bit of a problem kid, even among the other orphans. Lets just say... he had a reason to get after me, but not that hard. Of all the people who was glad to see me leave Redmont I bet he was high on the list."

Truthfully, youthful encounters aside, Dogi wasn't particularly connected to his homeland. Joining up with the crew he travelled with up until his 20s felt like a bigger marker of his character, to say nothing of those years as a traveler with the red-haired Sankta.

"But. Hey. They may have been bad in the past, but if they brought you into the ranks it means they're getting better right? Better late than never. If they keep turning up new leaves like this I can find it in my heart to give them a pass. Maybe I'd even apologize to ol' Lorenzo."

A belly laugh at that sentiment, playful shake of the head. "Buy him a sandwich to make up for the one I took~"

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Tired Stalker AU

AKA "Tim Drake is a little obsessive, possessive, and really, really likes his new boyfriend (Danny)" prompt idea!! No non-con, violence, or dead doves. Brief reference to human experimentation.

Inspired by this one post where Tim kept a methodical journal of Danny's resting pulse, body temperature, weaknesses, tracked him literally all the time, and Danny was like *heart-eyes*

I like the idea of Tim's idea of love being completely a bit skewed. He was neglected as a kid and craved attention, affection, being wanted; so, understandably, he assumes that's what other people want, too. He'd only had one boyfriend before. Kon was sarcastic, funny, and sweet, but even he couldn't handle Tim's... staring. The unblinking intensity in those eyes, the hundreds of pictures of himself on Tim's phone, somehow Tim knowing about Kon's conversations and experiences without having been there.

Needless to say, Tim and Kon's relationship ended with a harsh reiteration that most people need boundaries.

So, when Tim meets this very cute messy-haired boy at Gotham-U, he shoves down the instinctive urge to know everything. Mentally captures moments, memorizes them, instead of taking pictures. Shoves earbuds in to avoid listening in on Danny's conversations (oh, his name's Danny, which he overheard when the boy was speaking with the TA).

It's so hard not to obsess, though. Danny is... well, he's haunting. His crystalline eyes make Tim's heart stutter in his chest, chills rising along his arms; he swears there's this aura around Danny that's just utterly compelling. (Stop it, Tim, you'll scare him off.) But Tim can actually be a person sometimes, so he just asks, "Do you want to go out for coffee with me sometime?" And he's psyched when Danny says yes!! (He tries really, really hard not to memorize the fact that Danny likes hot oatmilk chai lattes, uses his left hand to hold his drink, and prefers not to use a coffee sleeve. Does Danny always hold his cups by the lid? Does he prefer- Tim stops himself.)

And Tim is a great boyfriend!! They go on dates (he doesn't avidly stare at the way Danny's eyes sparkle while at Gotham-U's planetarium). Tim learns Danny's favorite music the normal way (he doesn't hack into Danny's Spotify... although he's suddenly found himself listening to an artist named Ember). And Tim has a totally normal album of pictures of his boyfriend on his phone (his burner phone is a different matter entirely, but not even Batman himself could get it unlocked. Tim's got that phone sealed up tighter than the Fortress of Solitude).

Except Tim notices Danny becoming more withdrawn. More tired, dark bags under his eyes and stealing Tim's double espresso (he never does that, it's too bitter for him, why isn't he drinking his oatmilk latte?). Leaning his head on Tim's shoulder during lectures to take naps. And Tim's becoming more frantic the more lethargic Danny becomes.

Maybe he's more like Bruce "Contingency Plan" Wayne than he's willing to admit. Tim sets a hard boundary for himself: I'm just going to Google his symptoms. That's it.

He spends the next 42 hours obsessively researching Danny: hacks into his phone, downloads all his previous location history, texts, calls, background checks everybody Danny's been in contact with. Re-traces his steps down to the minute, finds all his Google searches, activates Danny's laptop webcam. He's determined to find out what's wrong with his boyfriend.

And because Tim is Red Robin, who literally became part of the Batfam because of his stalking tendencies and is one of the greatest detectives since Batman, he finds out. He finds out that Danny Fenton is one Phantom, a vigilante from Amity; finds obscure clips of newspapers mentioning a young boy's tragic death, discovers the GIW, uncovers classified information containing metahuman experimentation (let's say he doesn't quite know about Ghosts, but Metas are close enough).

Somehow, he makes a connection between ectoplasm and the Lazarus Pit (maybe not necessarily the right connection, but something-adjacent). After all, Jason was resurrected via "Evil Baja Blast" and Ra's al Ghul used it to make himself immortal. It would make sense that the GIW could sample Lazarus Pit water and use it to experiment on metahumans. So... Does Danny just need more Lazarus Pit water?

Cue Tim making use of the Drake and Wayne family wealth to literally overnight mason jars full of Lazarus water. Ra's al Ghul has no idea how it happened. He tests the reaction of Danny's DNA and the Lazarus water only to realize he was right. (Lazarus Pit waters are just excessively concentrated ambient ectoplasm, I guess?)

Tim does what any good boyfriend would do and spikes Danny's oatmilk lattes with Lazarus Pit water. And it helps. Danny is suddenly so much more energetic, there's that glittering shine to his eyes, and he looks so much healthier. Happier. Tim can't stop staring at him. If anything, he stares more, tries to memorize every angle of his boyfriend's face; he collects more candid pictures than before, always catching the gentle curl of Danny's lips when he's distracted; doesn't disengage the tracking apps or phone mirroring software.

He's just happy that his boyfriend is feeling better, more like himself. It's just a perk that Danny doesn't know about Tim's minor stalking tendencies.

(Danny absolutely knows.)

[solar-wing]

⚣ Puppy Love: Sweet and Romantic, but also somehow Murderous ❤️‍🔥

⚣❤️‍🔥 A/N → something I started writing while finishing up Shadowing Nightwing. Is this what I imagine my relationship to be like with Jason on a regular basis...absolutely. Absolutely. Am I somewhat delusional and living in a fantasy world? Also, absolutely, but also, mind your fucking business. anyways...! This was inspired from multiple posts and authors, who I have tagged and hyperlinked. @allllium @maj-b-s Thank you for feeding my obsession—ahem—my therapist will be sending you a bill. tee hee... WARNINGS: 18 + MDNI | College Male Reader | Fluff & Humor | Minor Violence (Implied) | Swearing/Crude Language | Smut | Breathplay | Possessiveness/Jealousy | Everyone wants Y/N's man |

⚣❤️‍🔥 Summary → Meet Jason and Y/N: Gotham’s answer to the ultimate “relationship goals”—if your relationship goals involve an overly protective vigilante with a slight obsession for tearing apart his boyfriend’s scandalous wardrobe (and sometimes his coworkers). Their love story? Equal parts intense, adorable, and absolutely chaotic. Jason’s the growling, brooding protector who’d burn the world for Y/N, while Y/N is the sunshine with just enough sass to keep him in check… well, sometimes.

⚣❤️‍🔥 Word Count → 14.5K

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY ❤️‍🔥

If you asked anyone, they might hesitate to admit it outright, but the truth was hard to ignore: people envied Jason and Y/N’s relationship—and who could blame them? From the day those two started dating, they’d been like high-school sweethearts stuck in the honeymoon phase, but with ten times the intensity and none of the restraint. Not to sound bitter or envious—it was just a fact.

They were a painfully adorable couple. Jason was the doting, protective lover, almost to a fault. Sure, it’s a bit of a cliché, but he didn’t exactly help himself with the stark difference in how he treated others versus Y/N. Around everyone else, Jason looked permanently grouchy, as though every conversation he endured was a test of patience he barely passed. His eye-rolls, heavy sighs, and palpable disinterest didn’t go unnoticed; in fact, he made it pretty clear he couldn’t wait to walk away from anyone who wasn’t Y/N.

But the moment Y/N entered the room? Suddenly, Jason had nothing more important in the world. It was almost comical to watch this towering vigilante hang onto every word Y/N said like an overly attached puppy. Actually, that was the perfect way to describe their dynamic: Jason was a huge, lethal teddy bear with a soft spot, and Y/N was the unassuming boyfriend who had no clue how much sway he held over this giant who’d kill for him without hesitation.

Honestly, the best way to describe Y/N was as Jason’s polar opposite. He was social—well, social enough—and that sometimes got on his boyfriend’s nerves, who would’ve preferred to keep Y/N all to himself. It was partly jealousy, partly a possessive urge to monopolize his lover’s attention, but mostly it was Jason’s instinct to shield him from a world that had never been kind to the vigilante. Jason had been hardened by a lifetime of darkness, and he’d go to ridiculous lengths to keep Y/N’s light from dimming.

Not that Jason’s methods were exactly…practical.

“Jason, I get that you want to protect me, but you can’t shield me from everything,” Y/N said, finally sitting his boyfriend down for a much-needed conversation after yet another of Jason’s over-the-top protective stunts. “The only way you could do that would be to wrap me in bubble wrap and lock me away in a cave or something.”

“Trust me, I’ve considered it,” Jason muttered under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Y/N blinked, raising a brow.

“Nothing.”

Despite Y/N’s more social nature, he was everything Jason felt he was missing in life. He was the humor, the hope, the optimism Jason rarely allowed himself. And sure, his optimism came with a sprinkle of sarcasm when he was annoyed, but Jason loved that too. In fact, he was so taken by Y/N that it was nearly an obsession—though, to be fair, obsession was kind of expected from someone like him.

Would a therapist call it codependency or maybe some kind of unhealthy dynamic? Probably. But good luck telling Jason that. He’d likely see it as a personal attack—and let’s just say that if you value your life, you might want to avoid bringing it up. You’ve been warned.

But back to the point: Y/N and Jason’s relationship quickly became the kind that made even Y/N’s friends—most of whom were floundering in the love department—wonder just how he’d managed to snag such a devoted and caring guy. It especially made Jason feel appreciated, loved, and genuinely important to someone the way Y/N would never miss a chance to gush about his vigilante boyfriend to anyone willing to listen, and though he’d never admit it out loud, he secretly loved every second of it.

Though, do exercise a bit (lot) of caution, because once the topic turns to Jason, everyone’s in for a long haul—Y/N could and would talk anyone’s ear off that was willing to listen about how amazing his boyfriend is. Just as Jason was obsessed with Y/N, Y/N was equally smitten with Jason, and honestly? Jason wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Alright, Y/N, spill it! I need every detail about how you landed this guy. Don’t hold out on me—give me the exact prayer, word-for-word, quickly!”

“I—uh—well, I—”

“Come on, Y/N! My pen is drying up, and I’m not getting any younger!” His friend slapped a notepad and pen down in front of him, staring him down like he was about to write out a love spell straight from a witch’s spellbook.

“Girl, I don’t even know. The guy just kinda showed up in my life one day and never left,” Y/N shrugged, half-joking, though it was pretty much the truth.

It had all been by chance—well, kind of. If you could call Jason keeping an eye on Y/N “chance.” In reality, he’d been sort of… lurking, for good reasons (or at least reasons he’d justified to himself). It started one night when Y/N was finishing up his work-study shift at Gotham University. Now, calling an Uber would’ve been the smart, safe choice, especially in a city like Gotham. But he lived just 15 minutes away, and spending money on a five-minute ride? Please. He had a budget to consider.

That was before he found himself cornered in a dark alley by three oversized thugs who smelled like the embodiment of an ashtray mixed with cheap beer, a scent so thick it made his eyes water. The kind of men Gotham bred like weeds—rough, desperate, dangerous. Y/N barely had time to process the situation before one of them shoved him against a cold, brick wall, a knife pressing against his throat. His backpack was snatched and dumped unceremoniously onto the wet alley floor, its contents spilling out for their inspection.

His mind raced, paralyzed with fear and regret. He could practically hear his parents' voices reminding him to be cautious, to make smart choices, to avoid walking alone at night in places like this. Irony stung almost as much as the cold steel against his neck—the “responsible” choice would have been to spend that $15 on an Uber, not gamble his safety for a free walk. 

And was the money he’d save really worth risking his life for? Probably not. But hey, that was Gotham for you—always teaching life lessons the hard way. He braced himself, feeling the icy dread of not knowing if he’d make it out alive. Stories like these didn’t usually end well on the news in this city.

But fate, or something like it, had other plans.

Out of nowhere, a low, gravelly voice sliced through the night. “I’d drop the knife if I were you.”

Y/N didn’t dare turn his head, but he felt the tension shift as the thugs looked up, startled. Standing at the mouth of the alley was a figure who seemed to materialize from the shadows—a tall, broad man clad in black and deep red, with a sleeveless hoodie that revealed muscular arms wrapped in red bandages. A mask and hood concealed majority of his face, glowing red eyes staring down the thugs with an intensity that froze them in place. Strapped across his back were two long katanas, and a utility belt around his waist held holsters that almost certainly contained a pair of guns, adding to his already intimidating presence.

Red Hood.

Y/N had heard of him, of course. Gotham’s resident anti-hero, rumored to have a thing for…creative violence. The vigilante’s imposing size was enough to make anyone feel small; he towered over Y/N, his form carved out of muscle and something darker, something hardened. Even the thugs looked ready to wet themselves, and Y/N could feel the goosebumps rise on his skin as he finally dared to look up.

In less time than it took him to blink, Red Hood had closed the distance, dispatching the thugs with an efficiency that would’ve been impressive if it weren’t so, well, terrifying. Knives clattered to the ground, grunts and thuds filled the air, and Y/N just stood there, frozen like a deer in headlights, half expecting to wake up from a weird stress-induced nightmare.

But this was very real, as proven when Red Hood finally turned to him, and Y/N felt his breath hitch. Up close, the vigilante was even more intimidating—a wall of muscle wrapped in dark red and black, those red eyes glowing with an intensity that made Y/N’s knees wobble. There was no denying it; the guy was terrifying. Yet, for some reason, there was a weird, traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispering, He’s kind of hot, though.

“You alright?” The voice was rough, like gravel scraping across metal, but there was an undertone of concern. Red Hood’s gaze softened just a fraction, almost imperceptible, yet Y/N caught it.

“I—I think so,” he managed, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes were wide, and he forced himself not to flinch as Red Hood stepped even closer, the hulking vigilante now looming over him. Up close, he could see the muscles tense beneath the suit, the power radiating off him like heat.

Red Hood’s head tilted slightly, as if assessing him, and Y/N swore he felt like he was being scanned. Which, honestly, was fair. He was some college kid wearing a sweatshirt that said “Gotham U” in block letters, and this guy looked like he wrestled criminals for fun. But instead of feeling like prey, he felt this strange pull, like something was drawing him toward the vigilante. It was probably just adrenaline… or at least, that’s what he told himself.

Red Hood gave a grunt, a sound that could have meant anything from “good to hear” to “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, punk.” But then he leaned down, his helmet casting an ominous shadow over Y/N’s face. “Next time, take the Uber.”

Y/N blinked, the absurdity of the situation hitting him all at once. “Noted,” he replied, deadpan, because honestly, what else could he say?

He should have been scared—terrified, even. But instead, he found himself lingering on every detail: the way Red Hood’s chest rose and fell, the glint of his weapons, the sense of barely restrained danger that rolled off him in waves. And underneath all of that, a strange, quiet thrill that he didn’t quite understand.

Satisfied, Red Hood gave him one last look before he started to turn away, blending back into the shadows. But in a flash of impulsiveness, Y/N called out, “Wait!”

Red Hood stopped, glancing over his shoulder, clearly not used to random civilians asking for an encore. Y/N hesitated, realizing how ridiculous he must have sounded, but the words were already out there, so he figured he might as well keep going.

“Uh… thanks. For, you know, saving me. And also for the life advice,” he added, his voice dripping with awkward humor.

There was a pause—a long, silent pause where Y/N briefly wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake. But then, to his surprise, he thought he saw the faintest tilt of amusement in the way Red Hood shifted his stance. Was that… a chuckle? No, probably not. But he’d like to think so.

Red Hood nodded—a subtle acknowledgment—before disappearing into the night, leaving Y/N alone in the alley with nothing but his scattered belongings and a heart that felt like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest. As he knelt down to gather his things, he couldn’t help but survey the carnage of his soggy notebooks and papers, along with his now-broken laptop and tangled, half-shattered headphones.

He let out a sigh, shaking his head as he picked up a notebook that was more mush than paper. “Well, this is fine,” he muttered, trying to keep his spirits up. “Just a little water damage. Adds character, right?”

Then he spotted his laptop, the screen shattered and a piece of it barely hanging on by a hinge. He laughed, a bitter chuckle that held more disbelief than humor. “Guess it’s one way to force an upgrade,” he murmured, stuffing it back in his backpack like a defeated soldier gathering his gear after a lost battle.

And the headphones? Well, they’d been cheap anyway, held together by more wishful thinking than actual quality. “You were too good for this world,” he whispered dramatically, dropping them into the bag with a resigned sigh.

Despite the state of his belongings, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just survived something surreal, something that would haunt his dreams and maybe even—dare he say it?—excite him a little.

Unbeknownst to him, from the shadows a few blocks away, Jason eyed him from his hiding spot, a curiosity nagging at him, as if he’d found something worth watching over. He could see Y/N still crouched on the grimy ground, gathering his belongings—soggy notebooks, torn papers, a laptop with a shattered screen. He’d felt a pang of guilt as he watched, a flicker of sympathy mingling with a less-than-pleasant feeling of familiarity knowing all too well what it was like to lose the few things you relied on—to feel like the world had kicked you when you were down.

And while he’d never admit it, maybe a part of him liked that the kid seemed more amused than scared. After all, it wasn’t every day that someone didn’t scream when they saw Red Hood.

Of course, now that they were dating, Y/N was not surprised by the vigilante’s actions after their encounter when he’d come out of his apartment a week later to find a large box sitting on his doorstep with a plain label reading simply, “For You.” 

Inside was an assortment of brand-new school supplies including pristine notebooks in varying colors, a handful of smooth, high-quality pens and highlighters, and even a sleek, expensive laptop that he definitely could not afford on a student budget. Nestled beside it was a pair of high-quality Bluetooth headphones—the kind he’d ogled online but never dreamed of buying. And to top it all off, there was a sturdy, stylish bag to carry everything in.

And while most other people would’ve been slightly concerned at the fact that a random vigilante just happened to know their address after only one meeting where they didn’t even give their name, Y/N on the other hand, was processing the contents of the box with a mix of gratitude, amusement, and a new crush.

And so, their love story began, marked by Jason’s continued (and slightly overprotective) habit of rescuing Y/N from Gotham’s mean streets—even if the college student didn’t always realize he needed saving. Hence the “stalking” mentioned earlier.

Of course, was it technically stalking if it was done out of love and devotion for some random stranger you’d developed a massive crush on but couldn’t quite work up the nerve to talk to directly? Well… yes. Experts would say it’s still stalking. But hey, if those experts ever found themselves in a tight spot, Jason would be conveniently “unavailable” to save them.

Naturally, Y/N couldn’t exactly share the full story of his and Jason’s introduction. For one, his friends would roast him to the ends of the earth for being dumb enough to walk home alone in Gotham at night. He could practically hear their voices now: “Really, Y/N? Alone? At night? In Gotham? Do you not value your own life?” And frankly, he wasn’t about to give them that much material.

Oh, and there was also the tiny detail of Red Hood’s whole secret vigilante identity thing.

So, he went with a slightly edited version of the story, painting Jason as a “helpful stranger” who just happened to show up when Y/N “got lost” and had his bag stolen. And when his friends inevitably asked about the shiny new gear—a nearly $500 bag, top-of-the-line laptop, high-quality headphones, the works—he explained it all as a result of some extra scholarship money and financial aid he’d “saved up.” Sure, splurging on luxury tech and accessories might seem a tad unrealistic, but he’d throw in a line about a “really good sale” and call it a day.

Because as much as Jason’s habit of going overboard with gifts could be a little, well, extra, Y/N wasn’t about to complain. The man was thoughtful in a way few would ever believe, though his affection tended to be wrapped in thick layers of leather, weaponry, and a no-nonsense glare.

Jason loved hard, though he wasn’t quick to show it to just anyone. The guy kept his feelings locked up tighter than a Gotham vault, hardened by a lifetime of broken trust and betrayal. He wasn’t exactly the “wear your heart on your sleeve” type. But every so often, with the right person, he’d crack that tough exterior. And Y/N? Somehow, he’d slipped right through, without even trying.

And okay, could Jason be a little intense? Sure (absolutely). But when a vigilante with a borderline obsessive streak decides he cares about you, well… let’s just say things are bound to get a little out of hand. That’s just the price of having Gotham’s resident anti-hero as your personal guard dog.

Not that Y/N thinks of him quite like that, but it’s kind of funny, considering Jason really does act like a lovesick puppy when it’s just the two of them, his tough exterior melting away—it gave the energy of a Golden Retriever, maybe, or a Siberian Husky with an attitude problem. But the moment anyone else entered the room, his whole vibe transformed. If Y/N was his safe haven, the rest of the world was an enemy camp. He’d switch from doting boyfriend to a blend of German Shepherd, Rottweiler, and Doberman with the attitude and aggressiveness of a Chihuahua on an espresso shot. It was a little terrifying for others but to Y/N? It was just… Jason.

Part of what made their dynamic so unique was how Jason let himself be vulnerable around Y/N, something few people ever got to see. Y/N was his safe space, the person he could trust to see the parts of him he usually kept hidden—the softness, the care, the insecurities he guarded as fiercely as he guarded Gotham’s streets.

Funny enough, Y/N quickly discovered just a few months into dating that Jason’s love language was, without a doubt, physical touch. Why was that funny—and possibly the most ironic thing he’d ever experienced? Because when they first started dating, Jason avoided touch like it was the plague.

It took Y/N a while to notice it, but once he did, it was painfully obvious. Jason had this way of keeping just enough distance, as if he’d drawn a line no one was allowed to cross. At first, Y/N thought it was just Jason’s natural intensity, but over time, he began to see the pattern. Jason was hyper-aware of any physical contact—quick to dodge, tense when someone brushed against him accidentally, even flinching at touches he saw coming. It was like he’d trained himself to see any sort of physical contact as a potential threat.

And it made sense, really, considering Jason’s past and the double life he led—something Y/N only found out about a few months after they started dating. Jason’s body told a story all on its own, each scar and faded bruise marking a chapter of battles fought and enemies conquered. The scars weren’t just skin-deep; they were reminders of a life filled with danger, betrayal, and loss. And Y/N began to understand why Jason had always kept his distance, why he seemed wary of even the gentlest touch. To Jason, vulnerability had always come with a price.

Also, talking about his family was a rare event, and when he did, there was a hesitance, a guarded tone. Y/N knew bits and pieces—enough to understand that while Jason loved his family, there were wounds there too, emotional scars that ran just as deep as the ones on his body. He avoided talking about them, save for the occasional mention of Alfred, the family’s butler. Alfred was the exception, the one person Jason spoke of with nothing but respect and a rare softness. In time, Y/N came to love and appreciate Alfred just as much, seeing how deeply he’d cared for Jason when others hadn’t.

But even with Alfred, Jason’s life had taught him that letting people in, letting people close, meant risking pain. So he’d built walls, high and impenetrable, where touch was a luxury and distance was safety. Yet again, somehow, Y/N had slipped through those walls. Slowly, patiently, he’d helped Jason find comfort in a gentle touch, a warm embrace, and the knowledge that here, with him, there was no danger. Just love.

At first, it was subtle—the occasional shoulder touch, the brief brush of his hand, like Jason was testing the waters. But as he grew more comfortable, his affection started to show in quiet, gentle ways: a hand resting at the small of Y/N’s back, an arm draped protectively around his shoulders, or the way he’d pull Y/N close, as if his presence alone could shield him from the world. Sure, his protectiveness sometimes bordered on overbearing, but Y/N didn’t mind one bit. He’d come to cherish those moments, knowing that each touch, each fierce little act of devotion, was Jason’s own way of saying, I love you.

And before Y/N even realized it, Jason had practically become his shadow, glued to his side like some overly affectionate—albeit slightly brooding—puppy. It was like a switch had flipped, and suddenly, Jason couldn’t go a full five minutes without reaching out to touch him, craving the comfort and reassurance of Y/N’s presence. Jason was always there, one way or another: a hand resting on his neck, fingers tracing along his arm, a warm weight on his thigh, or just… hovering in his orbit like a bodyguard who happened to look at him like he was the best thing in Gotham.

Rarely did a moment pass when they weren’t connected in some physical way. More often than not, Jason would find any excuse to pull Y/N into a full-on cuddle, whether they were on the couch or in bed, as if he was storing up warmth like a battery. And his favorite spot? Laying his head on Y/N’s chest, listening to his heartbeat with his eyes closed, completely at peace as Y/N’s hands ran gently through his hair. For Jason, it was the ultimate comfort, a reminder that he was loved and safe—a rare feeling in his life.

It was endearing, really. Jason might’ve been Gotham’s big bad vigilante, but to Y/N, he was a full-grown man with the energy of a giant, needy puppy, demanding his attention with that silent, intense stare of his. And honestly? Y/N wouldn’t have it any other way.

Of course, Y/N would be lying if he said he didn’t get a kick out of the way Jason would pout and glare at him whenever he stopped rubbing his head or, heaven forbid, dared to refuse his touch. Imagine this six-foot-plus tower of muscle—a guy who could make dudes on steroids look like scrawny sidekicks—staring down his boyfriend with an actual pout because he wasn’t getting his cuddle fix. It was a sight that never failed to make Y/N laugh (not that he’d do it out loud; he valued his life, after all).

Jason could—and would—throw his ire at just about anyone else, often for the smallest of reasons. Anyone not named Y/N was fair game for his mood swings, his infamous scowl, and even the occasional growl. But with Y/N? Well, let’s just say he was spared from the wrath of Gotham’s most intimidating vigilante… unless he denied Jason cuddles or the sacred privilege of his bodily embrace. That, apparently, was the one line Y/N couldn’t cross.

The “punishment” usually lasted, at most, ten minutes. Jason would start by sulking, grumbling under his breath like a child denied dessert, and shooting Y/N the kind of glare usually reserved for Gotham’s worst criminals. Y/N, of course, would hold out as long as he could, but eventually, one of two things would happen. Either he’d cave, sighing as he finally opened his arms to let Jason claim his cuddle rights, listening as Jason mumbled dramatically about how he “should never be denied cuddles” because it was his god-given right, or—if Y/N took too long—Jason would take matters into his own hands.

And by that, it meant Jason would simply scoop him up, plop himself down, and drape his entire, solid weight on top of Y/N like some overgrown cat claiming it's human. There was no escape—Jason’s big arms wrapped around him like an anaconda, pulling him close until Y/N was completely enveloped, pinned down with zero chance of getting away.

Y/N didn’t mind, though. Quite the opposite, actually—it was hot. Sue him.

"Y/N, don’t take this the wrong way but… is your man single?” one of his coworkers asked, giving him a sly grin.

OOP—

GIRL. For your own sake—and for the sake of anyone within a mile radius—tread carefully. That man is as jealous and territorial as his possessive ass vigilante boyfriend, who’s on a level that’s practically legendary. No, seriously; Jason’s jealousy was on a scale that was insane.

Case in point: family game night. Tim had everyone playing this game where you had to come up with a word for each category starting with a randomly chosen letter. Simple enough, right? Well, when “J” was the letter of the round, let’s just say Y/N’s answers weren’t exactly… satisfying to a certain overprotective vigilante.

“Y/N,” Jason hissed, narrowing his eyes, “you’ve got two seconds to explain to me who the hell Jackson is.”

“I had to think of something!” Y/N replied, holding up his hands defensively.

Jason crossed his arms, staring him down. “And what does my name start with, hmm?”

“I—okay, listen, I panicked! I was thinking about Percy Jackson!”

Jason didn’t see it as jealousy—he was just protective, okay? But if his definition of protective happened to mean glaring down anyone who so much as glanced at Y/N, then so be it.

Y/N on the other hand…

Funny enough, Jason actually started complaining because every time he and Y/N went out together, people would give him looks, like they thought Y/N was in mortal danger. And okay, Jason got it—he wasn’t exactly small, or subtle. With his build, his perpetual scowl, and the way he seemed ready to throw down at any given moment, he could understand slightly why people would think the way they’d think. Shit, he’d do the same. But still.

When it got to the point of the cops getting called because the neighbors heard loud noises, grunts, and what they thought were sounds of pain and struggle after seeing a large and intimidating man drag Y/N into his apartment—when, in reality, they were just doing the dirty tango against the kitchen wall—it gets a bit annoying.

But that wasn’t even the real issue Jason had been complaining about. No, what had actually gotten under his skin was how everyone always assumed he was the threat, when in reality, it was Y/N they should’ve been worried about. People just didn’t see it, but Y/N had a dangerous side all his own. Just ask the kid who was dumb enough to try and pull a fast one on Jason by touching and caressing him in public when Y/N had stepped away for a moment.

The moment the college student came back… well, let’s just say things got ugly. Legally, however, Jason couldn’t speak about it. Not because he didn’t want to—oh, he’d love to relive the whole glorious scene—but because Y/N had made him, and his brothers, sign an NDA afterward. Yep, Dick, Tim, Damian, and Jason had to put pen to paper, bound to secrecy about The Incident.

Y/N had handled it with a level of ruthless efficiency that left the whole Bat family in awe. He’d dealt with that poor, clueless kid in a way that was so subtly devastating that even Bruce raised an eyebrow when he found out. Although, truth be told, Bruce wasn’t exactly shocked; he just hadn’t expected someone as sweet as Y/N to be quite so… resourceful.

After that, the whole family understood that, sure, Jason might look like the scary one—but when it came to those he loved, especially when it involved Jason, Y/N was a force to be reckoned with.

Y/N glanced back at his coworker with a slightly distant look before letting out a laugh, shaking his head. “Girl, don’t play.”

Girl—seriously, don’t do it.

Thankfully, she chose common sense and life at that moment, laughing along with him. “You know I’m just kidding! But seriously, where did you find him? The things I’d do just to get a man who looks at me with even half the love as he does with you.”

It was in Y/N’s honest opinion that Jason had to be an angel or some divine gift sent to him from the heavens above. Or God, the Universe, Santa Claus, took mercy on him knowing that kind of unserious trouble he could get himself into. Seriously, it was like his life was written by some dude who strove to put him in the most unthinkable scenarios ever thought of by man.

…

Hold up.

…

Nah…unless?

“But seriously, where do you even find a man like that? ‘Cause the ones out here? Girl, they’re giving ‘bare minimum’ and vibes. God really needs to start restocking the good ones.”

“Where did I find him?” Y/N repeated, smirking as he wiped down the counter. “I don’t know. One day he just showed up, brooding and scary-looking, and now he refuses to leave.”

His coworker rolled her eyes, leaning closer like she was trying to decode some deep secret. “You’re dodging the question. Men like that don’t just show up. Spill the tea.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking his head. “Honestly? If I told you the real story, you wouldn’t believe me.”

And wasn’t that the truth? If he started explaining how Gotham’s most terrifying vigilante had saved him from a mugging, delivered new school supplies like some twisted fairy godmother, and then proceeded to burrow into his life like an oversized, territorial puppy, she’d probably think he was delusional. Or worse, that he was into some bizarre fanfiction-level nonsense. Which, fair.

Before Y/N could add anything else, his phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at the screen and couldn’t stop the small smile that crept across his face.

Jason: Did you eat yet?

Y/N sighed, typing back a quick Yes, Dad, even though it was a blatant lie. He didn’t need Jason going full hover-boyfriend just because he skipped breakfast.

Fifteen minutes later, though, Jason strolled into the shop like he owned the place, a brown paper bag in hand. Y/N barely had time to react before Jason plopped the bag on the counter, his expression hovering between annoyed and smug.

“Didn’t I just tell you I ate?” Y/N asked, arching an eyebrow.

Jason crossed his arms, his biceps straining his jacket in a way that made his coworker openly gape. “And I didn’t believe you. So here.” He gestured at the bag like it was some great offering, clearly unbothered by the audience they had. “You’re not skipping meals.”

Y/N sighed, opening the bag to find his favorite sandwich neatly packed alongside a container of fruit and—of course—a bottle of water. His coworker, meanwhile, was staring like she was witnessing a rom-com play out in real life.

“You know,” she whispered as Jason stepped back to lean casually against the counter, his watchful gaze flicking between Y/N and the shop’s door, “if you don’t marry this man, I will.”

Y/N snorted, shoving a grape in his mouth. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

In all honesty, Y/N knew the kind of love Jason offered wasn’t for the faint of heart. As previously mentioned, when that man loved, he loved hard—like all-in, no-holds-barred, borderline territorial levels of hard. And he wasn’t just protective—oh no, he was possessive with a capital P when it came to the things he cared about.

What did that mean?

Well...

Considering the kind of life Jason had lived—where the things he loved or that brought him joy were often ripped away in the most brutal, gut-wrenching ways imaginable—it wasn’t exactly a shocker. Jason had become fiercely devoted to guarding what was his, with a vigilance that often toed the line between endearing and slightly terrifying.

It was like an aggressive dog who decided one day that a random shoe was its favorite thing in the world. The kind of resource-guarding where even looking at the shoe too long earned you a deep, guttural growl of warning. Ignore the warning? Well, congratulations, you just donated a finger—or maybe two—to the cause.

If it’s not clear by now, Y/N was the shoe, and Jason was the dog. And when it came to Y/N, anything—or anyone—that so much as hinted at upsetting him, threatening him, or even mildly inconveniencing him would quickly find themselves on the wrong end of Jason’s wrath. It wasn’t a matter of if there’d be hell to pay, but how much. Spoiler: it was always a lot.

So, picture this: Y/N comes home after a long day of morning classes and an equally draining evening shift. On the surface, he looks fine. Totally normal. But what no one knows is that he spent the last twenty minutes sitting in his car, quietly sobbing into a handful of fast-food napkins.

He knew better than to bring those emotions into the apartment, though. Because while most boyfriends would give you a hug and let you vent, Jason would go full vigilante mode. If he even sensed that someone had made Y/N upset, it wouldn’t just be hell to pay—it’d be Gotham-wide carnage. And Y/N, being the thoughtful boyfriend he was, liked to minimize unnecessary casualties.

Armed with tissues, eyedrops, and a firm I’m fine, just tired mantra, Y/N stepped through the door, hoping to slide under Jason’s radar.

Nope. Not happening.

The moment Jason saw him, his expression shifted. Y/N had no clue what gave him away—was it the puffiness? His voice? The way he stood?—but Jason immediately clocked something.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asked, his voice calm, but laced with that dangerous edge that said he was already running through a mental list of suspects who might need a "visit."

Y/N froze, debating his options. He knew better than to lie. Jason would sniff it out in seconds. But he also knew that the moment he opened his mouth, Jason wouldn’t rest until he figured out who—or what—was responsible.

And honestly? That was the kind of energy Y/N both feared and loved about him.

“I just had a stressful day at work, Jason. I’ll be fine,” Y/N said, sidestepping as he tried to make his way past the towering vigilante and towards the bathroom.

But trying to get past Jason when he was in that mode? Easier said than done. It was like trying to walk through a solid brick wall—one that was armed, brooding, and ridiculously muscled. Jason was locked into full protective-boyfriend mode, which meant Y/N wasn’t going anywhere until Jason had the name, address, and probably the social security number of the person who dared to upset him.

Why he needed the social security number? Well, Bruce did teach him to be thorough when handling "cases." And in Jason’s mind, this was no different.

In one smooth move, Jason’s arm shot out, stopping Y/N’s attempt to breeze past him. With two quick steps, Y/N found himself backed against the wall—well, Jason’s chest first, and then the wall behind him. Jason leaned in, his presence overwhelming in the best way possible, his dark, piercing gaze locking onto Y/N’s like a laser. That intense look he gave—the one that said I have no problem keeping you right here until I get answers—made Y/N’s knees weak.

Not that he minded. Let’s be real: Jason’s body, his sheer presence, had always been Y/N’s favorite place to decompress, even if it came with the added pressure of being metaphorically (and sometimes literally) pinned to the hot seat. And honestly? Who could complain about being wrapped up in the arms of a man like Jason. If you wouldn’t feel the same, take your judgment elsewhere.

Jason tilted his head, his voice low and commanding as he leaned in closer. “Talk to me, baby. What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” Y/N muttered, looking away, though his traitorous heart betrayed him by picking up speed. He could feel Jason’s gaze on him, heavy and unwavering. “Just a bad day.”

“That’s not nothing,” Jason replied firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. His arm caged Y/N in further, his body so close that Y/N could feel the heat radiating off him. “Bad days don’t make you cry in your car before coming home.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. Damn it. How does he always know?

Jason leaned even closer, his lips brushing against Y/N’s ear as he whispered, “I’ll ask again. Who made you cry?”

That commanding tone, combined with Jason’s overwhelming presence, had Y/N’s walls crumbling faster than he’d like to admit. “Jason, it’s nothing you need to get involved in. It’s my boss—he’s just been... making things harder than they need to be,” he said, his voice faltering as he tried to downplay the situation.

Jason’s jaw ticked, and his free hand gently cupped Y/N’s chin, tilting his head back so their eyes met. “Details. Now.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment before the frustration, hurt, and exhaustion bubbled over. “He’s cutting my hours—again. And I need those hours, Jason. For rent, for groceries, for school. I’ve tried talking to him, emailing HR, even bringing in a neutral third party, but nothing changes. And today…” He swallowed hard, his voice cracking. “Today, he reduced my schedule to the point where I’ll barely be able to afford ramen next week. And then he called me into his office to give me some bullshit ‘coaching moment’ that was really just him tearing me down in front of everyone.”

Jason’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as Y/N’s words sank in. “What did he say?” His tone was dangerously calm, the kind of calm that meant bad things were about to happen to someone.

Y/N shook his head, his voice breaking as he tried to get the words out. “I—I don’t want to repeat it. It was nasty, Jason. Just nasty.”

Jason’s grip softened immediately, his hand moving to the back of Y/N’s neck as he pulled him into his chest. “Baby, come here,” he murmured, his voice gentler now. Y/N didn’t resist, letting himself melt into Jason’s arms as the tears he’d been holding back all day finally spilled over.

Jason held him tightly, his strong arms a fortress of safety and comfort as he whispered, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let it out.”

They stayed like that for a while, Jason eventually guiding Y/N to the couch so they could sit down. He pulled Y/N into his lap, holding him as if to shield him from the world. Y/N buried his face in Jason’s chest, the warmth and strength of his boyfriend grounding him as Jason’s hand gently stroked his back.

After a while, Y/N’s voice broke the silence. “Promise me you won’t do anything rash, Jason. Please.”

Jason’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded. “I promise.”

The next day, Y/N found himself questioning that promise when Jason showed up at his workplace. The vigilante didn’t cause a scene—he didn’t need to. A quiet, private “conversation” with Y/N’s manager in the backroom was all it took. Whatever Jason said, it worked. By the time he left, Y/N’s hours had mysteriously been restored, and his manager couldn’t look him in the eye without stammering.

When Y/N confronted him later, Jason just smirked, pulling him into a kiss. “I didn’t do anything rash,” he said innocently. “I just... clarified some things.”

And honestly? Y/N didn’t even want to know what “clarified” meant.

It was that incident—the one where Jason paid a visit to Y/N’s workplace—when Y/N’s coworkers finally met the infamous boyfriend they’d only ever heard about in passing. Well, passing might’ve been an understatement, considering Y/N used any and every opportunity to talk about his man. At first, the constant mentions of “Jason this” and “Jason that” had been met with teasing eyerolls and mock groans. But after seeing Jason in action, shutting down their tyrant of a manager with one calm but devastating conversation, everyone got it. Completely.

Jason and Y/N quickly became what the group lovingly referred to as the “template” for relationship goals. Y/N didn’t mind the label; he liked that people saw the best parts of their dynamic. What they didn’t see—or couldn’t fully grasp—was the effort and balance behind it all. Jason wasn’t just the tall, brooding vigilante who swooped in to save the day, and Y/N wasn’t just the sweet, supportive boyfriend standing in his shadow. Their relationship was a partnership in every sense of the word, built on mutual protection and care for one another.

It was that incident—the one where Jason paid a visit to Y/N’s workplace—when Y/N’s coworkers finally met the infamous boyfriend they’d only ever heard about in passing. Well, passing might’ve been an understatement, considering Y/N used any and every opportunity to talk about his man. At first, the constant mentions of “Jason this” and “Jason that” had been met with teasing eyerolls and mock groans. But after seeing Jason in action, shutting down their tyrant of a manager with one calm but devastating conversation, everyone got it. Completely.

Jason and Y/N quickly became what the group lovingly referred to as the “template” for relationship goals. Y/N didn’t mind the label; he liked that people saw the best parts of their dynamic. What they didn’t see—or couldn’t fully grasp—was the effort and balance behind it all. Jason wasn’t just the tall, brooding vigilante who swooped in to save the day, and Y/N wasn’t just the sweet, supportive boyfriend standing in his shadow. Their relationship was a partnership in every sense of the word, built on mutual protection and care for one another.

“Y/N, how much is your rent for this place? It’s really nice, and I’m looking for something closer to campus,” his friend asked one day during a study session at his and Jason’s apartment. A few of their classmates had joined, and the group was sprawled out in the living room, surrounded by open textbooks, laptops, and half-empty mugs and cups.

Y/N was about to answer—he really was—but then paused, his face twisting into a look of genuine confusion as he stared off into the distance, like he was searching the recesses of his brain for an answer that just wasn’t there. “Uh… I think $1,100? Maybe? Don’t quote me on that, though. I’m not 100% sure.”

His friends all exchanged baffled looks. “Wait, what do you mean you’re not sure?” one of them asked, narrowing their eyes. “How do you not know your own rent?”

“I do! I just… forgot,” Y/N said with a shrug, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Now they were all staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “Y/N, literally what the fuck? How do you just forget how much you pay in rent? Who forgets that?”

“I don’t know, okay? I knew it when I signed the lease, but every time I try to pay it at the beginning of the month, Jason’s already paid it. Sometimes months in advance! And, I don’t know, after a while, it just stopped being something I thought about.” Y/N gestured vaguely, as if this explanation somehow made perfect sense.

That didn’t stop the dumbfounded stares—or the flicker of envy in more than a few pairs of eyes.

“Wait, wait, wait.” One of his friends held up a hand. “So your boyfriend just pays your rent for you every month—without even asking—and you just… let him?”

Y/N snorted, sitting back on the couch. “First of all, rude. It’s not like I just let him. Trust me, if you were in my shoes, you’d understand that trying to stop Jason from taking care of me is like… I don’t know, trying to explain to someone in a MAGA hat what a cult is and that they’re in one. You’re not winning that battle.”

Can the church get an amen?

Y/N wasn’t lying—not even a little—when he said that trying to stop Jason from taking care of him was an exercise in futility. If anyone dared to tell Jason he was “doing too much” for his boyfriend, congratulations, they’d now joined the prestigious ranks of those “experts” Jason would gladly let fend for themselves in a crisis. When it came to Y/N, Jason handled it all: physically, emotionally, financially—you name it, he was on it like white on rice. And no amount of protesting from Y/N could change that.

And oh, did Y/N protest.

“Jason, did you pay my rent again?” Y/N asked, stepping into the apartment with his wallet still in hand and a clearly exasperated look on his face. He’d just come back from the leasing office, only to find out his balance was already cleared with a sex month advance payment. Again.

His frustration hit a slight pause, though, as he spotted Jason lounging shirtless on the couch—pause for an aroused deep breath—engrossed in what appeared to be an intense game of Mario Kart on his Nintendo Switch. A book Jason had been reading earlier was tossed haphazardly to the side, forgotten in the heat of the Rainbow Road battle.

Jason didn’t even glance up as he responded, “Yeah, I did. Why?” His thumbs moved quickly over the buttons, his face set in that annoyingly sexy, hyper-focused expression that made Y/N momentarily forget why he was upset in the first place.

“Why?” Y/N snapped, pulling himself out of that temporary daze. “Because I told you not to! That’s why!” He stormed over, planting himself squarely in front of the couch, arms crossed and glare locked on his boyfriend. “Jason, we’ve talked about this. I can handle my own rent.”

Jason sighed, finally pausing his game. He leaned back against the couch with an air of deliberate calm, setting the joy-con controllers aside. “I know you can,” he said, his voice smooth and measured in a way that made Y/N’s resolve falter. Jason’s eyes flicked up to meet his, dark and steady, pinning Y/N in place. “But here’s the thing, babe—you don’t have to.”

“That’s not the point,” Y/N shot back, his voice wavering slightly as Jason stretched lazily, his arms going behind his head in a way that made the muscles in his chest and shoulders flex. Unfair. He was doing this on purpose.

“Isn’t it, though?” Jason’s lips curved into a slow, smug smirk. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and Y/N’s breath hitched as the intensity of his gaze locked onto him. “Taking care of you isn’t optional for me. It’s my job. Whether it’s paying the rent, making sure you eat, or keeping your gorgeous ass out of trouble, that’s mine to handle.”

Y/N’s cheeks burned as he tried to maintain his glare, but it was a losing battle. “Jason,” he said firmly, though the quiver in his voice betrayed him, “you can’t just decide these things without asking me.”

Jason tilted his head, studying him in a way that felt equal parts tender and possessive. “Sure I can,” he said smoothly, reaching out to hook his fingers lightly around Y/N’s wrist, tugging him forward until he was standing between Jason’s knees. “You can handle yourself—I know that. But you don’t need to. Not when I’m here.”

Y/N opened his mouth to protest, but Jason tugged him down into his lap, wrapping an arm around his waist to hold him close. His free hand slid to the back of Y/N’s neck, his thumb brushing against the skin there in a way that made Y/N’s heart race.

“Tell me,” Jason murmured, his voice low and commanding, “why should I let you stress over something I can fix? Hmm?”

Y/N bit his lip, trying to muster the strength to argue, but Jason’s tone, his touch, the sheer weight of his presence—it all left him scrambling for words. He hated how easily Jason could reduce him to this flustered mess, and he really hated how much he secretly loved it.

“You’re impossible,” he finally muttered, dropping his head against Jason’s shoulder, his voice soft and defeated.

“And you love me for it,” Jason murmured against his ear, his smirk practically audible.

Y/N groaned but didn’t pull away, his fingers curling against Jason’s chest. “This conversation isn’t over,” he mumbled, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

“Sure, babe. Whatever you say,” Jason replied, leaning back with Y/N still in his lap, his grip firm and unyielding. He reached for his Switch with his free hand, resuming his game like he hadn’t just completely derailed the argument and walked away victorious.

And as much as Y/N wanted to be mad, he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips. Damn it. He really did love him for it. The student didn’t need to say how much he appreciated the weight of Jason’s steady presence; Jason didn’t need to hear it to know. And while Y/N would keep fighting to hold his own ground, there was a part of him—an unspoken, undeniable part—that found comfort in letting Jason hold the world at bay for him.

Their domestic life was a careful dance of their unspoken dynamic, with Jason ensuring their world was secure and steady, while Y/N kept their home—and Jason—centered and whole. Their roles played out naturally, shaped by who they were as individuals. Jason made sure the outside world couldn’t touch Y/N, taking care of the big things, the dangerous things that he’d never let his boyfriend come within a mile of. His presence was a shield, and his devotion ran so deep that sometimes it felt like he’d lay the world at Y/N’s feet if it meant seeing him happy.

Y/N swears there was one time he cracked a joke about wanting to live out his “soft boi” aesthetic—because, obviously, the ‘i’ made it edgier—and Jason, without missing a beat, ran with it without ever looking back.

But Y/N? He was the one who kept their world turning smoothly, the quiet, grounding presence that made sure Jason had a place to fall apart when life became too much. Whether it was stocking the kitchen with Jason’s favorite snacks or simply sitting with him on the couch after a rough patrol, Y/N created the kind of space Jason didn’t even realize he needed—safe, steady, and entirely his.

That balance extended to the little things too. Jason liked to cook when he had the time, his meals always hearty, protein-packed “fuel” designed to keep them going. Y/N, on the other hand, was the one who brought warmth to the table, sneaking in something sweet or comforting—even if it meant slipping vegetables into Jason’s plate, much to his dramatic protests.

“Because it’s pesto,” Y/N replied innocently, grinning as he leaned against the counter. “Don’t act like you’re too good for spinach.”

Jason grumbled something under his breath—something about how spinach was a lie—but ate every bite, proving once again that Y/N knew exactly how to play him.

And then there were the quieter moments—the ones that reminded them both why they worked so well together. Nights spent curled up on the couch, Jason sprawled out with his head resting in Y/N’s lap, his fingers absently tracing patterns along Y/N’s thigh. Y/N would run his fingers through Jason’s hair, the simple, soothing gesture melting away the tension that Jason carried like a second skin. Sometimes they’d talk—about Jason’s patrols, Y/N’s classes, or random nonsense that didn’t matter. Other times, they simply existed together, the quiet hum of their apartment a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the world outside.

But even Y/N, the softer half of their partnership, had his limits when it came to anyone crossing a line with Jason. Like the time a journalist ambushed Jason at a charity event, spouting thinly veiled accusations about his past. Jason had been moments away from snapping, his fists clenching at his sides, when Y/N calmly stepped in.

“If you don’t have something constructive to say,” Y/N said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “then I suggest you find someone else to bother.”

The journalist, thrown off by Y/N’s tone—gentle but edged like a blade—backed off almost immediately. Jason hadn’t said a word about it afterward, but later that night, when they were home, he’d kissed Y/N’s temple and murmured a quiet, “Thank you.”

Y/N was never afraid to step in for Jason when he needed him to, even if Jason wouldn’t—or couldn’t—outwardly ask for it. And the fact that Jason didn’t have to ask made it all the more meaningful for the vigilante. Y/N always seemed to know when to intervene, especially in moments when Jason couldn’t advocate for himself—particularly when it came to Bruce.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Jason had come home late that night, his steps heavy, his shoulders slumped in a way that told Y/N everything he needed to know before Jason even said a word. Gotham’s chaos could wear Jason down, but this kind of defeated air? That was Bruce’s handiwork.

Y/N didn’t push right away. He let Jason slip into the apartment, kick off his boots, and collapse onto the couch without a word. Jason sat there, his hands hanging limply between his knees, staring blankly at the floor like he was stuck in some internal tug-of-war. Y/N sat beside him, his hand lightly brushing Jason’s shoulder before resting on his thigh—a grounding touch.

“What happened?” Y/N asked softly.

Jason’s jaw tightened, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. “It’s Bruce,” he said after a long pause, his voice raw. “We were handling this case—a trafficking ring. I had it handled, Y/N. I had it. But he pulled the plug on the whole thing because it didn’t fit his goddamn code.” His fists clenched, his knuckles turning white. “There were kids involved, and he still chose the ‘moral high ground’ over what needed to be done. And then—” Jason’s voice broke, and he shook his head, his frustration giving way to something more fragile. “He looked at me like I was the problem. Like I was… too much again. Like I’m always too much.”

Y/N’s heart clenched as he took in the words, the quiet ache that laced Jason’s tone. It wasn’t just the case or Bruce’s stubbornness that hurt him—it was the way Bruce always seemed to find a way to make Jason feel like he’d never be enough, no matter what he did.

Y/N leaned in, his hand sliding up to the back of Jason’s neck, fingers gently massaging the tension there. “You’re not too much, Jay,” he murmured, his voice steady. “Not for me. Not for anyone who actually knows you.”

Jason didn’t respond, but the way he leaned into Y/N’s touch, his head bowing slightly, said more than words ever could.

An hour later, when a knock came at the door, Y/N didn’t need to guess who it was. He stood, sighing as Jason stayed where he was on the couch, visibly tensing at the sound. Y/N opened the door to find Bruce standing there, in some more casual wear (if you could ever call Bruce’s “old money” aesthetic casual), his expression as unreadable as ever.

“Y/N,” Bruce greeted, his tone clipped. “I need to speak with Jason.”

Y/N didn’t move, his hand braced casually against the doorframe. “No, you don’t.”

Bruce blinked, clearly unused to being told no—and even less accustomed to hearing it so decisively. “It’s important.”

“Is someone dead or currently dying?”

The blunt, and sarcastic tone of his words, while it didn’t visually throw the billionaire off, Y/N could see Bruce was surprised by his tone. He didn’t know how, but he clocked the shift in his demeanor. Maybe he was picking up some skills from his boyfriend after all.

“No, but–”

“Then, it can wait,” Y/N said, his tone edge with a finality that left no room for question or pushback.  “He just came home, and I don’t think he needs you piling on more stress right now. Whatever you’ve got to say can wait.”

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line. “This isn’t about stress. It’s about his actions tonight. He—”

“—did what he thought was right,” Y/N interrupted, his voice sharpening just slightly. “And from what he told me, he was right. You’re the one who undermined him and made him feel like he was a problem.”

Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but Y/N stepped out into the hallway, lowering his voice but not his resolve. “Look, Mr. Wayne, I get that you care about him in your own… specific way. But if you want to keep him in your life, maybe stop treating him like he’s the black sheep who’ll never measure up to your perfect little code. Because right now? You’re the only one who can make him feel like this, and that’s not the kind of impact someone who ‘cares’ should have.”

Bruce’s face didn’t betray much, but Y/N caught the faint flicker of something—guilt, maybe—in his eyes. Still, he didn’t budge. “This conversation isn’t over.”

“No,” Y/N said calmly, stepping back into the apartment and beginning to close the door. “But it is for tonight. Goodnight, Mr. Wayne.”

With that, he shut the door, turning back to see Jason watching him from the couch, his expression somewhere between awe and disbelief.

“Did you really just tell Bruce Wayne to go home?” Jason asked, his lips twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to smirk or shake his head.

“Damn right I did,” Y/N replied, crossing his arms with a small, satisfied huff. “And I’d do it again.”

Jason let out a low chuckle, his hand brushing through his hair as he leaned back against the couch. “You’ve got some nerve, you know that?”

“Please,” Y/N shot back with a roll of his eyes. “You act like it’s a big deal. Someone had to say it, and we both know you weren’t going to.” He paused, watching Jason closely, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And speaking of things you aren’t doing…”

Jason raised an eyebrow, his interest visibly piqued. “Oh? Do tell.”

Y/N leaned forward, tapping Jason’s knee with mock seriousness. “First, you’re going to get off this couch, because moping is not a good look for you. Then, you’re going to help me put away the laundry because I’ve been doing it all day while you were out being Mr. Broody Vigilante. And after that? You’re going to make us both something to eat, because I’m starving and I’m not lifting a finger tonight. You’ve got work to do, big guy.”

Jason blinked, his lips parting slightly in surprise before his expression shifted into something darker, sharper. He cocked his head, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, really?” he drawled, his tone low and deliberate as he sat up straighter. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”

Y/N’s pulse quickened, but he held his ground, leveling Jason with his best faux-bossy glare. “That’s exactly how it’s gonna be. So, get moving, Todd.”

Jason was on his feet before Y/N could blink, towering over him with that quiet, commanding energy that always sent a thrill down his spine. He didn’t say a word at first, just leaned down slightly, his eyes locked on Y/N’s like a predator sizing up its prey.

“You think you’re in charge now?” Jason asked softly, his voice deceptively calm. His hand brushed against Y/N’s jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of his cheek with deliberate slowness. “That’s cute.”

Y/N swallowed hard, refusing to back down even as Jason’s presence enveloped him. “Not cute,” he retorted, his voice wavering just slightly. “Efficient.”

Jason’s smirk widened, and in one swift motion, he scooped Y/N up from the couch, earning a startled yelp that quickly turned into laughter. “Efficient, huh?” Jason murmured, his lips brushing against Y/N’s ear as he carried him toward the bedroom. “Let’s see how efficient you are at following orders, then. Because we both know who calls the shots here, don’t we?”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, his breath hitching as Jason pinned him with that intense, unrelenting gaze. “Jason…” he started, but his boyfriend was already laying him down on the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, the weight of his presence impossible to ignore.

“You wanted me to focus on something else,” Jason murmured, leaning over him, his hands braced on either side of Y/N’s head. “Congratulations, sweetheart. You’ve got my full attention now.”

And just like that, Y/N’s carefully constructed plan to distract Jason had backfired spectacularly—not that he was complaining. If there was one thing Jason was good at, it was reminding him exactly who was in charge.

“Alright, Y/N. Truth or Dare,” his best friend asked, a mischievous glint in his eye as the group sat around in a circle during their weekly de-stresser game night. Of course, their version of game night had taken a more explicit turn—totally par for the course with this group.

“Um… truth,” Y/N said hesitantly, already sensing trouble.

“Oh, perfect,” Seth said, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain. “Alright, Mr. L/N, the time has come for you to reveal your truth. Are you a bossy power bottom or a slutty, submissive one?”

The room erupted into a mix of laughter and gasps, with a couple of dramatic “oh my God” reactions thrown in for good measure. Y/N’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tried to form words. Before he could even start to defend himself, someone else chimed in.

“Bro, seriously? What kind of question is that?”

Y/N immediately felt a wave of relief wash over him. “Thank you—finally, someone gets it—”

But then came the follow-up.

“We all know there’s not a dominant bone in his body. If anything, it’s giving brat who likes to be put in his place.”

The room fell silent for half a beat before laughter exploded all around him, punctuated by a few dramatic “damn”s and someone nearly choking on their drink.

Y/N blinked, his brain short-circuiting as the betrayal sank in. “Excuse me?!” he finally managed, his voice high-pitched and offended as he pointed an accusing finger at the culprit.

“I dare you to try and tell me I’m lying,” His friend challenged him with a raised eyebrow. And when Y/N couldn’t formulate a defense for himself, his friend nodded his head knowingly, “Exactly as I thought.”

Because was he actually lying?

“I dare you to tell me I’m wrong,” his friend challenged, one eyebrow arched and a smug smirk tugging at their lips.

Y/N opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out—just the faintest stutter of indignation as his brain scrambled for a defense that simply didn’t exist.

His friend nodded knowingly, leaning back with a triumphant grin. “Exactly what I thought.”

Because, honestly… were they even wrong?

Frankly, if you looked at their relationship as a whole, was it really that surprising?

Jason, in a nutshell, was all rough edges and a protective streak that could rival Fort Knox, but with a kind of intimacy that Y/N never saw coming. It was whiplash in the best way possible. One minute, he was Gotham’s most intimidating vigilante, and the next, he was softly murmuring sweet nothings while holding Y/N like he was the most fragile, precious thing on the planet. Y/N had once joked that Jason was like a human light switch—rough and dominant one moment, soft and needy the next. Now? It was just something he accepted… and secretly loved.

Because the roughness Jason brought into their bed was never just about dominance—it was about claiming. There were nights when Jason would grip Y/N’s hips like he was staking his territory, growling low in his ear as he worked Y/N’s body to the point of trembling. If Jason was feeling particularly territorial—or, as Y/N liked to put it, “possessive alpha wolf mode”—restraints were almost a guarantee. Y/N would be left tied up, squirming and gasping as Jason moved with a kind of intensity that left no room for doubt about who was in control.

And then, like clockwork, came the switch.

Imagine this: a six-foot-something mass of pure muscle and testosterone, who’d just spent the last hour absolutely wrecking Y/N—legs shaking, throat raw from moans that could probably be heard two apartments over—suddenly curling up beside him like the world’s biggest teddy bear. Jason would go from rough, grunting dominance, a man on a mission to leave Y/N marked and molded for days, to nuzzling into Y/N’s neck with soft kisses and quietly demanding to be held like he was the one who’d been put through the wringer.

It was absurd. Completely and utterly absurd. And Y/N? He let it happen every single time. No wonder Jason was so spoiled in their relationship.

What else was he supposed to do when Jason left him in a post-fuck haze so blissed out he couldn’t even remember what year it was? By the time Jason would return from cleaning him up, soft praise slipping from his lips as he gently wiped Y/N down, the fight had already left him. And honestly? Who was Y/N kidding—he didn’t want to fight it. Not when Jason would tuck him against his broad chest like they hadn’t just committed sins the mattress might never recover from.

But here was the kicker: for all the dominance Jason brought into their dynamic, Y/N knew the man craved the quiet moments afterward just as much—if not more. Those moments when Y/N’s hands would slide up into Jason’s hair, gently massaging his scalp, or trace over the faded scars on his chest like they were the most fascinating pieces of art. Jason wouldn’t say much—he didn’t need to. The way he sighed into Y/N’s touch, letting himself completely relax, said everything.

It was a ridiculous dance of give and take: Jason would obliterate Y/N’s body with enough intensity to leave him rethinking all his life choices, only to turn into the world’s biggest cuddle bug immediately after, soaking up every ounce of affection Y/N could give him. And as much as Y/N liked to complain about the whiplash, the truth was that he wouldn’t change a single thing about it.

Because as much as Jason loved being the one in control, Y/N had him wrapped around his finger the moment his fingers slid into Jason’s hair, soothing away the world like only he could. It was a balance only they understood, and it worked in ways no one else could ever pull off.

But it wasn’t just in the bedroom where Jason’s attention shined. Y/N would often catch Jason’s gaze lingering at the most random moments, his blue-green eyes shamelessly raking over him like he was a five-course meal and Jason hadn’t eaten in weeks. Whether it was Y/N lounging around in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, running errands in shorts that rode up just a little too high, or even bundled up in the most unflattering hoodie he owned, Jason’s carnal desire never wavered. If anything, it intensified as their relationship deepened.

Jason didn’t even bother hiding it anymore. Y/N had long stopped being surprised by the firm smack on his ass whenever Jason walked by, followed by the satisfied grin his boyfriend would flash as if to say, Mine.

“Jason!” Y/N would shriek every time, a startled jump or yelp accompanying his protests. But the man never looked the least bit guilty. If anything, he’d double down, grabbing a handful and muttering something along the lines of, “Couldn’t help it,” or, “You’re teasing me.”

The truth? Jason had rules—categories, if you will—when it came to Y/N’s wardrobe. There were outfits Y/N could wear in public, outfits strictly for lounging at home, and then there were the "home only" outfits. And no, "home only" didn’t mean cute loungewear. It was a polite way of saying, for Jason’s eyes only.

“Babe, you’re not wearing that outside,” Jason had said once, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway as Y/N attempted to leave for the gym.

“It’s just a pair of shorts!” Y/N protested, gesturing down at the admittedly form-fitting gym wear that showcased his thighs just a little too well.

“Exactly,” Jason replied, his eyes narrowing. “Those are home shorts. You’re not walking into a gym full of thirsty people in that.”

“Jason, you’re being ridiculous,” Y/N huffed, crossing his arms.

“Maybe,” Jason said with a shrug, stepping forward to wrap his arms around Y/N’s waist. He leaned in, lips brushing against Y/N’s ear as he added in a low voice, “But that doesn’t change anything, now go change..”

And that was that. Jason had an uncanny ability to make his tone very rigid and unyielding, leaving no room for argument which would have Y/N’s protests dying on his lips every time.

Then, there were the outfits Y/N didn’t even get to leave the house in—because they didn’t survive Jason. It had become a running joke between them, the sheer number of shirts, pants, and underwear Jason had destroyed in fits of possessive frustration. If something hugged Y/N’s figure a little too well, Jason didn’t bother holding back. Many an innocent shirt had been ripped clean down the middle, casualties of Jason giving in to his urges.

“Do you have any idea how much you cost me in clothes?” Y/N had grumbled once as Jason stood over him, shirtless and smirking like the devil himself.

Jason had only shrugged, pulling Y/N into his lap. “Then stop wearing stuff that teases me,” he murmured, his lips trailing along Y/N’s neck. “Or don’t. Gives me an excuse to buy you more.”

And buy he did. But let’s be real—certain clothes never lasted long in their relationship. Case in point? The time Y/N ordered a pair of shorts he’d been eyeing for weeks, fully aware that Jason would raise an eyebrow so high it’d disappear into his hairline. Still, in a moment of fuck it impulse, Y/N clicked "add to cart," setting the stage for the chaos to follow.

When the package arrived, Y/N pushed the door open with a huff, struggling to balance the various bags and boxes in his arms as he shuffled into the apartment. “Jason, can you help me?” he called, his voice slightly muffled as he tried not to drop anything.

Jason, sprawled on the couch and scrolling through his phone, glanced up. His eyebrows rose at the sight of his boyfriend buried beneath a mountain of shopping bags. “More clothes?” he asked, standing up and strolling over with a teasing smirk.

“Yes, more clothes,” Y/N shot back, setting his haul down on the kitchen counter. “You know, since someone has a habit of destroying half my wardrobe.”

Jason shrugged, entirely unbothered. “What can I say? Some of them deserved it.”

Rolling his eyes, Y/N began unpacking his bags, pulling out folded shirts, joggers, and a few items that were more… adventurous. As Jason retreated back to the couch, Y/N grabbed one of his new purchases and headed to the bathroom to try it on.

A few minutes later, Y/N emerged, ready to test the waters. He stepped into the living room, his expression smug as he strolled in wearing a pair of black shorts that barely qualified as clothing. The sheer mesh fabric, paired with slits running up the sides, left little—if anything—to the imagination.

Jason glanced up, and his relaxed posture evaporated. His gaze sharpened, his smirk vanishing as his eyes darkened with a possessive glint. “Those,” he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble, “are not leaving this apartment.”

Y/N paused, glancing at Jason’s expression before looking down to examine the shorts. “What? These? Oh, come on, they’re gym shorts,” he said, smoothing the fabric over his thighs. “I can’t wait to test them out during leg day.”

Jason’s jaw ticked, his gaze locked on Y/N like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’re not wearing those to the gym.”

“Jason, don’t start,” Y/N said, stepping closer to the couch—his first mistake. Paired with the loose, cropped tank he was wearing, the look was downright scandalous. He twirled around playfully, flashing a cheeky grin. “See? They’re nice. Functional.”

Jason didn’t reply. He just sat there, arms crossed, his eyes narrowing as Y/N paraded around, pushing the limits. The tension between them was palpable, thickening with every second that Jason didn’t speak. And when Y/N cocked a hip and teased, “What? Don’t like them?”—that was the final straw.

Jason moved so fast Y/N barely registered it. In one fluid motion, he reached out, grabbing the shorts by one of the side slits and yanking hard. The fabric tore with a sharp rip, leaving Y/N stumbling forward with a gasp.

“Jason!” Y/N yelped, his voice equal parts indignation and shock. But before he could gather himself, Jason leaned back on the couch, effortlessly pulling Y/N into his lap. His hands gripped Y/N’s waist, holding him firmly in place as his legs were spread across Jason’s thighs.

“These,” Jason growled, his hands sliding down to Y/N’s exposed skin, “are home-only shorts. Got it?”

Y/N squirmed, pressing his hands against Jason’s chest in a weak attempt to push away. “Jason, you can’t just—”

Another sharp rip interrupted him as Jason’s rough fingers tore at the other slit, leaving the shorts hanging on by mere threads. Y/N gasped, heat rushing to his face as Jason’s hands roamed possessively, smoothing over his bare thighs with deliberate, firm strokes.

“What did I say?” Jason questioned, his voice a dangerous whisper that sent shivers down Y/N’s spine. “These are for my eyes only.”

Y/N’s protests dissolved into breathy whines as Jason’s hands tightened around his waist, pulling him closer. A sharp smack landed on Y/N’s rear, drawing a startled yelp, followed by another that left him gripping Jason’s shoulders for balance.

“Stop squirming,” Jason ordered, his tone firm and commanding as he leaned in, his face inches from Y/N’s. His dark gaze pinned Y/N in place as one hand slid to the back of his neck. “You know how this works, sweetheart. You push, I push back.”

Y/N bit his lip, his glare faltering under Jason’s intense stare. At some point, the defiance melted into submission, and their lips collided in a heated, desperate kiss. Jason’s hands never left Y/N’s body, gripping, claiming, and asserting dominance with every touch.

Before Y/N knew it, he was on his knees, Jason standing over him with his pants tugged low enough to reveal just how demanding he was. Y/N didn’t fight it—instead, he leaned into Jason’s command, eager to please the man who had thoroughly dismantled every ounce of his bravado.

By the end of it, Y/N was back on Jason’s lap, legs spread on either side as his body trembled with it being moved roughly up and down on the vigilante’s manhood, his own throbbing hardness rubbing against his boyfriend’s abs as Jason held him close. The only piece of clothing left between them were the shredded remains of the mesh shorts clinging to Y/N’s hips—barely.

Of course, Jason had to replace them with not one, but three new pairs after the fact. But he made it very clear they’d all meet the same fate if Y/N ever dared to wear them outside the apartment.

Did Y/N listen? Absolutely not. Because, let’s be real—he loved pissing Jason off. And honestly? Maybe the whole “brat who likes to be put in his place” thing wasn’t so far off after all.

And, of course, Jason wasn’t the only one who knew how to push buttons. He had his own arsenal of outfits that drove Y/N wild, and he wielded them with precision. Whether it was his compression gear that clung to his chest and arms in ways that made Y/N’s mouth go dry, or his Red Hood attire that practically screamed dominance, Jason loved to see the effect his clothing—or lack thereof—had on Y/N.

“You’re staring,” Jason had teased once, pulling his hoodie over his compression top in the middle of the gym.

Y/N, flustered and blatantly ogling, had tried to recover with a weak, “No, I wasn’t.”

Jason had chuckled, leaning in just enough to murmur, “You were. And I liked it.”

But the real chaos came in the bedroom. Jason, ever the tease, would sometimes refuse to take off his compression shirt or Red Hood pants during sex, fully aware of the primal side it brought out in Y/N.

“Stop, don’t take it off,” Y/N had panted once, his fingers gripping the slick, tight material as Jason tried to pull it over his head. “Leave it on.”

Jason had smirked, leaning down to kiss Y/N’s neck as he growled, “Anything you want, sweetheart.” He knew exactly what he was doing, letting Y/N’s hands wander over the material, the added friction driving him crazy in the best way.

Jason loved pulling that raw, uninhibited side out of Y/N. It was a side only he got to see, and he relished every second of it. Because while Jason loved being the one in control, he also loved seeing Y/N completely undone, lost in the moment with him.

It was, perhaps, a side effect of Jason’s deeply ingrained dominant nature—his unrelenting need to maintain a sense of control over his surroundings and the people within them. Did that mean he saw Y/N as something to control? Absolutely not. But Jason would be the first to admit that the urge to assert himself surfaced now and then. Fortunately, he had found a way to channel it into something far more productive, releasing it in moments of intimacy where it was not only welcomed but eagerly reciprocated.

And those moments of intimacy? They weren’t confined to the bedroom. Jason’s possessiveness bled into every aspect of their lives, a steady undercurrent to the way he loved. His need for control stemmed from a life filled with chaos, and Y/N understood that better than anyone. Whether it was the firm weight of Jason’s hand resting on the back of his neck during a particularly heated moment, or the low, growling reminders of exactly who Y/N belonged to, Jason’s message was always clear: he didn’t just love Y/N—he claimed him, body and soul.

Jason didn’t say much when Y/N walked into their apartment wearing the oversized hoodie. It was one of Jason’s, slightly frayed at the cuffs and just loose enough to drown Y/N’s smaller frame. The sight alone had Jason's lips twitching upward, his ego swelling with unspoken pride. There was something about Y/N wearing his clothes, especially in public, that hit Jason in a way he couldn’t describe. It wasn’t just the visual—it was the claim it represented, the quiet acknowledgment that Y/N was his, and he didn’t even need to say it out loud for the world to know.

“Isn’t this your hoodie?” Y/N asked casually, dropping his bag onto the floor as he walked past Jason toward the kitchen. He sounded innocent, completely unaware of the fire he’d just stoked. “I borrowed it to wear on campus today. It’s so comfy.”

Jason didn’t respond right away, his gaze trailing after Y/N like a predator tracking its prey. He could see how the fabric clung to Y/N’s shoulders and chest, the way the hem barely grazed the tops of his thighs. It was maddening. He let out a slow, measured breath, leaning back into the couch. “Yeah, sweetheart. It’s mine,” Jason finally said, his voice low but even.

Y/N hummed a little as he rummaged through the fridge. “Well, don’t expect to see it for a while. I’m keeping it.”

Jason’s jaw ticked, his fingers tapping against the armrest of the couch. You’re keeping it, huh? The possessive part of his brain whispered promises of retribution, even as he outwardly played it cool. He waited, biding his time.

Later that night, Jason made his move.

Y/N barely had a chance to react before he found himself pinned beneath Jason on the mattress, the hoodie in question already shoved halfway up his torso. Jason’s massive frame hovered over him, his green-blue eyes blazing with a mix of heat and unrestrained hunger.

“You wore my hoodie,” Jason murmured, his voice husky and low, each word dripping with an intensity that sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine.

“Yeah,” Y/N managed to reply, his voice breathless as Jason’s hands slid beneath the fabric, rough palms grazing over his bare skin. “I… I didn’t think you’d mind.”

Jason smirked, leaning down until his lips brushed against Y/N’s ear. “I don’t mind, sweetheart,” he whispered. “In fact, I like it. But you should’ve known what that would do to me.”

Before Y/N could respond, Jason’s lips captured his in a searing kiss, stealing the air from his lungs. The hoodie bunched awkwardly around Y/N’s chest as Jason adjusted their positions, one hand pinning Y/N’s wrists above his head while the other roamed freely, kneading his thighs and gripping his waist.

Jason moved slowly at first, rocking his hips in a deliberate rhythm that had Y/N arching up into him. The friction of the hoodie’s fabric against their heated skin was intoxicating, Jason’s voice dropping into a growl as he murmured filthy words into Y/N’s ear.

“You wore this out in public,” Jason said, his voice dark and possessive as his hand slid up to gently grip Y/N’s throat. “Let everyone see you in my clothes. Do you know what that does to me? Huh? Knowing they all saw you like this, wearing something that smells like me?”

Y/N whimpered, his eyes glassy as he gazed up at Jason. His thighs trembled where they were pressed against Jason’s hips, every sharp thrust pulling more desperate sounds from his lips.

Jason tightened his grip slightly, just enough to send a jolt of adrenaline through Y/N without ever crossing the line. “Next time,” Jason growled, his pace rough and demanding now, “ask me first. Or better yet, let me put it on you myself. Because when you wear this, it’s not just a hoodie—it’s a mark. A reminder to everyone who you belong to.”

Y/N’s head lolled back against the pillow, his hands twisting beneath Jason’s unyielding grip. His voice was barely above a whisper as he replied, “Yours, Jason. I’m yours.”

That was all Jason needed. He buried himself deeper, his hand slipping from Y/N’s throat to cup his jaw as he captured his lips again. By the time they were both spent, the hoodie had become an even bigger mess—damp with sweat and stretched beyond repair. Jason lay beside Y/N, his chest rising and falling as he dragged a hand over the faint marks he’d left on Y/N’s neck.

“You’re not wearing this hoodie out again,” Jason murmured, his tone soft now, though no less firm.

Y/N let out a sleepy laugh, snuggling closer to Jason’s side. “Good thing you’ve got plenty more for me to borrow.”

Jason chuckled, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s temple. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Y/N smirked, his eyes fluttering shut. “Not a chance.”

Jason let out a soft laugh, wrapping his arms around Y/N and pulling him closer. Because for all his possessiveness, all his need to dominate and claim, it was moments like this—holding Y/N close, feeling the steady beat of his heart—that reminded him what all of it was really for. Y/N couldn’t help but smile to, because no matter how overwhelming Jason’s love could be, it was also the safest place Y/N had ever known.

Yeah, their love really was like no other. Y/N could absolutely understand why people envied and praised their relationship—it was intense, chaotic, and tender all at once, the kind of connection that made rom-coms look bland by comparison. If he were in their shoes, he’d probably be gushing about it too. Hell, he already did, and he was living it.

But honestly? The next person who came up to him with the audacity to ask if Jason was single was about to catch hands. Y/N normally wasn’t the jealous one in their relationship as it’s been made clear—normally—but there were limits. And some people clearly didn’t know what those limits were.

Just ask that bitch, Xavion…

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[acid-ixx]

I truly LOVE THIS SERIES!!! I also read the reader as female too. I really like how you delve into damiens mind on this one. He is the one I was curious about the direction you will take him in with dealing with reader. I especially can't wait for Jason's too. Will any of the batfam be romantic toward reader in future chapters?

directory !

a/n: tysm for liking it so far !! for me i prefer it if the reader is gn/male (since im also a trans guy and it's hard to find content of my preference. it's funny how a lot of ppl in my inbox call me a girl bec i am not 😭). also none of them are going to turn romantic later on. i prefer strictly writing them as platonic in the series since it's often stated that they see you purely as their sibling who differs entirely from them. although i might make another series where it is romantic yandere, but for the a&a series, they're all platonic.

yeah, damian so far is a really complicated case. both him and the reader share a trait for contradicting feelings and that really ties with them being the only ones having blood ties in the family. which drives damian's obsession even further because in my opinion he's the most perceptive (and one of the least delusional alongside jason) of your emotions, knowing the right words to tick you off or make your vulnerable.

damian is also pretty touch-starved for a sense of normalcy that he couldn't achieve with his siblings who are raised to be crimefighters (so the way he sees his relationship towards his siblings would be more of a vigilante partner than family), but once he's matured enough, he'll soon realize just how much he craves for affection. having someone like you, who's the one trying to just live, and sharing blood with him (because despite trying to distance himself away from his assassin past, he'll always have this toxic mindset of "blood is thicker than water" and you're proof of that), damian pretty much demands attentions left and right.

when i mean he demands your attention, that means he also needs affection, both physical and emotional. that means he wants you to coddle him the same way dick coddles you. he wants to bond with you through quality time so that means you'll always find your schedule packed with activities you'll spend with damian, to both make up for lost time and as a quiet apology towards you that, no, he's not gonna threaten you with a sword anymore— he even makes a show of keeping his weapons somewhere far away from you, that your baby brother is vulnerable towards you and he means no harm.

his methods of gaining your spotlight are really inconvenient, but don't point it out because all he'll do is pout towards you whilst he'd grab your hand, preferably to take you somewhere away from all your other siblings who are trying their damn best also trying to take your attention.

meanwhile jason is more protective and would rather not let you go through the same path as he did; being impulsive and letting yourself get in danger. unfortunately, the reader in the series is already pretty much in their worst state and that makes jason's need to protect you from harm's way (just like bruce), especially right after meeting him in the series would make him realize that you weren't a replacement to him and that you both pretty much share the same trauma when it comes to seeing your mother being taken away from you.

just like dick, he pretty much sees you as a kid. but unlike dick, the more you show your impulsive actions and display breakdowns, the more he acknowledges that yes, you do have flaws and you need space so he won't shove his affection down your throat but he will make sure his angel is properly taking care of themself right after, he'll make drink water right after a crying session, make you eat something if you haven't, and if you're scared of criminals trying to target you in the streets, then don't worry because the red hood will guarantee to associate you with fear.

fear that if they even dare to lay their eyes on you, their eyeballs would be ripped out of their sockets. only god knows what would happen if jason were to find one of them having filthy intentions towards his angel.

unfortunately for you, if you don't like it when an intimidating, brooding man who considers himself your brother is standing by your door, then you're out of luck because he won't even budge unless you invite him over. his obsession with you is very subtle but unlike bruce with a no-kill code, jason won't hesitate putting a buller through someone's head once his angel is in danger.

though if you don't want to see jason snap, then it'd be better if you wouldn't put yourself in danger on purpose because he will get violent towards anyone who even tries to lay their hands on you and although his grip on your body is soft, as if making sure that he wouldn't be harming you; you would further increase the chances of being locked up in your own safe haven if you try to purposely get yourself killed because that gives him all the signs that you're incapable of taking care of yourself and he wouldn't want a repeat of what happened to him with you when it comes to any other criminals.

[forsaken-headcanons]

Not me coming up with ANOTHER Forsaken AU-

I’ll try not to make this too long (because the last ask I sent was wayyy too long lmao. Sorry again!) but I had ideas for a superhero-style AU called Heroes and Hackers. It’s kinda hard to call it a Forsaken AU since it doesn’t take place in the Spectre’s realm, but the characters are all from Forsaken, so I think we’re good.

TLDR: Some Robloxians spawn with the ability to use commands. You can learn them to an extent, but not to the extent of those born with them. Admins are essentially superheroes; using their powers to stop hackers whenever they arise to cause chaos. To keep themselves and their families safe, admins have costumes they wear when they’re doing hero stuff, and the same goes for the hackers.

And now, onto some important characters!

John Shedletsky; Builderman’s right hand man, and leader of the admins. When disguised, he goes by Telamon. He’s just a chill guy, only really taking his admin job seriously. Alongside his powers coming naturally, he also spawned with angelic features like feathers and multiple sets of wings. These only really come out when he’s Telamon, but hey. It improves the disguise.

David Builderman. CEO of Roblox, and a secret assistant to the admins. You know that one guy in a dark room watching a bunch of screens? That’s him. Codename: HQ. He might not assist the admins directly, but he helps them when he can.

Owen Biwone; a shy intern currently shadowing under Shedletsky at Roblox HQ. He quickly grew tired of the admins only focusing on hackers and not improving the city. Owen reasoned that if the admins only payed attention to hackers, then he’d pretend to be one. He stole an ‘unlisted’ domino crown, wearing it to become 1x1. At first, his ‘evil schemes’ were just ploys to get the admins to focus on shoddy infrastructure and whatnot, but the more he wore the crown, the more it corrupted his thoughts and actions. Like a weird mix of Adventure Time’s Ice King and the Green Goblin. No one really questioned Owen’s slow descent into bitterness and hatred. I’m sure that won’t come back to bite them…

Wilson Kidde; just your average overworked single father. ??? was born with the ability to use commands, but kept these talents concealed for most of his life. Sadly, the jig was up when his (biological in this AU) son, Colin, would be born with these powers too. Colin caused chaos, and thus ??? struggled to find employment. He was driven to take up a hacker persona as 007n7 just to put food on the table. Poor guy…

John and Jane Doe; both ex-employees of Roblox HQ. The higher ups (not Builderman) were harsh on John because he preferred to use outdated methods to update and write code, eventually ending in his termination. Jane quit as an act of defiance, and the two of them promised to move on from this and to look for greener pastures elsewhere. Jane was fine…but John wasn’t. He wanted revenge. But there wasn’t much he could do without powers. So, he tried to give himself powers. He broke into Roblox HQ to steal their old, unused code. It worked, but it turned him into a mindless monster…

Jane now assists the admins as a vigilante, hoping to find a cure for her husband’s condition in the progress.

….aaand this was still long. Oops….

THIS IS SO GOOD WHAT?? hey. d. drako.hey. puts our hand on your shoulder. hey. sighs. enough with the peak already. okay /j /j /j

the concept for 1x1x1x1 and 007n7.,,/., shjaking them around. oh how dare you. oh. ohw how. dar e yuo /silly. the idea of powers being admin commands is so sick tho... yoinking that huehue

[pumpkinstrawbrew]

*harvey bullock's voice* : batman an' that scarecrow guy are in cahoots! i'm tellin' ya! the vigilante an' that fruitcake totally have somethin' nasty goin' on!

bullock ships it know whats up. meanwhile, gordon is like 🤷‍♂️ 'idk, they look like sworn enemies to me'. so what if batman apprehends him very weirdly.

...

(one of very lovely an’ endearing btas crane’s features for me, always gonna be how he’s a complete twerp compared to his comic counterparts. he’s not only hella scrawny, but he’s also pretty short too.

comic crane build like a pencil compared to bruce, but btas jon is this, but a small version. a real gremlin, where in the comics, he's a goblin.

him being smaller have it's +. for one, he's easier to throw around an’ manhandle. or in this case, i kinda just thought ‘hey, bruce will have no problem to just place him in his laps’. jonathan is cuddly sized for the bat. gotta abuse this advantage to the max. he can catch him this way, or can hold him too… 

an’ look at that, it might lead to one of those few *rare, very rare* times, when jon will attempt to be comforting. he sucks at this, but he does show a shine of sympathy, if he's in the mood for that. but yeah, he would only do it, when batman is all sad an’ down. if he was scared, it’s another story. 

depressed bat makes crane feel some sort of way he hates. he won’t dare to call it anything, but he would rather them do smth less…..this. being held is nice tho. so he tolerates it, telling himself that it's fine just this one time. but then, casually tolerates *basks in* it every damn time from that point on, while using the same excuse… 

he can be regal like that lol.  

an’ speaking of regal…….

i always loved, when the bat tried to catch the scarecrow for a second time in ‘nothing to fear’, an’ jon talks to him in an odd manner. almost like a teacher would speak with a student. bruce’s slightly shameful an’ vulnerable expression is everything in that scene, esp when jon stands on the upper row of stairs looking at him. the tides shift later on, naturally. but even as a kid, it was fun to see batman being kinda humbled by some short, weird guy in a potato sack. 

like, jon is so funnily rude an’ ‘argh’ through the whole ep, it’s hard not to cherish, that batman had to put up with it. the way jonathan abused his henchmen is also smth else. he literally re-broke the dude's nose, while calling him names lol. i just wish, that besides ‘lock up’, we had managed to see other sides of him, which clearly existed. love him being a rude ass almost all the time too tho, bc it suits him. an’ it’s a fun difference compared to comic crane, whose spitefulness is usually more emotionally loaded an’ childish. btas crane feels like a proper antisocial sociopath, than anythin’. but like any good sociopath, he has that one person, who he fancy *even if in a strange fashion*. so, batman has a chance to see it all, once he gets past the cold shoulder phase. 

in their case *btas universe*, i picture that jon’s wary ‘get out of my way’ fashion in which he deals with bruce, would essentially build up into proper obsession, where terrifying him is less of a curious experiment an’ method of eliminating him, but also like….he legit wanna know what batman fears. what he sees. how jon affects him an' if it affects his every-day life. fights with him getting more personal an' more crucial.

from that bit, i was wondering what jonathan might have thought about times, when batman hung out with justice league. an’ if there was a villain, who he would feel envious of. an’ idk, doctor destiny came to mind. he’s not like fear-themed villain even per say, but he can control dreams, which is scary in itself. so jon *naturally for him* assuming that dr. destiny went after batman’s fears an’ gave him nightmares. which would instantly make him possessive an’ jealous lol. it’s his an’ bat’s thing! it fully escapes crane, that batman…doesn't ever prefer whatever villain he's fighting. not in way, where he thinks that he bonds with them over being tormented lol. i mean, he kinda does it with jonathan to a degree, but he'd rather they did it in more normal way.

regardless, bruce will have to tell him, that nope, like dr. destiny totally sucks compared to the scarecrow. mostly bc if he won’t, jon might make so, that dr. destiny won’t breathe air ever again lol.)

[kats-fic-recs]

Bkdk fics for the Soul

tell them what you saw in me (not how i turned out to be)

Izuku volunteers himself as a tribute. He's eighteen, it's his last reaping, and still, he jumps out of the crowd and stops the world.

It's probably the stupidest thing he's ever done. But he doesn't regret it.

Not until the next tribute's name is called and it belongs to his best friend.

Katsuki Bakugou.

Pit against the boy he's loved all his life in a battle royale to the death, Izuku has to make some decisions.

first meeting

Who he is when the world is watching. And who he wants to be when he dies.

Katsuki has a plan. He’s been a virgin for long enough that it’s starting to get pathetic. He doesn’t have time for a relationship, but it wouldn’t be so bad to fuck someone more experienced than he is once and get it over with so he can move onto better methods of stress relief than watching Netflix with a jar of grilled olives and a beer.

Too bad it turns out that his ‘experienced’ date is a virgin, too—and a massive nerd.

take care

There are words to say stay safe, I’ll miss you, I love you, but Kacchan has always preferred to leave things unspoken. Izuku isn’t much with languages, but he thinks he’s figured out this one.

“Emotional constipation manifested as over-the-top housewifery?” Mina asks. Before Izuku can say that is not what he meant at all, she nods. “Yeah, I can see it.”

How to Train Your Useless Dragon

Bakugou Katsuki needs to kill a dragon to take its teeth and become a warrior of his tribe.

But, what? Why the fuck doesn't this dragon have teeth?

don't be a stranger

“Not even a thank you for your friendly neighborhood Spiderman?” Izuku called out teasingly. “Where are you going?”

“Why the fuck do you wanna know, creep?”

“You sure you can make it back home safe?”

Katsuki glanced back angrily and flipped him the bird. “Eat shit, bugboy.”

Bugboy. That was new.

In which Izuku is Spiderman, Katsuki is nosy, and juggling high school and vigilante work has never been so difficult when your best friend is convinced that something’s up.

Or, five times Katsuki almost finds out that Izuku is Spiderman. One time he actually does.

face reveal!

SmallMight and Dynamight are two streamers that nerd out over All Might video games and often interact, both on and off stream, though never with their cameras on. Izuku and Katsuki two are college students that find solace and friendship through online streaming, and occasionally think about their estranged childhood best friends.

It all changes when SmallMight reaches a milestone and finally turns his camera on.

Worth It

I have something for you, once you finish eating,” Katsuki says.

Deku perks up with poorly hidden curiosity. “Oh?”

His hair is still damp, dripping onto his grey shirt with a simple Sidekick emblazoned on the front. He’s wearing one of Katsuki’s sweatpants and a pair of fuzzy socks stuffed into slippers, looking so comfortable and at home that Katsuki has the sudden urge to tackle him into the wall or squeeze his face and kiss him until he passes out. Normal urges when dealing with Deku, of course.

Instead, Katsuki throws one of his chopsticks at him, nailing Deku perfectly on the forehead.

“Yeah,” Katsuki says, ignoring Deku’s squawk.

-

Deku doesn't give himself nice things often enough for Katsuki's taste. So, he'll fix that, starting with one iconic Lego set in familiar reds, blues, and yellows at a time.

[mamayan]

Hey! Not sure if you keep up with mha manga and open for this but I am simping for Kunieda and wish we had more content about him. I wish we have more about him even if it's in the Vigilantes. If you have any general hcs ( nsfw even, go off if you have anything in mind) about him , maybe x reader hcs I am open to look. If you not keep up with the manga or not interested for some Kunieda content than ignore this ask. Thank you for reading and if you post some hcs and all than thank you for the content in advance .

Hey Nonnie! Normally I don’t do any content for characters not listed in my master list, but I’ll throw some general HC out there for ya!

(SFW)

tw: None!

Kunieda was previously a serial killer and mass murderer who fed his victims to his plants (connected to his quirk). Once he was broken out of Tartarus by All For One, he swore his allegiance. He’s incredibly loyal to those who do him good.

So his lover would most definitely be someone he feels indebted to but also superior to. Someone likely deemed weaker than him in some way or another. He takes pride in his strength and skill, so he’d want to at least believe himself to be needed.

Kunieda being a psychopath/sociopath means he does not see love as much of anything. So he’d fall under the yandere spectrum, seeing his darling as a possession. Granted, a well cared for possession, because to him they’d be much like a plant. He’d be very good at giving the physical aspects his darling would need.

From food, shelter, to entertainment and luxuries, Kunieda would care for his darling with a phenomenal degree of ease.

This doesn’t translate to emotional or mental states though.

Kunieda is more likely to leave and isolate his darling when they “act up” than help address anything. He just can’t be bothered, and in his opinion he’s paying them back for what they did for him, so shouldn’t they just be gracious and except it? It’s beyond him why his darling would need things like friends, family, or hobbies. It’s unproductive and ridiculous.

Kunieda would also be extremely condescending towards his darling. He’d explain down to the last detail why something was happening, but because he infused zero emotional stake, it’ll just enrage his darling.

No, he won’t ever say “I love you” but he will say “remember that kid you mentioned from six years ago who stole your backpack? Look at them bloom now”.

Like a cat who brings dead mice to you. Trying to teach you how to hunt while simultaneously believing you are incapable of ever accomplishing it.

He’s messy but his hygiene is good. Not a very attractive face beneath his mask but he could care less for appearances.

(NSFW)

tw: Sex • Size Kink • BDSM • Mention of NONCON

He’s a sadist. Through and through enjoys tormenting and bringing as much pain as possible.

However translated to his darling, he’s admittedly tame.

His focus on pain will be from overstimulation and denial. He will dabble in impact play but he’s most keen on seeing them even more weak and vulnerable than usual, so he loves Shibari!

Uses his quirk to tie his darling up with his plants.

He will take his darling by force. He could care less about what they want. He decides what they need. However selfishly he wishes to give it to them. He knows humans need physical contact to stay healthy and sex is honestly the most direct and simple method in his mind. Why waste time holding your hand when he can fill your holes up with his dick? You both benefit from it after all, so why bother with that extra stuff?

He’s tall and skinny but he’s got a huge size kink, he’d like it if his darling was shorter than him. But mostly he just prefers them weaker.

Not a good partner to have tbh, but not the worst. I’d give a 6/10 danger for him as a lover.

[unrepentantgeek]

For personal preference and less complications let's say no anti-ecto acts, no Ghost King!Danny. Maybe "The GIW were never legitimate government officials" as a treat. Danny is just Some Guy who used to be a small time her and falls under the Meta Protection Acts. (Because I find the "no Danny you're not actually "just some guy" AUs very amusing.)

He CAN make his own portals now but it takes up so much energy it's not worth it most of the time. Thus his personal man-made portal in his home lab. Which DOES follow lab safety unlike his parents. I love gremlin Danny but let's see "actively avoids being like his parents" Danny more please. Plus sometimes he forgets to USE the powers that make lab safety superfluous and he's not gonna risk a guest by lacking the necessary precautions.

He's close enough to Gotham and Bludhaven for the ambient ectoplasm he needed to start up his portal and to fall under Bat-family jurisdiction without constantly having his work put at risk by rogue attacks. The Bats' numbers and competence means he won't be tempted to come out of retirement plus he trusts the vigilantes Lady Gotham likes enough to bless with extra luck and better perception skills.

Your choice of non-Bat JLA affiliate ends up teaming up with Justice League Dark for something that turned out to fall more under JLD's jurisdiction than theirs. But JLD needs a special artifact for a ritual to do what's needed. An artifact kept in the Infinite Realms. Cue research because idk HOW else they'd know about Danny's portal. Cue deciding if they take or ask for permission to use the Fenton parents' portal Amity Park could become a hot spot again and they don't want to risk that with Phantom MIA.

So they pick Danny's. And really, it's kinda concerning the son of the mad scientists who instigated Amity Park's ghost problem even HAS a portal, why does he think he needs one? (For visits to his ghostly friends or Sam & Tucker without visiting his parents.) And so with 'it's for the greater good, really. He'll probably thank us later.' mindsets the deed is done with little further thought.

Later that same day, Danny gets home, and goes downstairs to check on or work more on a private project only to find the hole in his wall. Does he have damage done to his home somewhere? Did portals and some other magic make a clean job of it? Let's say dealer's choice. For argument's sake and to make him a little more determined let's say even with portals to get the JLD in & out unnoticed nobody there had a method of removing the portal neatly so there IS damage in the lab for sure.

Gremlin!Danny or Feral!Danny would cause chaos taking care of it himself. Right now Danny is just confused and annoyed, with his pettiness and mischief dormant as they ever are. Just looking at the mess leaves him exhausted before he actively think through everything he now has to do to deal with the aftermath of the robbery, and he's still determined to keep his retirement intact. So he does the normal thing, something most people the JLA thinks could be trouble (and those who are used to getting robbed by heroes) wouldn't bother doing. He calls the cops.

Once the local police division/' officer sent to question him and investigate the case has the full picture, they wince. "Around here your most likely bet is a Gotham rogue unless it's not a local job. I'll be honest with you, from what little I have to go on it's almost definitely above my pay grade."

Do the cops call in the bats? Or refer him to a hero team's help request forum or phone line?

If it's a team instead of the bats is it the Justice League or another team like the Titans?

How long does it take whoever he contacts to figure out what happened? How do they react? How do the JLA & JLD members involved react?

Is the portal given back to Danny or does he have to make a new one? Does he just start making a new one anyway in the time the investigation takes? If the League keeps the portal do they listen to him about maintenance requirements and safety precautions?

Bonus: when Batman finds out he is NOT happy with his friends and colleagues.

Bonus bonus: a dash of dead on main or Danny Fenton/Dick Grayson.

Where is my Portal?!

So! Heroes have a bad habit of stealing Technology when they need it.

The Flash usually stole from Star Labs or any of the dozens of smaller Labs in Central City. Batman was suspected to steal Tech from Wayne Enterprises to build his gadgets. Even Superman stole from Lexcorp every once in a while, although that was more understandable considering their history.

Heroes, despite their main job being to stop people from stealing, were not exactly paragons of The Law. They committed crimes on occasion to stop Villains, and most people just agreed to ignore the tiny crimes every now and then.

Now the Big Crimes, that was a different story. Taking the big important pieces of Tech from these Labs was definitely liable to get people made at them.

All this to say, Danny was not amused when he walked into his Personal Lab one morning only to find his Whole-Ass Portal missing from it's spot in the Wall.

[sadnesslaughs]

Agent Selene Percy was a criminal profiler with 15 years of experience, so she had no doubt that the Nightclub Stalker and the Siren, had begun to stalk clubs together. Their chosen prey was making it hard to get cooperative witnesses. Their prey? Men that didn’t like the word no.

(A response to a writing prompt)

“Ugh, I hate these drinks.” I wiped my lips, wincing at the taste of the cheap whiskey cocktail they created. The sweet liquor, they added, doing nothing to dull its flavor. They called this a cocktail? If this was a cocktail, gasoline and rainwater were a seltzer. I tapped at the table, wondering who these killers were. They could have been anyone, from the pimply faced guy doing the macorina, to the drunk brunette tripping over her heels. All I could say for certain was that the Night stalker was a male, and the Siren was a female.

As I scanned the crowd, I saw something that made my eyes roll. “Undercover cop.” I muttered, spotting the man slouched over the counter of the bar. There he was, trying to blend in with the crowd of patrons, wearing a backwards facing fishing cap and a pair of light blue shades. He feigned drunkenness, doing his best to slur his words as he asked for another drink.

A tactic like that worked on idiots, but not killers such as these. You don’t avoid the police for five years by being sloppy. That’s why I didn’t hide my presence. I wore my badge on my jacket, still wearing the same uniform I wore to an earlier crime scene. I wanted them to know I was here tonight.

To think the Night stalker had been doing this for five years now. I almost had to admire him for that. The man changing cities constantly, making it impossible to detect his next hit. He even changed his method of transport, sometimes flying, sometimes driving and sometimes smuggling himself into areas. There was no single person who stood out in our investigation. That’s why I came here tonight.

I still remember the first murder he did. The public praised him as a hero. There he was, a true gentleman that stood up for women everywhere, someone that would make creeps second guess themselves. Even I had to admit I was happy to turn a blind eye to that first case. The victim had deserved it, and while it may not have been professional of me to think that, I’m still human enough to feel it.

The first three killings could all be deemed justified in some shape or form. Some called him a vigilante in our office. I preferred the word junkie. As much as I grew up wanting to be Batman, I understood the fundamental reason you couldn’t have a Batman in a realistic setting. The world isn’t Gotham. We don’t have masked criminals running around causing chaos. We have people. People who are complicated. Eventually, this vigilante would turn into a junkie, and my hunch was right.

He had a taste for the fame and now needed more hits. Suddenly, the reasons for his killings grew hazy. A man swore at a woman after being rejected, only to turn up dead the next day. A man made a rude passing comment about someone, again dead the next day. Piggish behavior, no doubt, but worthy of death? Abruptly he was out of the media feed, with his supporters sheepishly moving onto the next trend, while the news only occasionally mentioned him, not wanting to hinder our investigation into the man by letting him in on what we knew.

Then the Siren came. Again, headlines flashed up, and the public reception was mixed. Unlike the Night stalker, the Siren didn’t come into this for just reasons. She simply enjoyed killing from what I understood. She would lure men into her bedroom and kill them. Men who had done nothing wrong, other than wishing to spend the night with company. No violence, no aggression, just loneliness.

She was relatively unheard of before joining the Night stalker, only really known to us investigators. If I had to guess, she was using him to boost her own image, and while it wasn’t professional of me to make baseless claims, I also believed she was the one turning the Night stalker into a trigger-happy killer. Though, with no evidence on that matter, all I could do was sip my drink and wait. Would they reveal themselves tonight or target someone? Only time would tell.

A hand drifted along my shoulder as the person behind it sat in front of me. She was stunning, with long curly blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a faint hint of blush on her cheeks. The red dress she wore showing her body off to the world, and she didn’t care one bit. She was a femme fatale, in every sense of the word.

However, the looming shadow behind me diminished her allure. I could feel their posture, the wide stance of someone that was breathing down my neck, ready to make a move if I did anything stupid. While I had back up nearby, I told them I would text them if I noticed something strange. I doubt that text would be possible now with that man behind me.

As much as I wanted to see the face of the Night stalker, I resisted the urge, sitting my hands on the table, as if I was waiting to be cuffed. I showed them I had nothing on me, not wanting to cause an unnecessary accident.

“Detective.” she cooed, leaning forward, placing her hand on my cheek. “Are you still looking for me?”

That sly grin, the way she wanted my attention only on her. There were two reasons why she could be doing this. One, she wanted to protect her partner’s identity, or two, she wanted all the attention on herself. “I came here for the Night stalker. You were a secondary target.” I responded, taking a stab at the second reason.

She pulled her hand back, lip twitching at my remark. “Well, we come in a pair now, don’t we, honey? What’s yours is mine and all of that.”

“That’s right, honey.” He said, disguising his voice with a fake air of gruffness, like a child trying to sound like their favorite bulky wrestler.

She didn’t even look at him when he responded, keeping her attention solely on me. “Now, miss detective. I thought a woman would understand what we’re doing.”

“Don’t try that. I’ve been to enough of your crime scenes. There’s nothing righteous about what you’re do. The Night stalkers, the one that had the world captivated, you were only another crazed killer. I should be talking to him, not you.”

She snatched my hand, crushing it in her grip. When I winced, she tightened again, pulling my hand across the table towards her. “You sound like you really hate me. Have I offended you?”

I gritted my teeth, unable to respond. Anything that came out would be followed by a squeal of pain, a sound that would be heard even over the beats of the music. If I attracted unwanted attention, I would most likely end up dead.

“Honey, I think you’re hurting her.”

She glared behind me, releasing my hand. I pulled it back to my side, seeing the nail marks in my flesh, as well as the small droplets of blood slipping from the nail marks. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just get so frustrated sometimes. It’s like people only talk about the Night stalker, even while I’m doing the same job that he’s doing.”

I wanted to say so many things to her, but she was getting agitated. One wrong word and she might lash out. I held my tongue, looking for an escape route. If I shoved myself back, I could probably make a dash into the crowd of dancers. I doubt they would give chase. Yet escape seemed cowardly. I had the killers in my grasp. I only needed some help to capture them. Looking at the bar, I kept my eye on the undercover cop. That was my help. If I could grab his attention, I could capture them.

“What job would that be?”

“Cleaning up the filth. We kill those that do the wrong thing. If anything, we do your job for you.” She fluttered her eyes, knowing that would get under my skin, and it did. We weren’t perfect. A lot of crimes remained unsolved, even when we knew the person who was responsible. It was a problem with the legal system and one that made us often wish we could take the system into our own hands.

“Did all those men deserve to die?”

“Of course, you’ve read the Night stalkers’ early cases. Those men deserved to die.”

“I’m not only talking about the early cases. What about the recent ones? What about Brandon Forner? A man the Night stalker killed after he had an argument with his girlfriend.”

“What?” The man behind me gasped, as if he had only just found out about his own killing. Did he not even know why he killed that man to begin with?

Before I could answer him, the Siren cut me off. “Brandon hit his girlfriend. I pointed that out to my honey, and he took care of it.”

I had to be quick. I needed to expand that doubt. “No, we watched all the footage from the club that night. Nothing except words were exchanged. His girlfriend Sarah said as much. She even admitted to us that the argument had been about something petty, something they had made up for before he was murdered that night. He was an innocent man.”

“What?”

“Is what all you can say?” The Siren hissed at her so-called honey. “Are you going to take her word over mine?”

“I…” The man fumbled through his words. “He didn’t seem that aggressive when I confronted him. He seemed very apologetic about it before I-“

“Before we killed him.” She clarified. “Go get us a drink. You’re useless tonight.” The man slumped his shoulders, dragging himself to the bar. Now that he wasn’t behind me, I could see how massive he was. Giant shoulders, hunched posture, and muscular arms. He could have torn my head off with his hands. That thought alone made my stomach turn.

I eyed the beer taps, looking for the one closest to the undercover cop. “Can you get me a Lemon Sunrise? This drink is making me a little sick.”

He nodded and strolled over, rather casually, for someone that had killed so many people. When he left the table, I felt something poke my stomach. She let the gun hit my stomach underneath the table before moving it into her lap, silently telling me she had a way of keeping me in place.

“How long have you been manipulating him for?”

“Five years. I was going to kill him like the others, but well, look at him. He’s dumb and strong. Lets me expand my range of targets.” She smirked. “I just gave him a sob story, and he was willing to do whatever I asked. At first, I picked people who would make us look like heroes. Then, when the public was on our side, I was free to kill whoever I wanted. The lines were so blurred by that point that the public couldn’t figure out the truth. Many wanting to believe we were still doing good, even while I randomly picked our targets.”

“I see.” When the Night stalker ordered our drinks, the undercover cop glanced at him, peering back at our table. I made eye contact with him and looked down at my jacket, hoping he could see my badge. I then directed my attention back to the Siren. “So, do you love him?” I pointed to the Night stalker.

The Siren turned her head, and when she did, I pointed my thumb at the Siren, the Night stalker, then at my badge. He squinted under the darkness of the room before his eyes widened, turning back to face the bar, pulling out his phone.

The Siren's tongue pushed against her front teeth in revulsion when she looked at the man, swiftly turning back towards me. “Of course I don’t love him. He’s a tool. Don’t worry, detective, you’ll live on in history. You’ll be our first female victim.”

The Night stalker placed our drinks on the table, and before I could take a sip from mine, the Siren stood up. “What’s wrong, honey?” The Night stalker asked.

“We’re leaving. She’s coming with us. Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Why? What’s she done wrong?”

“I’ll explain that all later. You have to trust me, sweetie.” She stood up and, with a lot of reluctance, kissed his cheek before pointing to the exit. “Detective, come with us.”

The Night stalker gave me an apologetic look as I rose from my seat, being led outside. As soon as we made it to the carpark, police sirens flashed on, with officers rushing towards them, drawing their guns.

“YOU BITCH.” The Siren went to pull her gun, only for the Night stalker to wrap his arms around her waist, keeping her from doing anything reckless.

“Honey, they’ll shoot you.”

“Don’t honey me. I’ll kill her. Let me kill her.” The Night stalker kept her from drawing her gun, even as she kicked at him and tried to break his hold. He saved her life. Had she drawn her gun, she would have been killed in seconds. I rushed over to the officers, watching their arrest.

The undercover cop came out, offering his hand to me. “Dillian Vander.”

“Selene Percy.” I struggled to shake his hand, my body wobbling after the near-death experience. When I latched onto his palm, I held it for dear life, using it to gather my composure. “Thank you for helping me back there.”

“Thank you for catching our biggest unsolved mystery in the last ten years. I didn’t think they were going to show. How did you draw them out?”

“I took a guess.” I said, undermining my 15 years on the job. It had been a highly educated guess, but still a guess at the end of the day.

“Seems like more than a guess. You alright?”

“Yeah, just a little exhausted after everything.”

“You should go home and rest. I can drop you back to your place if you need a lift.”

I smiled, shaking my head. “No, I’ll have to start the report on this. They’ll need as much information as I can give them before the interrogation. I would also like to be available if they need anything. We can’t risk them slipping out of our hands, not after all the work we’ve done.”

“Got it. Try to take it a little easy, regardless. Don’t overwork yourself.” He tipped his hat to me before going and talking to one of the other officers. I collected my thoughts and went to my car, ready to go discuss the details with my superiors.

[arobinwithoutbatman]

Light blue heart

Relationship Questions! I'll answer these as if they're adults and have reunited

who curses more? Internally? Tim. In his head, he swears like a sailor. The only reason he doesn't out loud is because it's still funny to wind Jason up with his terrible kids friendly swearing and has actaully only gotten funnier now that Tim is in his 20s

who is more patient? I'd say they're about equal in patience. Between their work as vigilantes and now CEOs and also just how long they've had to wait to reunite not knowing if the other was still going to be romantically available? And then waiting even longer just to avoid causing a too big media storm that would take attention away from the very causes they support and fund? Yeah, they're both incredibly patient. Though saying that, despite having improved, Tim is still not great in the kitchen so Dio has a smidgen more patience on that alone XD

who does the driving? If it's just for personal stuff? It's both of them again. Yes even for dates because the paparrazzi won't leave them alone so they try to arrive separately and discreetly.

who is louder? who is quieter? Tim. Dio has to watch himself because of the Isu powers related to his voice and it's very easy to slip into that range if he's not careful. Tim has no such limits being completely and utterly human.

who is more physically affectionate? Dio but only because Tim will forget that he does in fact require physical touch regularly and will not realise when he's starting to get touch starved again. Dio is also more likely to initiate for the same reason.

who is more likely to tease the other? They're pretty equal here too. They each give as good as they get and know each other's boundaries and how that changes when they're out as vigilantes. Their tactics just vary slightly.

who is better with time management? I want to say Dio? But only just? Tim still has a problem with zoning in and hyperfocusing to the point of completely losing track of time and his physical needs.

who wins the arm wrestling matches? Depends on the day honestly.

who controls the music in the car ride? If they're riding together? It's whoever wins rock paper scissors. It's the fairest method they've come up with.

who covers dinner when they order in? They take it in turns

who is more outgoing? who is more shy? Ooooo that's a tough one. Cause neither of them are exactly shy but they are both fairly introverted so don't enjoy going out of their way to spend time with strangers.

who has the more outlandish fashion sense? Neither of them. If they ever wear something outlandish, it's because Lio has called in a favour or he's doing some background matchmaking

who starts the tickle fights? who ends them? Dio typically starts them, usually to snap Tim out of his latest bout of hyperfocus. As for ending? It varies and depends on both of their moods and the current context.

who has the darker/more "edgy" sense of humor? I mean, they both have an inclination towards gallows humour these days...

who is more competitive when it comes to games? Oh Tim. 100% Tim. He's a bastard to play games with because he'll find loopholes in the rules or just strategise. Monopoly is banned. Civilization has to be carefully monitored purely because that game can take hours even when playing by yourself against AI. He's a nightmare.

who has the bigger appetite? the bigger sweet tooth? Bigger appetite? Tim. Because he still is shit at recognising his hunger signals so when food is put in front of him, he inhales it because he probably accidentally skipped a meal again. Bigger sweet tooth? Dio because he actually likes sweet things while Tim can barely taste them unless the flavour is super strong and Tim prefers bitter and spicy flavours anyway.

who is more likely to get in a confrontation in public? Ooooo another tough one. Tim has developed a reputation for stepping in when he sees something happening, often to comfort parents or assist with someone struggling but makes a point of ignoring the person who started things so he can instead make their life hell from a distance and without it being connected to him. Dio also doesn't strike me as the type to handle things loudly in public. With both of them being public figures, that's something that the media can very easily twist and things could easily get out of hand from there.

who hosts the parties/hangouts? who organizes them? As CEOs, they've hosted fundraisers and gatherings but the actual organising is typically left to their very qualified and very well paid staff. Just personal hangouts though? They handle that themselves since it's usually a very quick "Hey you free today? Wanna hang out in pajamas and do absolutely nothing and maybe make out a lil bit?" text.

who is better at cooking? do they ever cook for each other? Dio is the better cook. Tim has practiced and he's better than he was in his teens but he is still miles away from Dio's skill. But yes they do cook for each other when they get the chance.

who is more likely to engage in dangerous and/or illegal behavior? ...Dio used to kill people for the Templars and Court of Owls and Tim has been a vigilante since he was 13. They've both bene breaking the law for at least half their lives.

who is more likely to notice when something is wrong with the other? Dio. He's quicker to notice smaller cues. Tim will notice that something is off and a pattern has changed but, unless his anxiety and/or paranoia are running particularly high that day, he doesn't immediately jump to "something's wrong."

who does the talking in public settings (i.e. to the waiter at a restaurant)? They take turns.

who is more likely to extend a helping hand & provide emotional support? Pretty equal here too honestly

who is the bigger prankster? do they get the last laugh or do they suffer for it? They're as bad as each other. Tim will do the more complex pranks like hacking into Dio's phone and messing with his playlist while he's working out.

[maarriiii]

Creep | Jason Todd

A/N: rip to this post and all the notes but thank god I still have the copy

Summary: Some guy keep following you but Jason’s there to help you

Pairing(s): Jason Todd x female!reader (she/her pronouns)

Warning(s): Suggestive content at the end

my masterlist :))

~~

"Quick, pretend like you're talking to me." Jason was forcefully turned around by y/n who kept looking over her shoulder like she's being followed. She was agitated and worried, but also donned a scowl that showed her clear annoyance. Jason tried to look for someone suspicious in the sea of guests, but no one stood out in his eyes.

"Why? Is someone following you? Are you okay? Do I need to grab my guns?" He asked, determination in his eyes.

If it was in any other situation, y/n would've smiled and rolled her eyes at his protectiveness but this guy had been trailing behind her since the start of Bruce's charity gala and it's getting on her nerves. The only reason why she hasn't kicked him in the balls yet was because she didn't want to make a scene, especially since last time.

"This guy just can't take a goddamn hint. He keeps following me and I'm tired of hiding just for him to find me again. This is my first night out since god knows how long and this creep is ruining it." y/n grabbed Jason's glass of whiskey and proceed to downed it one go, ignoring the dirty looks thrown her way.

"Why haven't you deck him yet?" Jason casually asked, ordering another glasses of alcohol.

"You think I haven't thought of that?" She whisper-yelled. "The only reason why I'm being "civil" right now is for Bruce's sake. Also, I've had enough of Alfred's disapproving looks to last me a lifetime."

Jason smiled, founding it amusing how y/n is handling her current dilemma. He was about to say that he'll offer to get rid of the creep when someone with eager eyes and even more eager steps started walking towards y/n and himself.

"Don't turn around, but I think your fan is making a move." He stated. "Does he have brown hair, blue eyes, and an extremely punchable face?"

y/n sighed and nodded. "Yup. That's him. So, you have any idea to get rid of this guy?"

Jason assessed the situation and if he's correct—which he usually was—then creeper over there would reach their location in about eight seconds. So, he needed to think and act fast. He could asked y/n to go and find someplace to hide, more preferably his old bedroom in the manor, but y/n had tried the same method and she made a good point about how he could just find her again. He could just go marched right towards him and tell him to back the hell off, but that would cause a scene that would probably get y/n and Bruce angry at him. Another one of Jason's plan was to threatened the guy passive-aggressively into cowering and leaving, but where would be the fun in that. With three methods out of the way and four seconds left on the clock, Jason had one final idea. Though, he haven't figured out how y/n would reacted.

"Alright, I have an idea. It might work, but I need you to promise me that you won't get mad," Jason explained.

"Okay. What is it?"

"You promise right?"

"Oh my God, yes, I promise. Now, tell me."

Without a word, Jason pulled y/n by the waist, leaving no space empty between the two vigilantes. y/n let out an oof sound when their chest collided while Jason slowly leaned in, their lips brushing but his eyes watching the scowl painted on the creeper's face.

"I think it's working," Jason whispered.

y/n gulped, her hands tightened slightly at Jason's suit collar. "Is it?"

"Yup. He's stomping away like an angry toddler."

"That's good," y/n answered dazedly.

Jason smirked, noticing how her eyes were closed. "You okay, princess? You seem a little flushed there."

"I...I'm fine. I just—" she paused, thinking for a moment "—are you wearing that cologne I got you for your birthday?"

"I am." He lowered his hands to her hips. "Do you like it?"

y/n nodded, her arms making their way around his neck. "I do."

Wordlessly, y/n kissed Jason with a vigor that he wasn't expecting, but welcomed either way. The two were in their very own bubble, oblivious to the fact that many people were staring and whispering about their steamy interaction. Their kiss was passionate and full of desire that made neither of them ever want to let go. It was only when the need of air became urgent that y/n had to let go with Jason's lips chasing after her own.

"That was long overdue, wasn't it?" She smiled, forehead leaning against Jason's.

"Yes, it is. So, what do you say we go back to my place and make up for lost time?" He suggested, trailing kisses to her jaw.

y/n kissed him again and pulled away. "I like the way you think, Jaybird."

[river-bottom-nightmare]

bruce wayne week day 2: in the pta rated t, no archive warnings apply, tagged: implied/referenced gun violence, implied/referenced drug use

---

"—so clear backpacks are the way to go, obviously."

bruce, who, without a sliver of shame, had spent the entirety of the pta meeting looking over the new reinforced boot prototype lucius had sent over with a quiet sort of glee, glanced up.

white woman, late-thirties, absolutely garish shade of crimson lipstick, ostensibly the head of gotham academy's pta. she wasn't a bad sort of woman, simply opulent, simply an untouched vanity, an uncalloused palm, a heavy ring. the issue was, well—

bruce raised a lazy two fingers up in the air, art-auction style. "i'm sorry, but did you just say the best way to stop kids from bringing drugs to school is clear backpacks?"

the woman seemed to startle, looking uncannily like a damselfish, before offering bruce an eager smile. "yes, mr. wayne, of course! gotham prep said they've seen a 27 percent decrease in drugs, vapes, and other e-cigarettes since they've implemented the clear backpack policy. metropolis high, 23 percent." (bruce was going to have to double check those numbers, then call to clark and brag. did he know anybody at gotham prep? well, a distant family friend's cousin's in-law's child. it still counted) "i have full confidence it'll be just as successful at gotham academy."

bruce chose to completely disregard the figures running through his mind, the statistics he came across in the wet-concrete streets of gotham every day, and instead squinted his eyes to say, "can't they just. wrap the drugs in a sweatshirt or something? and put that in their clear backpack?"

(or, if you were dick grayson, create four or five extra pockets inside your robin vest and hide snacks that your butler prohibited due to general unhealthiness and your mild citric acid intolerance.

bruce had once attempted to ask, casually, casually, how dick had managed to sneak that past alfred and if said method could potentially be used on larger, darker, more kevlar-based vigilante uniforms.

dick had laughed like there was a windchime in between his ribs, then promptly told bruce to fuck off.)

"mr. wayne?" the lady said hesitantly. "are you...encouraging students sneaking in prohibited substances?"

"well," bruce raised both eyebrows. "i'd definitely rather look the other way when a kid brings a vape to school, because at least it isn't a gun."

apparently, such candidness wasn't quite what the pta lady had expected in this riveting 2:30 meeting about changes to school policy. "i'd prefer to stay realistic, mr. wayne, and hope that with the clear backpack preventive measure, neither of those things will happen at gotham academy."

"you're not staying realistic," bruce sighed, an umbrella flipped inside-out from the wind. "you're being optimistic. which is all well and good until you remember that we live in gotham. we've overtaken every other city in the us in terms of violent crime. we have some of the worst gun security in the world. clear backpacks won't solve shit."

the pta lady caught bruce's gaze, lips pursed helplessly like i know, manicured eyebrows wrinkling like i know, eyes all water-droplet heavy like i know, i know it won't do shit, but the parents are too worried to let this go and too proud to actually advocate something useful, i know i know and i'm doing the best with what i've got.

bruce—bruce understood. (he remembered wispy moments in the early hours of morning staring at himself in the mirror like trying to ground a ghost. there was a ten-year-old curled up in his bed after he awoke from a nightmare screaming and sobbing and curling and throwing a flawless punch he'd perfected last month. i'm doing the best with what i've got.)

he stood up. lounged against the baby grand in the back corner of the room, where he'd sat himself at the beginning of the meeting. announced, in his press voice, "wayne industries was working on a line of bulletproof fabrics for the military. we gave it up because, eh." bruce waves carelessly into the distance. "it shouldn't be too hard to make my r&d team make some bulletproof backpacks instead. and i'll pay for them, obviously."

most of the pta didn't know what to say. the presenter's key slipped on her remote and accidentally went on to the next section of her slideshow, a page on allergens. pta lady was near gobsmacked, a half-wilted sunflower facing the sun and trying desperately to spring back to life.

"carry on," bruce said, slipping back into his chair, phone in hand. he was already drafting an email to lucius about the backpacks, maybe thinking about giving dick an engineering project to go crazy with, keep him busy his first year of high school. "i'm in the middle of candy crush."

---

throwback to high school before covid *shudders*

@brucewayneweek

tag list: @woahajimes @birdy-bat-writes @subtleappreciation @catxsnow @pricetagofficial @screennamealreadyused @clamityganon @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption @capricorn-stark @batshit-birds @buticaaba @comics-observer @newsical @queenofbooknerds @scattered-winter @amillionandonefandoms

[egcdeath]

devil’s advocate - 1

pairing: matt murdock x reader

summary: life isn’t all that bad as an ex-black widow turned hit woman. that is, until you meet a certain pain in the ass vigilante.

word count: 1.1k

warnings: canon typical violence, ‘kidnapping’ but not really, swearing, mentions of offing people, slow burn, enemies to lovers, a lot of exposition

author's note: this is the first fic i’ve written in literal months, and my first time writing for matt ever, so please be kind because i'm more than a little rusty. this chapter is super short and mostly focuses on the reader for background, but don’t worry, we’ll get into the enemies to lovers goods later :p

You struggled against the ropes that were loosely binding your wrists together and tethering your body to a cheap, wooden chair. Whimpering against the filthy cloth in your mouth for the umpteenth time, you hoped that the dramatic scene you were putting up would be over sooner than later.

You almost had to laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation– a former black widow feigning helplessness as she waited for some overrated vigilante to swoop out of the sky and save the day… but maybe that was someone else's M.O. It was hard to keep up with all of the heroes and vigilantes these days.

You almost pitied the useless goons that believed they were kidnapping some feeble woman who couldn’t do anything to protect herself other than kick and scream. But it was really all a ruse, not unlike anything else you did these days.

‘These days’ being the ones you spent at the New York Bulletin, sipping atrocious amounts of coffee, having surface level conversations with your officemates, and producing vapid, meaningless stories for residents of Hell’s Kitchen to read over their breakfasts so they could sip orange juice and ask themselves: “what has this city gone to?”

And that used to be enough. Really! Sure, at times it was a little repetitive and a little tedious. But it beat being one of Dreykov’s minions, doing unspeakable things to countless people under the instruction of someone else, and not being able to think for yourself, let alone make decisions of your own.

In fact, it had been your first choice of what to do after being un-brainwashed by former Black Widows: live in New York City and become a journalist. It had always been a dream of yours as a young girl to move to the big city and pursue your passion of writing. Of course, you hadn’t considered just how drab that lifestyle would be for a woman like yourself. Yet, Nat and Yelena got right to making those childish dreams a reality, getting you all the connections you needed, getting you a new identity, setting you up in an apartment near your workspace, and even giving you a few months worth of rent.

If only Nat and Yelena could see you now! You could almost picture the disappointment painted across their faces, working so hard to track you down and free your mind, only to find you killing countless people on your own free will. But it was your life, not theirs. And if they got to do what you did under the name of SHIELD, what was wrong with you doing what you do under your own name? If anything, it was more liberating... Right?

You grunted when a goon poked you with some sort of… stick. You couldn’t really tell with that loose blindfold over your eyes. It certainly didn’t hurt– even a person who wasn’t mildly enhanced like yourself wouldn’t let out a yelp– but the more noise you made and the greater the struggle you put up, the more likely you figured He would show up.

‘He’ being none other than the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen himself. Sure, you’d heard stories, seen the aftermath of his wrath, but you’d never really experienced it yourself– which was impressive, considering the amount of havoc you’d manage to wreak on the city since you’d moved in.

Despite your differing methods (he seemed to prefer the coma, while you were a fan of a coffin), you supposed you two weren’t all that different; you took hits on the same kinds of people he liked to take out, probably had a few common enemies, and had both made a bit of a name for yourselves in the media. (You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t written a story or two for the Bulletin about the illusive Widower).

But this hit wasn’t one of your own making. A shell company had reached out to you just a few days ago with the promise of $500,000 (yes, with five zeros), and protection from some of the cities’ more dangerous gangs if you were able to take out this Daredevil character for good. $500,000 was $500,000, and while you knew that the Devil was good, you were nearly positive you were better. In your mind it was a no-brainer. Easy money. Probably. Regardless, who were you to say no to half a million dollars?

You began to feel antsy at the thought of all the money coming your way. Of course, the money was just one of the many benefits that would come with getting Daredevil off of the streets. With him gone, you could finally do your job in peace without constantly having to look over your shoulder, or having to deal with clients acting much more shady than what was absolutely necessary. Sure, you’d never come face-to-face with him, but you were almost certain that you were somewhere on his radar, and the sooner you could get rid of his radar altogether the better.

That was how you ended up here, in an empty, rotting warehouse, tied up by gullible amateurs you’d found on the internet who were foolish enough to not ask questions, and clumsy enough to be framed for the murder of the city’s beloved Devil. (Which you’d totally be assisting in with the help of the Bulletin. And no matter how much you loved her, Karen would not be able to pry this story away from your cold, dead hands.)

The sense of anticipation in your stomach was coming to an all-time high as you noticed the shuffling of henchmen begin to move further and further away from you. You knew it was only a matter of time before Daredevil would make his big appearance, taking down the bad guys to save little-ol’-you– kidnaped, helpless, tied up, and whimpering.

As if your thoughts had single handedly conjured the man himself, you began to hear a rustle outside of the warehouse; a slight struggle with the rather hefty door.

You slipped your blindfold down your face with a slightly contorted shoulder, and resisted the urge to smirk and mutter an ‘I told you so’ to the rest of the world. The masked vigilante had now burst down the door with ease, standing valiantly behind it, proud to have caught yet another gang of no-good guys in his city.

It just so happened that he was also exactly where you needed him to be.

next part

[secret-swords-speakeasy]

HERO NAME: triad voide anon, Voide, didn't I see something over there?

CIVILIAN NAME: you'll find out if i decide to come off anon

PRONOUNS: he/they (no preference, uses both)

POWER(S): eldritch void magic, transformations, invisibility/becoming a shadow/vanishing from sight, distractions an delusions, can be hidden in plain sight or have big flash drama kid moments depending on the situation. time magic but in a 'he can buy himself 20 mins if he absolutely needs to' kind of way. mostly time is just weird around him, lengthening or shortening or distoring into odd things. this is sometimes helpful.

GUILD/AFFILIATION: no affiliations; not quite a vigilante, more of a lone wolf, but mostly working for good, or what working definition of good makes sense to the void. works in the background a lot to support other heroes bc they're very good at spying an overhearin stuff. can do recon an intel work that way.

CONNECTIONS: cares deeply for the other heroes an just wants to help them if they can. unsure if they'd count anyone as friends as their state of being makes the idea of friends a bit weird but they're very fond of them all regardless!

WHY YOU’RE HERE: he found the place by accident after he got eldritched; he was walking through the streets, trying to get a handle on the void spiralling through his body, when he found the speakeasy an the other heroes. the idea of being a superhero with his powers was a strange thing to sit with, because he'd never thought of himself as very heroic. he had a vision of what that looked like but it didn't look like the heroes he found at the speakeasy. that was what made him feel at home, an so he stayed when someone offered him a drink, an he mostly just lives there now. well, 'lives' is a weird way of saying it for a void creechur but, well. you know. it took him a while to work out how he could be heroic an help everyone else but once he figured that out, that's what he dedicated all his energy to.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: mostly looks like just some guy when out of uniform - hoodies, jeans, trainers, you'd never pick them out of a crowd an that's how they like it. as Voide, it's black trousers, leather knee-high boots with a flat, quiet heel, swishy half-circle waist-length cape with a gold trim, carnivale mask, an a black top hat. the mask's style, shape, an colors change depending on their mood an what they're trying to portray. far-too-ornate silver dagger is holstered to their waste but it isn't sharp an doesn't really do anything other than look pretty. they're extra but in a 'likes to hide as a shadow as a default' kind of way. build is 5ft 7, slightly chubby around the middle, white skin, face is unknown; void doesn't care about the container, it can do whatever it likes. if you see their face it's too late you are about to become void. current age is unknown, but was mid-30s before eldritchtification. the void is ageless.

ADDITIONAL NOTES: doesn't speak often but when he does, he speaks in triad verse (three lines, doesn't have to rhyme, doesn't have to be haiku, but the rhythm is important). this is also true of his writing style. always in groups of three lines. is sometimes just there. no one knows why. got their powers triggered after a deep dive into chaos magick that led them to look for a specific book, found it in one of those 'there when you need it, disappears once you leave' bookshops, where he found exactly what he was looking for an became whatever he is now. knows a lot of weird an obscure knowledge about things. hums to himself a lot as a comfort thing. what does he hum? whatever tune is the current earworm. has a void-decorated infinity cube on him as a fidget toy/meditation aid/method of accessing his void self.

welcome to the secret swords speakeasy, voide!

[hcguesstheauthormessageboard]

HERO NAME: triad voide anon, Voide, didn't I see something over there?

CIVILIAN NAME: you'll find out if i decide to come off anon

PRONOUNS: he/they (no preference, uses both)

POWER(S): eldritch void magic, transformations, invisibility/becoming a shadow/vanishing from sight, distractions an delusions, can be hidden in plain sight or have big flash drama kid moments depending on the situation. time magic but in a 'he can buy himself 20 mins if he absolutely needs to' kind of way. mostly time is just weird around him, lengthening or shortening or distoring into odd things. this is sometimes helpful.

GUILD/AFFILIATION: no affiliations; not quite a vigilante, more of a lone wolf, but mostly working for good, or what working definition of good makes sense to the void. works in the background a lot to support other heroes bc they're very good at spying an overhearin stuff. can do recon an intel work that way.

CONNECTIONS: cares deeply for the other heroes an just wants to help them if they can. unsure if they'd count anyone as friends as their state of being makes the idea of friends a bit weird but they're very fond of them all regardless!

WHY YOU’RE HERE: he found the place by accident after he got eldritched; he was walking through the streets, trying to get a handle on the void spiralling through his body, when he found the speakeasy an the other heroes. the idea of being a superhero with his powers was a strange thing to sit with, because he'd never thought of himself as very heroic. he had a vision of what that looked like but it didn't look like the heroes he found at the speakeasy. that was what made him feel at home, an so he stayed when someone offered him a drink, an he mostly just lives there now. well, 'lives' is a weird way of saying it for a void creechur but, well. you know. it took him a while to work out how he could be heroic an help everyone else but once he figured that out, that's what he dedicated all his energy to.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: mostly looks like just some guy when out of uniform - hoodies, jeans, trainers, you'd never pick them out of a crowd an that's how they like it. as Voide, it's black trousers, leather knee-high boots with a flat, quiet heel, swishy half-circle waist-length cape with a gold trim, carnivale mask, an a black top hat. the mask's style, shape, an colors change depending on their mood an what they're trying to portray. far-too-ornate silver dagger is holstered to their waste but it isn't sharp an doesn't really do anything other than look pretty. they're extra but in a 'likes to hide as a shadow as a default' kind of way. build is 5ft 7, slightly chubby around the middle, white skin, face is unknown; void doesn't care about the container, it can do whatever it likes. if you see their face it's too late you are about to become void. current age is unknown, but was mid-30s before eldritchtification. the void is ageless.

ADDITIONAL NOTES: doesn't speak often but when he does, he speaks in triad verse (three lines, doesn't have to rhyme, doesn't have to be haiku, but the rhythm is important). this is also true of his writing style. always in groups of three lines. is sometimes just there. no one knows why. got their powers triggered after a deep dive into chaos magick that led them to look for a specific book, found it in one of those 'there when you need it, disappears once you leave' bookshops, where he found exactly what he was looking for an became whatever he is now. knows a lot of weird an obscure knowledge about things. hums to himself a lot as a comfort thing. what does he hum? whatever tune is the current earworm. has a void-decorated infinity cube on him as a fidget toy/meditation aid/method of accessing his void self.

.