Divine Hammer
Summary: You bring up something new to Simon. He's more enthusiastic than you expected.
Warnings: What else but smut, HEAVY UK slang usage (me and si come from the same area of England our slang is v similar) Simon slaps reader once, fem reader, oral(f), fingering in BOTH holes, pussy juice as lube, anal duh, simons fat cock, sprinkling of a size kink, mean Simon, kitchen sex mmm, no beta we die like soap (sorry), lmk if I missed anything!
Notes: Listen the taboo of anal just gets me going alright , also this has been in my drafts since JAN 9TH help
Wc: 2.5k
Simon's stare was unnerving. Well, it was always unnerving, to a degree. But he found ways to utilise it. Deadpan humour, emphasising points of conversation, scaring away would-be hookups from you in the pub. But here, it was unnerving in a whole other way.
It felt… intrusive.
Simon stared at you like he could see through your clothes, your body, into your mind to expose your deepest darkest fantasies. You squirmed under his penetrating gaze, tugging at the hem of your jumper.
After a little while of silence, you shook your head, scoffing at yourself;
“-No, nevermind um.. I'm.. s-sorry that was weird-” “Didn’ say tha’ ”
You gulped, gaze nervously fixed to the floor. Simon was still. Staring. At you. Never before had you felt so exposed, too embarrassed and, if you were honest, a little scared to look at your boyfriend face-on.
“Was just wonderin’ since when my bird was such a slag.”
His baritone words rolled down your spine, sending sparks of a deep, taboo satisfaction through you. You whimpered, and hid your face in your hands.
“Don’ act like a prude love, we both heard what you wanted just now.” “I shouldn't have said anythinnnggg-”
Conceptually, anal had… a certain taboo charm to it. From your perspective at least. Sure, it wasn't technically the “right” hole… it wouldn't feel the same, but the idea had always fascinated you.. intruded your shadowed thoughts at night with your fingers rubbing your clit and edging nervously to an opening further on than your cunt.
So, gently, you'd broached the topic one time you were both in the kitchen together- thinking, in hindsight foolishly, that it'd be something he'd instantly dismiss, or at least… talk about later. In the bedroom. Not in the middle of the kitchen… but now here you stood, in the hole you'd dug for yourself;
“On the contrary, I'm relieved you've finally admitted it to yourself.” His footsteps were heavy against the floorboards as he approached you. Confused, you peeked out of the gaps between your fingers to look at him;
“W-what?” “Don't be fuckin’ coy w'me love.” Simon towered over you, cadging you next to the kitchen side.
“Always suspected there was some depraved shit up here, yeah?” He poked your temple with his index finger, “Turns out my intuitions were correct then?”
“T-thats not-” “Oh yes it is sweet’art.” Simon's eyes grew more intense by the second, even more than before- you struggled to even picture them in your mind for fear of his retribution.
“Ay- fuckin’ look at me when I'm talking to ya.”
He could have been a lot harsher with the small smack he delivered to your cheek, but that knowledge did nothing to dull the pain, and your eyes watered a little at the sensation. He grabbed your cheeks between his fingers, squishing them till you pouted and shaking your head lightly, as if to keep hold of your attention.
As if you could look anywhere else…
Forced to return his ferocious gaze, you crumbled, knees bucking like a fawn under you- Simon grabbed you and roughly hauled you back up, manhandling you to bend over the kitchen counter. You allowed him to, biting your lip in an attempt to muffle your unintentional sounds of appreciation.
It earned you a harsh smack to your rear, and Simon's big paw of a hand tugging your hair. He leaned over you, “ ‘M not ‘avin any of tha’ yeah? You're not gonna be hidin’ how much of a slut you are from me anymore sweet'art.”
The juxtaposition of his words and the way he sweetly kissed your temple after he said them was almost comical. The grip on your hair disappeared, replaced with firm and consistent pulling at your clothes until you shuffled out of them- Simon wasted no time running his warm hands up and down your body, rumbling out various admirations of your physical form.
He slunk down your body, nipping and pressing hot, open mouthed kisses down your back, and then to each of your cheeks, all the way down to your pussy. Earlier on, when you'd ridden yourself of your panties, Simon had laughed at how wet they were. “Already?” He'd asked, “Y'that turned on already? Whore. Like a bitch in heat f'me, ey?”
He had no further comments to mock you with, not now at least. He was busy approving of the view of your wet cunt in front of him- out of the corner of your eye you spied him nodding to himself as if he were appraising fine art.
You huffed, a little impatient, petulant you wiggled your bum at him- only all you got from him was another spank.
“Be patient.” He said curtly.
You whined, but otherwise did as you were told, meekly resigned to your fate as Simon's personal eye candy.
“Why ya’ into it then?” You made a noise of confusion, Simon huffed.
“This.”
One of hands had moved to idly grope and squish your bottom while he'd been down there, and now his thumb creeped ever so slowly over to press on your rim. You keened- suddenly understanding what he meant.
“Well?” His thumb pressed in deeper, you gasped- “I-i don't know!” “Hmmm…”
You could tell from his tone he didn't quite believe you. He kissed your cheek again.
“I'm sure I'll find out.”
With that said, his thumb remained almost gently rubbing at your hole, his free hand moving to pull his balaclava up over his nose- wasting no time in burying himself in your cunt. He sighed contentedly at the taste, smell, feel of you, lazily lapping at your cunny with his broad tongue. His thumb still rubbing you in slow circles, almost.. in a comforting manner.
There was no one more intimidating than Simon- at least out of all the people you've ever met, and yet here he was, eating your pussy like it was a home cooked, three-course meal. You looked over your shoulder, and bit your lip; The visual of big bad Simon Riley on his knees for you, make you shiver and clench.
Simon seemed to be secretly a telepath however, as the way he suddenly roughly pinched your clit between his index finger and thumb- tugging on it cruelly, came off as a punishment. You whined loudly, panting into the counter, drooling a little. Vaguely, you could hear Simon humming thoughtfully to himself. He released his hold on your poor clit, though quickly replaced it by rubbing small, soothing circles on it instead.
It quite quickly becomes a lot more intense, Simon grunting in approval as he plunges his thick tongue into your cunt. Your breathing is staggered, coming out in short, little huffs- you reach behind you to tug at Simon's head, shoving him closer. Again, he groans in appreciation, eagerly nuzzling between your thighs closer, the rhythm of his tongue and fingers rubbing at your clit increased a hundredfold;
Like lighting, your orgasm crashed through you, the noises that left your pussy- wet, squelching, the drip of your juices against the floor, should surely have had you feeling at least some shame, but no. You were too twitchy, too fucked stupid on Simon's tongue to care.
With much reluctantance, Simon hauled himself off of your puffy pussy. He'd gladly stay nestled between your kegs for the rest of him life, at least from further away, he could admire his work.
At this point, you thought perhaps he'd finally get to the meat of what you'd suggested.. Simon wasn't finished yet though- two of his deliciously thick fingers were swiftly shoved into your sopping pussy.
You cried out at the sudden penetration, shivering and trembling.
“What? ..silly cow.” Simon told you gruffly, somewhat annoyed that you'd dare disturb his probing at your cunt with your exclamation of surprise. You whined at his degradation, but were still coherent enough to recognise the underlying affection in his tone. Huffing, you leaned forward to lay your torso fully on the cold, sideboard. The cool temperature of the marble was sharp and sudden, but soon soft and gentle to your hot body, palliative to your hard, puffed up nipples.
He lazily pumped his fingers inside you for a few moments, before curling his fingers forward, dragging against that spongey spot deep within you, and eased his fingers out of you.
You were left huffing and panting like an animal into the counter- Simon had cupped his two fingers- the ones that was just inside of you- just under your clit.. then abruptly he slid them upwards, slowly, pressing down hard.
You squeaked, struggling not to quiver too hard. Simon's fingers kept creeping up and up and up, gliding firmly over your cunny, finally halting at your rim. The hot, wet sensation of Simon rubbing your own slick into your hole as lube had you trembling.
“How's tha?” You heard Simon mumble from behind you, his accent had gotten a little thicker. It always got thicker when he was “in the zone”.
“Oh.. uh..” Seemingly irked by your lack of response, your boyfriend slapped your clit harshly with the back of his hand.
“G-good!! It's good! Good!!” You choked, and whined again when you heard Simon chuckle lowly at you. He tapped his fingers twice on your hole- you nodded shyly at him;
Simon hummed, cautiously easing one of his broad fingers covered in your slick into your ass. The noise of utter debauched pleasure you let escape your throat was nothing compared to Simon's groan-
“Oh fuck that's tight..”
God it was, you felt how hard your greedy hole swallowed up his thick finger. You huffed and puffed- vainly attempting to breath consitently, but your body was too sensitive, muscles pulled too rigid inside you to keep your thoughts on one thing alone.
Simon was your rock, somewhere in the thousands of feelings inside you, was a certainty that he was holding back. Taking it slow, just for you.
You felt the hazey cloud of sex overwhelm you, rendering you more or less unable to speak, only babble incoherently into the counter, your pretty eyes filled with tears as Simon took his sweet, sweet time opening you up.
By comparison to how rough the pads of his digits were, they were remarkably soft with you, even as Simon squeezed one more of his fingers in you. You coughed and hiccups at the fullness of it.
“Tha's it.. good girl.. cmon.. open up luv.. there we go..”
You head him whisper, and you moaned impatiently. You wanted to politely express your readiness for his dick, but all the you were able to whine out was “C-cock-!”
Simon laughed, which was always a nice, comforting rumble. “I know sweet'art, gotta get you a little looser f'me first yeah?”
Even as you keened and begged, Simon would not budge. Occasionally, if he was feeling particularly mean in that moment, he'd flick your poor clit harshly, you'd squeal and twitch. This continued for a while, and by the time he deemed you “ready” you might have passed out, the electric fizzles of pleasure that sizzled between your legs kept you awake.
Simon could tell you were tired, he was gentle with the way he slipped his hand under you tummy to push your bum in the air, and tender with how he cradled your hip. Your clit was kindly soothed with slow, small circles rubbed in by his middle finger.
You sobbed into the side- “cock…” you babbled, sniffing and feeling sorry for yourself. You felt a kiss to the base of your neck;
“Mmmm.. I know baby, I know, m' so mean aren't I?”
Vaguely, you heard yourself murmuring in agreement. The metallic sound of Simon's belt loosening and then his zipper coming down had warm excitement flutter over your body.
You felt the heat of his dick before it even touched you, whimpering when it finally did. Simon rubbed his thick cock up and down the apex of your thighs, right up to hole and then back down to your clit. When you would whine at him, he'd hum right back.
God, he was so much bigger than you. He leant over you and covered your entire body with his bulk. You felt him throb at your rim. A kiss was levied at your neck- “Y’ready?” He asked, voice low, and you babbled back something that sounded like impatience. Simon chuckled and kissed your neck again, bracing one strong arm against the counter next to you.
All of a sudden he was inside you, not all the way but he was inside you and that's all you could think about. You gasped, inadvertently holding your breath and then once more remembering to breathe. Simon had stayed silent throughout this.. you reached backwards for him with one hand;
“Si?” “Y-yeah, yeah m’here, g’ve us a minute love-”
His voice came out ragged and shaky, and from the sounds of it he was doing the same forgetting-to-breath thing you were.
You both needed occasionally little breaks from him sliding his cock inside you this time, either of you would cum too quickly. But soon, all of him was pressed snugly inside you. You drooled on the counter and Simon's head had dropped to rest on your back, taking slow, steady breaths, grounding himself.
The both of you stayed like this for a while. It was almost peaceful. Soft. Till Simon decided he was fine to move and dragged his dick alllllllll the way back out and then in again in one thrust. It left you choked for breath, Simon too, he was more vocal this time than any other time you'd fucked.
Neither of you lasted long, specially not after your boyfriend had clasped his big paw of a hand under your leg, and lifted it up onto the counter next to you, an entirely new and more intimate angle. You were cumming before you even realised Simon had crept his hand down to pinch your clit. He was so mean about it too- that same hand then came up to shove to of his fingers into your mouth, creating a spit-slicked mess. And when he came it was an event:
He threw his head back and moaned more desperately than you'd ever heard from him before. The rhythmic squelch that narrated your encounter kept going even after he'd cum, if anything it was louder now. His and your cum dripping down out of you and puddling on the floor beneath you. Still, meekly, Simon kept thrusting into you, as if the orgasm was too good to end. Though finally it did, Simon's weight all but collapsing ontop of you.
You stayed like that for a while, still connected. Basking in your respective afterglows. Simon kissed your neck again and you croaked out a satisfied noise;
“Fun..” The man behind you laughed, “Yeah fun was it? Just fun eh? Just fun~?” Cruelly he reached under you to tickle your sides- you squealed; “More than f-fun!!” and that seemed to sate him, releasing you.
“Yeah, s’what I thought…..” He drummed his fingers on the counter..
“Bath?” “bath….”
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Second Chances
Summary: It’s not common knowledge that you have a superpower: regeneration. You didn’t think that would be a problem... Jason and Damian think otherwise.
Relationships: Jason Todd x Vigilante!Reader, Damian Wayne & Jason Todd & Reader (platonic because they’re brothers duh)
DAMIAN WAYNE IS MY SON I LOVE HIM SO MUCH (I just watched the Supersons movie he makes me smile so hard)
Word Count: 4.8k
Content warning for temporary character death. Reader’s vigilante name is Ghoul, BTW.
Jason is in the shower when he hears someone break into his apartment.
He groans, makes sure all the shampoo is rinsed out of his hair, then grabs the knife mounted to his curtain rod. It’s not the first time someone has attacked him in the shower, and it probably won’t be the last. Still, Jason wishes they would at least give him time to grab a towel. It’s just as uncomfortable for him as it is for them.
This time, they actually do. Maybe they’re going to be polite enough to wait for him to finish cleaning all of Gotham’s sludge off his body. Jason would appreciate the sentiment more if the upcoming fight wouldn’t immediately dirty his body again with their blood.
He doesn’t turn off the shower when he steps out, dries his feet on the bath mat. He’s reaching for his towel when he hears one of the intruders say something.
He recognizes that voice.
Jason sticks his head out of the bathroom and glowers. “What are you doing here, brat?”
Damian Wayne, one of Bruce Wayne’s many children and the current Robin, scowls right back. “Why is your shower still running, Todd? Do you not care for conservation efforts? There are people in Michigan who would—”
“Okay, Dami,” interrupts another voice.
Jason’s whole body flushes. He makes sure every part of him except his face is hidden behind the door when a second person comes into view.
Your vigilante costume is zipped halfway, the top pulled down and sleeves tied around your waist, exposing the compression shirt with kevlar-like weave you wore beneath it. A large bandage is wrapped around your upper arm, growing redder by the second.
“Hi, Y/N,” Jason says. Does he sound too excited? Does he not sound excited enough?
You just smile. “Hey, Jace. Sorry, we came by for first aid supplies. We’ll be out of your hair in just a sec.”
“No, don’t rush on my account,” Jason says. Does he sound too desperate? “Just give me a—”
He ducks back into the bathroom to turn off the shower after making sure he’s clean and one hundred percent soap-free. Not expecting company, he’d only brought a pair of boxers and military-style shorts in with him. Rushing, hoping you don’t leave before he gets out (Damian can leave, though) he pulls both on and slams the door open.
It hits the wall so hard it rebounds back into Jason’s hand. You jump at the sound, nearly poking Damian with the needle in your hand.
“Watch it, idiot!” Damian snaps. To Jason, he says, “You just dented your wall. Moron.”
“Don’t talk to them like that,” Jason says sternly. God, he knows why the brat is so prickly, but he still got on Jason’s last nerves. He checks the wall, hoping the brat exaggerated, but nope. Another dent to match the nicks, scrapes, and bullet holes that already littered his apartment.
He is never getting back his security deposit.
You’re about to stitch up a cut on Damian’s arm when Jason clucks his tongue. “That doesn’t look good.” The bandage around your arm is sodden with blood.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you say dismissively. “Ready, Dami?”
Interestingly enough, the brat doesn’t tell you off for giving him a nickname. It seems to be a privilege reserved exclusively for you and Dick; every time Jason tries, he’s vehemently told off.
Then again, his nicknames are usually derogatory. That might contribute to it a little bit.
Damian sets his jaw and you stitch him up quickly, murmuring, “I’m sorry,” every time his fingers twitch—the only indication of pain he’ll show. Jason eyes the bandage around your arm with worry, but the blood stain doesn’t grow any more in the interim.
As soon as you tie off the thread, Damian hops to his feet and scurries for the bathroom. You start to get up, brow pinched with worry, but Jason says, “Let me look at your arm.”
Your eyes take a while to slide from the shut bathroom door to Jason’s face, but then you say, “Yeah, okay,” and sink back into your chair.
To distract you as he unpeels the sticky bandage from your arm, Jason asks, “So you’re on babysitting duty now, huh?”
“Oh, no, Damian and I patrol together every Friday night.” You use finger quotes with the other hand and say, “B think it ‘promotes more accountability’ when someone gets injured during patrol if they have a partner.”
Jason frowns at the sight of the cut. It’s obviously from a knife, and not pretty, exactly, but also not big enough to let out as much blood as soaked through the bandage. “Who did this to you?”
“Just a typical goon. It’s really not a big deal.” Your eyes follow Jason’s gaze. “I guess it bled a lot, huh? Like a head wound. You know, disproportionate.” You tug your sleeve over the wound.
“Y/N is not as weak as the rest of you,” Damian sneers, having vacated the bathroom on silent feet. You jump, and so does Jason, even though he has Batman-honed instincts.
There’s just something intoxicating about your presence. You’re… distracting.
It was manageable back before Jason was Robin and you were one of his classmates. You were obsessed with Batman and crimefighting, and Jason was a bookworm, so your friendship shouldn’t have worked, but it did.
Then, ironically, Bruce Wayne adopted him and Jason became the crimefighter. He never told you about his identity to protect Bruce’s, but you figured it out when he died.
Then he came back to Gotham, hellbent on revenge, and burned every bridge he’d ever built. Including the one with you.
Jason still could barely believe you give him the time of day after all the awful things he’d said and done. But you’re just as obsessed with redemption and forgiveness as Bruce, and he will never take that for granted.
His fascination with you was manageable before Jason died, but it’s downright consuming now.
Jason can’t believe how you’d grown up to be so… so flat-out amazing. Graceful, and maybe not as skilled at hand-to-hand as the rest of Gotham’s vigilantes, but you adapt with a long-range fighting style. You’re strong, and self-assured, and really, seriously gorgeous.
Jason realizes his hand is still on your arm, touching the soft skin, and he yanks it away as if burnt. He doesn’t understand how you remain so scar-free despite years of crimefighting, and he’s abruptly self-conscious about the marks that litter his torso, arms, and legs. Your eyes roam over them, lingering on his chest and stomach
He’s most self-conscious about the jagged ‘J’ carved into his cheek, and Jason tries to cover it with his hand without drawing attention. That doesn’t work—he looks like a weirdo waving his hands around—so he tilts his cheek away so you don’t have to see it anymore.
You clear your throat and look away, as if embarrassed for some reason.
Damian’s gaze pingpongs between the two of you before he rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically. “Are you two finished?”
You push away from the table and make a grabby hand. Damian rolls his eyes again, but he sidles closer, and you check his stitched cut. Your thumb rubs over the raised line of stitches like you’re trying to wipe his pain away.
Jason realizes he’s staring at the bottom lip you’re jutting out in sympathy. He flushes again.
After everything he did, he can’t expect anything more than friendship from you. If that’s what you’re willing to give, he’ll never push for more.
“I am fine, Y/N,” Damian said, pushing your hand away, albeit gently. A hint of whine entered his voice and Jason blinked. It wasn’t often that he heard Damian sound like an actual kid. “Can we resume patrol now?”
“Wait,” Jason hears someone say, and it’s—him, he’s the one saying it. “Are you hungry? I have a casserole in the oven.”
Damian snorts. “My apologies. I did not know you had adopted the personality of a middle-aged white wom—”
You cover Damian’s mouth with your hand and say, “That sounds great, Jay. Thanks.”
Jason’s greedy. He’ll take whatever scraps he can get from you.
The three of you eat, the conversation pleasant whenever Damian isn’t threatening Jason because Jason taunted him. You laugh as they bicker, used to the antics of Gotham’s vigilantes by now.
Once everyone is done, it’s just about time for the Red Hood to start his patrol, so with a little cajoling from you, Damian agrees to let Jason tag along until your patrol ends. Jason suits up, and you lead the charge out of his apartment window, followed by Damian. Jason is last out, stopping briefly to make sure the window latches before stepping off the fire escape.
The sensation of his stomach rising is familiar from so many years of grappling through the city, but no less exhilarating. He follows your and Robin’s flipping shapes as the two of you tear through the city. The bright primary color accents on Robin’s suit and the pale gray color of your own shouldn’t blend in so well with Gotham’s shadows, but you and Damian manage pretty well. It turns into kind of a game of tag, and whenever he gets close enough, you grin and twist away, muffling laughter behind one hand.
He could definitely catch you, but he thinks you’re enjoying the game of cat-and-mouse just as much as he, if not more.
Jason’s just thinking to himself that there’s not much crime tonight when the Batsignal lights up the sky.
“Way to ruin the mood,” he grumbles. The game is over. The three of you grapple toward the giant light without any more flipping or laughter.
Jim Gordon obviously isn’t expecting them when they land. After all, it’s common knowledge that Ghoul is a Bat-affiliate, but Red Hood’s alliance with the Batclan is still relatively new. Shaky.
And a lot of people still think the Red Hood hates Ghoul. Admittedly, the way Jason tried to kill you when he returned hadn’t helped the rumors.
It made sense at the time. He’d also tried to kill Batman, Nightwing, and Robin, so it’s not like it was entirely personal. You don’t hold a grudge.
“Where’s Batman?” is his first question.
You shrug. “Running late.”
Jason’s not sure if that’s true. With you and Robin patrolling Newtown and Otisburg, Spoiler and Red Robin handling everything from the Coventry to the Upper East Side, and Black Bat and Batwing watching over everything else but the Tricorner, the city is in pretty good hands for the night.
And yes, Jason’s knowledge about patrol schedules is from his days as a crime lord, but it still comes in handy as a reformed vigilante.
“Why did you summon us here, Commissioner?” Robin asks.
“Bane escaped Arkham earlier tonight,” says the Commissioner. “We have reason to believe he’s hiding out in Amusement Mile. The Joker’s not out, for one, and we have a… witness… that claims to have seen Bane in the park.”
“Where is this witness?” Robin demands.
“In our holding cell, sobering up,” Gordon says with a long-suffering sigh.
“Oh, great,” Jason says. “So it might have been Bane, or it might have been one of those giant stuffed bears at every amusement park.”
You elbow him in the side and promise Gordon, “We’ll check it out, Commish. Let you know when he’s handled again!”
You and Robin balance on the edge of the roof. Jason asks in a low tone, “Batman’s not coming tonight, is he?” He would have already been here.
You and Robin share a guilty look.
Jason sighs. Bane is a tough opponent, possibly their strongest rogue. It’ll take a lot of force to bring him down… force he’s not sure you and Robin can muster. You’re good vigilantes, don’t get him wrong, but Robin is a prepubescent boy and has the height and muscle mass to show for it. You’re strong and graceful and should be fine as long as you keep your distance, but Jason’s the only one that comes close to Bane in terms of muscle mass.
It’ll be up to him to keep the two of you safe.
“I think I parked my bike somewhere around here,” you say. “It’ll get us there faster than grappling.”
Jason thinks something is stuck in his throat. He croaks, “You have a motorcycle?”
You nod. He can’t see your face beneath the mask, but he’s pretty sure you’re smiling. “Got it just a couple weeks ago, but I needed Earl to paint it over.”
“It is parked in that alley.” Robin points.
“Okay,” Jason says. “You two drive to my apartment. I’ll follow above, then we’ll head to Amusement Mile.”
“Aye-aye,” you joke. “Come on, bud.”
You and Robin swing away, the younger boy loudly complaining about the myriad nicknames you think up for him. Jason swings away to get a headstart. A minute later, the sound of a bike engine revving hits Jason’s ears, and it isn’t long after that he looks down to see you and Robin on a pale bike painted in the same colors as your suit.
You look up and wave.
Jason almost misses his next swing. He swallows and has to look away. Seeing you on a motorcycle…
As soon as he puts the key in his bike’s ignition, you speed away, tires squealing against the asphalt. Jason grins and twists the throttle. He shoots onto the street and hunches low to decrease wind resistance, pushing the bike hard to catch up to you.
You wear no helmet, but you’d forced Robin to wear one. He sits behind you on the bike, arms locked around your waist. At the sight of Jason, he makes a rude gesture, but Jason just huffs out a laugh. The brat likes to aggravate him on purpose, but it’s hard to feel annoyed when he drives next to you, racing side-by-side.
It doesn’t take long to reach Amusement Mile. You and Jason shift gears, rolling to a stop.
“You and Robin go high,” Jason instructs. “I’ll go low.”
“Roger.” You kick the stand for your bike, then you and Robin shoot your grapples for the nearest roof.
In seconds, the two of you are out of sight.
Jason swallows. He hates this strip of clown-themed land. The Joker isn’t in it currently, but it still reminds him of that madman.
Come on. He shakes himself. Jason can’t afford to get distracted. Bane is dangerous.
Jason makes no effort to muffle the sounds of his footsteps as he strolls through the park. A plastic bag drifts along the path with a gust of wind, and a couple bowling pins on the ground roll. But apart from that, the park is empty and quiet.
Too quiet.
Jason turns just in time to avoid a crushing blow to his head.
He hits the ground rolling and comes up with guns blazing. Bullets deflect off Bane’s armor, and he doesn’t seem to feel the ones that burrow into his skin.
“You will not stop me, Red Hood,” says the mechanized voice. “No one will stop me in my pursuit to break Batman, even though he sent you in his place.”
“He didn’t send me,” says Jason.
Help comes from above. A steel bola—one of your weapons of choice—whips through the air and wraps around Bane’s throat. He chokes and reaches up to untangle it. At the same time, a Batarang slices through the air and cuts straight through one of the hoses pumping super-steroid into his body.
He groans. Drops to one knee.
Jason spares a glance to the rooftops, but he only sees Robin.
That moment of distraction costs him. Bane surges back to his feet and tackles him. Jason hits the ground, the back of his head colliding against the pavement so hard his vision blacks out for a moment.
He blinks away the darkness in time to see a punishing fist aimed right for his head. There’s not enough time to dodge. Jason can only brace for an impact… that never comes.
The hook of a grapple is embedded into Bane’s wrist. Its line is taught. On the roof of a decrepit popcorn stand, Robin yanks back with all his might.
Jason knees Bane in the crotch, then elbows him in the face.
Bane grunts and yanks his arm forward, pulling Robin right to the ground in a flutter of cape, but Jason slips out from beneath him and rolls to his feet. Bane may be strong, and his hits may hurt, but that’s only if they connect. And Bane isn’t very fast.
The engine of a bike roars, and your voice shouts, “Hood, out of the way!”
Jason obeys without thinking. It’s a good thing he doesn’t hesitate, because he barely dodges your motorcycle before you ram it full-speed into Bane.
Not even the giant can resist a motorcycle going full-throttle. He topples back, and you keep driving, treating his body like a ramp.
Jason laughs despite himself. “I can see tire tracks on your face, ugly!” He and Robin throw knives at the same time. Robin’s slices off another steroid line. Jason’s lodges in Bane’s shoulder. It should have severed his deltoid, leaving his arms useless, but the man doesn’t react to the pain at all.
Getting run over pisses Bane off. You turn in a sharp circle on the bike and rev your engine, obviously ready to try the same trick twice.
But Jason sees the tension in Bane’s legs, and he’s shouting for you to stop after you start.
You don’t listen. You just drive.
Bane sidesteps your bike at the last possible second, and his arm shoots out. His hand is large enough to wrap around your entire throat, and it yanks you off your bike, which skids away with a screech of tire and metal. You choke, scrabbling at the iron fingers around your throat.
Jason has his gun out in a second, but Bane holds your body in front of his. So Jason shoots his foot. It doesn't have an effect.
“Ghoul!” Robin shouts. He unsheathes his katana.
“I tire of this,” Bane says through his modulator.
He snaps your neck.
“NO!”
It’s like the world slows down. Jason can only watch as Bane carelessly drops your lifeless body.
He sees Robin lunge with his sword. He sees Bane casually backhand him so hard he drops his katana. Robin flies backward, hits the popcorn stand, and slumps to the ground, motionless.
Bane steps on you—your body—and something in your spine cracks. Something in Jason’s chest cracks, too, and he sees green.
The Pit surges.
After it recedes, Robin’s katana is lodged firmly in a moaning Bane’s side. Every one of his steroid pumps is severed, and his mask is cracked. He’s weak enough without his Venom that three Bat-restraints and a set of handcuffs can hold him.
Huh. Jason’s surprised he didn’t kill him.
His knuckles are bleeding; they’re slick inside his gloves. When he flexes his fingers, pain screams up his nerves, through his arm all the way to his heart. At least two are broken, and another knuckle might be dislocated. His jaw hurts, his brain is pounding—concussion, probably—and his knee feels swollen. But he can put pressure on it, at least, and he limps to a stirring Robin.
“Hey,” Jason says. His voice is rough. He doesn’t remember yelling. He tries to crouch, but can’t with the stiff knee, so he just kind of collapses in front of the kid. “Robin. Status report.”
The kid looks at him, wobbling even though he’s sitting down. One hand goes up to touch the back of his head, and the tips of his gloves gleam with dark blood when he pulls it back. “Possible concussion,” he says with a wavering voice. “Ribs—”
Robin gasps and stumbles to his feet.
“Don’t—”
Jason tries to grab him, but Robin wobbles out of his reach. He walks hunched over in a zigzag, limping to your—
Jason grunts and stands back up. “Hey, hey, Robin.” He gets between the kid and you. “Don’t. Don’t—don’t look.”
“Do not stop me, Todd,” hisses the kid, and wow, he must be seriously out of it to use Jason’s civilian name. “Let me see them.”
“You don’t want to,” Jason says grimly. He’s seen snapped necks before, and they’re… Well, they’re as unnatural-looking as they sound.
He hears a rushing in his ears. A wave of grief is cresting, ready to sweep him away, but Jason has to keep it together for Robin. He barely hears his own voice when he says, “Ghoul’s gone.” He can’t say the ‘D’ word. Not when he feels like puking.
“Unhand me, you blackguard,” Robin hissed. “You do not understand. They might be—”
“They’re not.”
“Todd!” the kid says, voice rising into a shrill.
Something clicks behind them.
Jason whirls around to make sure Bane hasn’t broken out of his restraints.
He hasn’t.
So what made the noise?
He and Robin are looking right at the body when some invisible force takes your head and—and wrenches it.
Robin lets out a low cry.
Jason feels frozen. He doesn’t stop the kid when he stumbles forward and collapses next to the body. His shoulders shake, head bowed with grief.
Jason is still watching when he sees your chest rise and fall with a breath.
“Oh, what the fuck,” he whispers, stumbling back. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the—”
Your head raises, and you reach to your neck with a wince.
Robin freezes.
“Ow,” you grumble, pushing up to your elbows. “That sucked.”
“What the fuck?” Jason exclaims.
“What is going on?” Robin demands.
You look between the two vigilantes. “Sorry to freak you out, guys.” Which is a completely underwhelming thing to say when you just died and then unsnapped your own neck.
Robin makes a low, wounded sound, then throws himself at you, wrapping his arms around your neck and squeezing hard. You hug him back just as tight, murmuring low things that Jason tries not to hear. It’s a personal moment, and he feels like an intruder, but he can’t move. His feet are planted to the ground.
Seconds ago, you’d been dead. No doubt about it. Bane had snapped your neck and you had crumbled like paper.
Now you’re breathing and alive.
It doesn’t compute. It doesn’t make any sense.
Robin comes to the same conclusion, because he pulls away and pinches your arm. “How is this possible?”
“Bud, do you remember when… you remember when Pyg got me, right?”
“Of course.”
“Well, I don’t,” says Jason. Professor Pyg kidnapped you? What the fuck? When did that happen?
You look up at him, still holding Robin close. “We weren’t exactly on speaking terms when it happened, Hood.”
Oh.
“But Father ran his tests and said his experimentation just gave you advanced healing,” says Robin.
“Which is technically true—”
“Resurrection is quite different from healing!” the kid says.
“Wait, you knew they had powers?” Jason asks Robin.
The kid sneers at him. “Of course. I was the one that found Ghoul, and I patrol with them at least once a week. It would take an unobservant fool to miss their obvious healing abilities."
Jason bristles with indignation.
Robin's head turns on a swivel to glare at you. "It was less obvious that you have nothing to fear from physical injuries. Informing me of this fact would have greatly reduced the chances of experiencing emotional distress at the sight of your dead, mangled body."
"I know," you say, cupping his chin in your hand. "I'm really, really sorry, Dami."
"Do not address me as such," he says, "we are in costume." Robin huffs and scrambles out of your lap, brushing debris off his suit. Then he wobbles and nearly falls over, and you lunge to catch him.
"Woah, bud, you okay?"
"He's concussed," Jason says.
"Too concussed to ride on the back of my bike?"
"Of course not," says Robin. Then he leans over and pukes.
"Oh, Batman's gonna kill me," you mutter.
It's a much tamer drive to the Batcave, in case Robin rolls off the bike accidentally. He doesn't, but you do have to stop a couple of times so he can lean over the side and retch.
When all is said and done and you're back at the Cave and Alfred and Bruce are fussing over Damian, you and Jason hang back a bit. He can't stop sneaking glances at you. Your Ghoul mask is off, and there's a little dried blood around your nostrils, and your hair is a little sweaty, but you're the most beautiful thing Jason's ever seen.
You're alive. He can hardly believe it.
You suddenly sigh and mutter, "I guess you're mad at me, too?"
"What?" Jason startles.
"For not telling you about my abilities."
"Y/N—"
"I just didn't want you guys to think of me differently. Duke has his powers, yeah, but he was born with them. I got mine from Pyg. I didn't want everyone to start treating me like a victim."
All things considered, you're remarkably well-adjusted for someone that survived Professor Pyg's experimentation. "You're the strongest person I've ever met, Y/N," says Jason. "Your powers don't change that. They make me feel a little better about you patrolling at night, anyway. They're basically like... a second chance."
You snort. "I think I'm on my fifth chance by this point."
Jason shakes his head. "How did you keep your powers a secret, again?"
"Well, the first time, Pyg shut off my heart, but that didn't shut down my body. When I actually noticed that I couldn't die, though, was that time one of Cobblepot's goons stabbed me in the neck and I woke up in the middle of a shootout. Now that wasn't fun." You grimace. "A bullet caught me in the head and I died as soon as I sat up. The Bats were too preoccupied to notice me, luckily. Then there was that time with the poison dart that I kept a secret, and now this time." You smirk, cross your arms, and bump Jason's hip with your own. "I'm beating you in the resurrection department, aren't I?"
Jason huffs, pretending to be offended, and your eyes widen. "Oh, my God. That was in such poor taste. I'm so sorry."
"No," he says, trying to hide the twist of his lips. If it was anyone else saying it, Jason would probably kill them. "No, it's okay. I'm just glad you're all right. It would have been awful if you'd died and I never took the chance to..."
"Chance to what?" You look up at him through your eyelashes.
Jason's breath catches in his throat. He's never done this before, dammit, but seeing you die today made him remember just how limited their time is as vigilantes.
Well, maybe not yours, but he walks a thin line.
"Doyouwanttogetcoffeewithme?"
You blink. "What?"
"Do you," Jason says slowly, feeling sweat prickle on his hairline, "want to... Um. Get coffee? With me. As in, like—"
"A date?"
"Only if you want to."
You nod, eyes sparkling. "Hell yeah I want to!"
Damian, Bruce, and Alfred look over at your raised voice. Their disapproving smiles are all eerily similar.
"Sorry," you whisper. You look back at Jason and say, "Yeah, I'd like that. I've been waiting ages for you to ask."
Yes. You said yes. Adrenaline rushes through Jason's veins, and he only barely resists the urge to pump his fist in the air like a moron. He's brave enough to tease, "Well, why didn't you ask me?"
Your face flushes and you look away.
It's at that moment that Damian calls, "Y/N. Stop twittering with Todd and come here. Your presence is required."
"Seriously," Jason said under his breath, "the way he talks like a Victorian child doesn't bother you at all?"
You're smiling. "I think he's adorable." You walk backwards to the brat, making a phone gesture with your hand and mouthing to Jason, Call me.
He definitely will.
"Master Jason," comes Alfred's disapproving voice when he turns back to his bike. "Don't think I didn't notice that you have your own injuries to tend to."
Of course, that sets off Bruce's worry alert even more.
Jason groans. He won't be able to sneak out for coffee with you for an entire week after this whole debacle.
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