Chapter 9 - 5 Things
Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader
Genre: Smut/Action
Word count: 7,211
Ao3
Masterlist
A/N: Wow, two chapters in one week! Don't expect this to keep this going lol! This chapter has major trigger warnings for: non-consensual acts, anxiety/panic attacks, mentions/implications of r*pe, violence, drug/sedative use.
Amazing mood board by: @brokenblossoms36
Your head was spinning.
Your eyes were watery, your heart palpitating. You struggled to open your eyes, but all you saw was a blur of blinding light. You saw a shadow, a movement, but it was still unclear as the light was piercing your eyes. You tried to shield them with your hand, but found that you couldn’t move it.
You were seemingly tied to a chair.
How did you get there?
Your throat felt dry. A wave of nausea came over you and you gagged, but nothing came out. You blinked away the tears and squinted at the figure now looming in front of you, blocking the light.
It was all coming back to you now.
You were walking from the Academy to the nearest metro station, heading to the public library in Old Gotham- since your usual one burned down. You had noticed a hooded man following you from behind as you turned into a secluded street.
You remember slightly panicking, because despite your training and reflexes, he was much much faster than you were. The next thing you knew, you woke up right where you were.
Your vision cleared as the cloud in your mind disappeared.
Red Hood was looking down at you, arms crossed. This close and vulnerable, he seemed taller than you remembered.
You also remembered that you weren’t Robin at the time. You were a spoiled girl adopted by the billionaire Bruce Wayne.
“W-where am I?” you squeaked, “Wh-who are you?”
Red Hood simply stared.
You tried on the ropes that he tied you with. It was tight, well knotted. You wouldn’t be able to get out of those without assistance.
“P-please,” you quivered your bottom lip, “Please don’t hurt me.”
Silence.
No windows. You couldn’t see a door either. The bright light almost completely blinded you to the dark room you were in.
“My dad is Bruce Wayne,” you pressed on, “He’ll give you whatever you want, just please don’t hurt me.”
You started sobbing, going hysterical in panic.
Then, Red Hood started chuckling. “You’re not a bad actor,” he said.
“I- I- I don’t know what you’re t-t-talking about,” you stuttered in breaths, “Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I p-pr-omise.”
“Quit the act, baby girl, you’re boring me,” he turned around and walked away from you.
Despite your commitment to acting, you couldn’t help but notice his well sculpted ass that was on your eye level as he strutted away.
“W-wha?” you continued, “Please, mister, I don’t know anything. Please let me go.”
Red Hood leaned against a metal table you only just noticed, “I prefer you snarky and bitchy. This isn’t fun. Quit the act before I make you.”
He was calm, as he always was.
You did suspect that he knew your identities, but you couldn’t risk it.
“You’ve got the wrong girl,” you wailed, “I’m not who you think I am! Please, sir, you have to believe me!”
“You know, I never asked,” he began, “How’s Nightwing?”
“N-nightwing?” you gave a watery hiccup.
“Yes, Nightwing, your older brother, Dick Grayson, ex-Robin, Boy Wonder, et cetera et cetera,” he waved his hand, “What else must I tell you to get you to stop? Bruce Wayne is Batman? How about Barbara Gordon is Oracle? Ring any bells?”
You couldn’t help the shock that appeared on your face. If he knew about Barbara, he was more than just a crazy conspiracy theorist. You decided to drop the act.
You gave one last sniffle and looked at him coldly, relaxing against the cool metal chair that you noticed were bolted to the cement floor.
“There she is,” he walked nearer to you again, noting your immediate change of expression when you conceded.
“He will find me, you know,” you told him.
“I disabled the GPS tracker on your phone. Also the one in your pendant,” he nodded at the jewel around your neck that you wore every day. Bruce had gifted it to you on the first year anniversary of your adoption. It was a silver robin with a small diamond glittering on its breast.
You didn’t even know there was a tracker on it. You mentally cursed Bruce for disguising it in a form of sentiment.
“So what do you want, Red?” you demanded. Surprisingly, you were calm. You didn’t feel any fear. Something told you that he wouldn’t hurt you.
“Nothing in particular,” he shrugged, “Maybe I just wanted you all to myself.”
You scoffed.
“What?” he bent down to meet you in the eye. You could see your own reflection on the white lenses of his mask. “Can’t I just want you? I haven’t seen you in so long. Didn’t you miss me?”
You glared at him. The fucker was mocking you. He was right about you missing him, but still.
“Because I missed you, baby girl.”
Even with the voice scrambler, you noticed his voice had dropped an octave. You gulped, and for some reason, butterflies filled your tummy.
He straightened up, “You look so cute in your uniform. The skirt. Which sexist pig designed it that short and made underage girls wear them?”
He squatted down in front of you and tilted his head. “Pink? Adorable.”
You grit your teeth. You could practically hear him grin. You tried to close your thighs but your legs were tied to the chair, forcing them slightly apart.
“Don’t tell me you kidnapped me just to tie me up and take a peek at my panties, Red,” you scowled.
“I’ve done crazier things, baby girl,” he stood up, “What’s wrong with a little talk?”
“So. Talk,” you hissed.
He reached out an arm towards your face. You forced yourself not to wince and maintained eye contact. He caressed your cheek with his gloved hand, his thumb trailing down to press against your lips.
You bit it.
“Fuck!” he recoiled, and then chuckled, “Should have expected that. I do love your feisty side anyway.”
“You don’t know me, Red. Just because you know my identity, it doesn’t mean shit,” you spat.
“I know you’re not who you pretend to be,” he gripped you by the hair and forced you to face him. The slightly rough pull made your breath hitch. “I know you try to hide it from everyone. You're not the good girl people think you are.”
“The same could be said for every other angsty teen. Try better,” you retorted.
He released your hair and chuckled again, “I really did miss you.‘’
“I’ve been busy, you see. Things to do, people to kill, the usual,” he went on, “Did you see what I left for everyone?‘’
“You mean Black Mask? Sorry to break it to you, but it wasn't much of a surprise. It was either you or him eventually,” you rolled your eyes.
“You really are a bitch, aren’t you?” he hummed.
“That's what you get for tying me to a chair,” you snapped.
“You people ought to be more grateful towards me,” he stated.
“Grateful? Really?” you condescended.
“Black Mask was a gift,” he claimed, “Now you have one crime lord less in the streets.”
“Yet here I am tied to a chair,” you sassed.
“Get over it, even the Bat’s done worse than this,” he chided.
“So what makes you so different from Black Mask? You think you're better than him?” you stated. You would be lying if you said that you hadn't tried to answer that question yourself. That you didn't lie awake at night justifying his actions.
“My, oh, my. Don't tell me you still haven't figured it out?” he mocked you, “I don't do this for any profit. In fact, I'm just like one of you.”
“You are not one of us,” you growled, “We don't kill. We're not barbaric like you are.”
“Which is why you won't ever get anywhere!” he argued, “That's what the Bat always failed to get. You can't stop crime. But you can control it. Thats what I'm doing. And I take the necessary steps to achieve it. The Bat is a coward.”
“You're wrong,” you defended, “He doesn't kill not because he's a coward. It's so much more than that. A person like you would never understand.”
“A person like me, huh?” he suddenly said quietly, the direction of his gaze fell towards the side, as if he was reminiscing. The change of tone surprised you. It made you think that maybe he wasn't always bad.
But it didn't matter who he used to be. What matters is who he is now.
“I'll make you see eventually, you'll understand soon enough,” he squatted down in front of you again, “but for now, let's talk about us.”
“Us?” you raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, baby girl, us. Don't you feel like there's something between us? I feel like there's a spark,” he adopted his tone of mocking again.
“Fuck off,” you snarled.
“I'd be lying if I said I don't think of you as I lie in bed, touching myself. You'd be lying if you said the same right?” he put his gloved hands on your bare thighs. You could feel his heat beneath the leather.
You'd be lying if you said that didn't excite you just a little bit.
“You're too full of yourself,” you responded, “And I happen to have a boyfriend. You're the only pervert here.”
You obviously lied about the boyfriend part. You wanted to seem like you had other things better to do than think of him.
Which, for some reason, seemed even more pathetic.
“Boyfriend?” he laughed, “So what? I bet that doesn't stop you from thinking of me.”
His hands slid up your thighs slowly, bunching up your skirt in the process.
“What are you doing?” your voice went high, “Stop that.”
“When was the last time you told a bad guy to stop and he actually did?” he asked.
He had a point.
Still, you didn't like the way that he didn't disgust you. You didn't like the way that he made you want him to go further up.
And further up he went.
Until he paused at the crease of your thighs, and then suddenly pressed a thumb on top of your clit. A jolt of pleasure shot through you.
“Stop it,” you repeated.
He ignored you again, this time pulling aside your panties and ran his middle finger up in between your lips. The middle finger you’ve thought about countless of times.
With the same thick finger, he pushed inside you slowly, all the way to his knuckles. You felt yourself automatically squeezing around him. You bit your lip.
He started sliding it out, and then back in again. It felt so different, having someone else's finger inside you.
Having his finger inside you.
Then, he curled his finger, hitting a spot inside you that you've never touched before, eliciting a soft moan from you.
Your eyes widen when you realised what you just did, and you turned your head away, blushing.
With that, he took his finger out, and then stood up. His crotch was at your eye level, and you could see his hard on straining against his pants. You didn't realise that your mouth watered at it.
“If only you wore skirts as part of your uniform, we could do that again whenever we meet,” he taunted you.
He didn't comment on your moan, nor the wetness that was left on his finger. Instead, he took off his glove and walked towards the table. His back was towards you now, and you couldn't tell what he was doing. You heard a rustle of plastic. He came back with a piece of black cloth from it and walked behind you.
Suddenly, you saw darkness. You began to struggle as he tied the blindfold, but his grip was too strong.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” you yelled.
“Relax, I'm blindfolding you so I can take off this stupid helmet,” you heard him say, and then you heard a heavy thump on the floor next to you.
“You motivate me, you know?” you heard him breathe in your ear, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand. He masked his voice similar to the way Batman did- it was raspy and gravelly. That close, you could smell him. He smelled like sweat, and leather, and gunpowder.
“You make me want to kill more and more,” he nipped your earlobe, “I killed someone for you, you know that? Did I get a thanks? Of course not.”
“What the hell are you on about?” you snarled.
“Fuck, you drive me insane,” he continued, ignoring your question. He used a hand to grip your hair and pull your head to the side, exposing your neck so he could lick a strip on your pulse. He then started sucking on your skin. “I’ve always wanted to mark you like this.”
You felt hot. You were panting, and the worst part was that you could feel yourself dampening your underwear more than before.
His other hand ripped your shirt open, buttons popping all over the floor. He pushed your bra upwards and grabbed a fist full of your right breast, squeezing hard.
“Mmm,” he moaned, “Finally, I get to feel them. You usually wear too much armor.”
You felt dizzy, hazy, blurry. You were utterly consumed by his heat. You tried so hard not to get turned on, but your body betrayed you.
“Tell me, why do you wear lip gloss while on patrol?” he continued sucking on another spot while he started rolling your nipples in between his fingers, “It makes me wonder how your lips would look like around me.”
You whimpered, and cursed internally. Who knew dirty talk would be your downfall.
“I knew you'd like this,” he chuckled at your reaction, “But I feel like you need a reminder of how scary I can actually be.”
You didn't need one. You knew how terrifying Red Hood was. You felt that fear the first time you met him, and again when he pointed the gun at you in that alley behind the bank. It seemed so long ago.
But that fear had long turned into curiosity. You weren't afraid anymore.
“Black Mask couldn't beg,” he rasped, “Because he was suffocating. I wonder what I should do to you.”
His hand went from your tits to around your neck. And then, and then, you felt it. The panic you felt the first time he got his hand around your neck.
You started thrashing about, anything to prevent him from getting a proper grip on you. But unfortunately, you were tied down.
And he was standing behind you, strong hands around your neck.
“Remember this, baby girl?” he started squeezing, “Doesn't this feel nostalgic?”
He was pressing on your carotid arteries, making you even dizzier than you already were, but you could still gasp for breath.
“I still have a syringe of what I gave Black Mask to paralyse him, I wonder what I should do to you?” he then suddenly released you, making you cough and gag, tears streaming down your face.
“I wouldn't want to ruin that pretty face,” you heard his voice move in front of you, “Maybe I should just keep you here to myself and use you. This job gets stressful. You'd be my own personal fuck toy. I'd ruin your cunt over and over again. You want that?”
Your mind began to race. Would he actually do that? No. No, even if he did, it didn't matter. Because Batman will-
“And then you will know how Batman really is,” he stressed, “You'll cling on to the hope that he's out there looking for you. That he won't give up on you. Batman would be the only thing keeping you sane.”
Yes, yes he was right. Bruce would find you.
“But you know what he’ll do instead?” he continued, voice shaking in evident anger, “He will just forget about you. Even after you're dead and he catches me, all he’ll do is lock me up behind bars. And then he’ll replace you with another child soldier to brainwash.”
No. Bruce wouldn't do that. He loved you. He wouldn't give up. He wouldn't move on.
Would he?
Panic started to rise again, you felt yourself hyperventilating for the first time. What was wrong with you? You couldn't break down just after being kidnapped. Why would you feel this sense of impending doom?
No, it's just Red Hood getting to you. You were just giving him what he wants.
“That's more like the reaction I was looking for,” you heard him growl. You flinched when you felt his hand on your cheek. He was wiping away at your tears, and he was surprisingly gentle.
“There, there,” he sighed, “I’m not going to do that to you. I don't hurt innocents. Though you're far from it.”
You tried to calm yourself down. He was just looking for a reaction?
“I just want you to see Bruce for who he really is, baby girl,” he explained, still caressing your cheek. You found yourself leaning into his warmth, “And I want you to see me for who I really am, and what I've been doing for Gotham.”
Before you could even think of responding, you felt something spray on your face, and then everything faded to black.
***
The first thing you noticed was an annoying beeping sound.
And hushed whispers.
You opened your eyes, blinking away the grogginess. You were on a bed that wasn’t your own, in a room that was unfamiliar.
A hospital room. Private, high end. You tried to prop yourself up, suddenly-
“No, no, lie back down, honey,” an aging woman pushed you gently back into the pillows, where you laid back reclined. “I’ll go get the doctor and your father for you.”
Shortly after, in came Bruce, who rushed to you immediately.
“How are you feeling? Are you okay? What happened?” he bombarded you with questions and more than just his usual serious look on his face.
“I-”
“Mr. Wayne, please,” said a man in a white coat behind him, “She needs to recover first.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry,” Bruce stepped back and cleared his throat.
You were taken aback. You’ve never seen Bruce this way before.
The doctor flashed his penlight in both your eyes, and told you to follow it. He then performed a thorax auscultation on you.
“Hello, Miss Wayne. I’m Dr. Kevins. I’m going to have to check several things to make sure you’re doing well. Is that okay?”
You nodded.
“Do you feel dizzy?” he asked you, “Does your head hurt?”
“I feel a bit nauseated actually,” you croaked, “And thirsty.”
“We’ll get you some water just a sec,” he smiled kindly. He looked like he was around his late forties, with greying hair and sunken eyes. “The nausea is probably caused by the sedative he used on you. It’ll go away in an hour or so. But most importantly, do you feel any pain anywhere else?”
“No,” you shook your head, “My neck is a bit sore, but that’s it.”
The doctor pursed his lips, and then looked at Bruce, “Excuse me, Mr. Wayne, but would you please step outside for a moment?”
“Why?” he protested.
“It’s okay, doctor,” you voiced, “I know what you’re going to ask me. No, my genitalia does not hurt. He didn’t do anything to me.”
“Okay then,” he sighed a breath of relief, “We did a physical on you while you were unconscious. It doesn’t look like anything’s wrong, except for a little dehydration. We just wanted to make sure.”
“Cool,” you shrugged, “Can someone tell me what happened?”
“We found you unconscious outside our emergency room on the floor,” the doctor responded, “We checked the security footage and saw a man in a red helmet walk in and left you there. He is a wanted criminal. The police are right outside to ask you a few questions. If you’re not ready for that, I’ll make them wait.”
“I’m fine, you can call them in,” you told him.
The doctor left to get the cops, and you and Bruce shared a long eye contact, silently communicating. I’ll tell you everything later, you tried to convey.
He gave you a stiff nod.
“Mr. Wayne, Miss Wayne,” Gordon himself came in through the door, “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’m hungover, Commissioner,” you smiled.
“I’m going to ignore that, since you’re underaged,” he chuckled, “Can I ask you a few questions?”
“Shoot.”
He took out a pen and a small notebook from his trench coat.
“What was the last thing you remember before you blacked out?” he began.
“I was walking to the metro station,” you explained, “It was around two in the afternoon. I noticed someone following me, but didn’t think much of it. I remember turning into a secluded area, and then I heard him running towards me. Before I could turn around, I just… Went black. It happened so fast.”
“And this man, what did he look like?”
“He was big. Maybe around Bruce’s size, but I can’t be sure. I couldn’t see his face. He was wearing a baseball cap and had a hoodie on,” you struggled to remember any other details about the man behind the mask.
“What happened next?”
“I woke up in a dark room, with this really bright light shining at me. I couldn’t see any windows, or doors. I was tied to a chair,” you pretended to tremble, “I was so scared.”
“I know, Miss Wayne,” Gordon comforted you, “I’m sorry for doing this, but I absolutely have to ask you to recall everything, before you forget. It’s essential to catch the man responsible for this.”
“I know,” you wiped away a single tear, “It’s okay. I saw a man in a red helmet. But not like a motorcycle helmet. It covered his whole face. And it had white eyes. It looked weird.”
“Did he have a red bat symbol on his chest?” Gordon pressed.
“Uhm,” you bit your lip, “I think so. I can’t- I can’t be too sure. It was dark, and the light blinded me.”
“That’s okay, you’re doing real good Miss Wayne,” Gordon smiled.
You held back a smile at how well Gordon treated you. If only he knew you were the same girl who witnessed Black Mask’s peeled face.
“I- I’m not sure what he wanted,” you stuttered, “He t-touched me. But not there!”
You had to reveal it. There was no hiding it from Bruce this time, thanks to the probable hickies on your neck.
“He… I think he didn’t know who I was,” you invented your lie, “But when I told him I was Bruce Wayne’s daughter, he immediately stopped whatever he was doing. Maybe he didn’t want to mess with Bruce, since he’s… rich and all.”
“There’s no doubt your father is rich, Miss Wayne, but I don’t think something like that would stop him,” Gordon huffed, his forehead scrunched up in a frown deeper than before, “This is interesting. Why would he be scared of you, Mr. Wayne?”
“Maybe he thinks I’m Batman,” Bruce simply shrugged.
You coughed out loud in shock.
“Well, he wouldn’t be the first person out there,” Gordon smirked, “No offense, Bruce, but you’re hardly the crime fighting type.”
“None taken, Jim,” Bruce grinned, “I can’t afford to get my face injured. It’s what gets investors after all.”
“What happened after that?” Gordon rolled his eyes at Bruce and turned back to you. “Did you hear any sounds? Maybe water, or vehicles? Was there anyone else there?”
“Th- that’s all I remember,” you scratched your head, “Next thing I knew, I was here.”
“Okay,” Gordon closed his notepad, “Thank you, Miss Wayne. I’m sorry that something like this happened to you. This one’s a bit tricky but I promise we’ll catch him.”
“I don’t doubt it, Commissioner,” you have him a big grin.
He paused for a moment, suddenly staring at you with an intense look in your eyes, as if he was searching for something.
“What’s wrong?” your smile faltered.
“No- nothing,” he shook his head, “You just- remind me of someone.”
“Your beautiful daughter perhaps?” you suggested.
“Y- yeah,” he nodded slowly, “Yeah, that’s it. You and Barbara both have the same smile.”
“What a compliment,” you giggled.
“You get well soon, Miss Wayne,” he nodded at you and at Bruce, “Mr. Wayne.”
“Commissioner,” Bruce nodded back.
Gordon left.
“That was close,” you breathed a sigh of relief.
Bruce pulled the sofa nearer to your bed.
“Are you really okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you said, “Just tired.”
“I’ll let you rest. We’ll talk when we get back,” Bruce got up to leave.
“Where are you going?”
“To deal with the press,” he fixed his hair and tie at the glass window, reflecting his handsome face, “Bruce Wayne’s daughter missing for 24 hours and then found on the emergency room floor? The media is going crazy.”
“I bet,” you took a deep breath and closed your eyes, drifting to sleep once more.
You thought you felt a pair of lips press themselves on your forehead.
***
“So. What really happened?” Bruce asked once you settled down in the manor.
You finally got discharged from the hospital after another day they kept you under observation. The both of you were now in the dining room, finishing up a light dinner.
You put down your cutlery and took a deep breath.
“How he got me was the truth, and I woke up in a dark room with a bright light shining in my eyes. First I acted like a civilian, crying and begging. I told him that my father was Bruce Wayne and that he would give him anything for my release,” you began your story, “But he told me to drop the act. I didn't. I acted dumb. And then he asked me how Nightwing was. How Dick Grayson, my older brother was. He told me he knew you were Batman. But what really hit the jackpot, was the fact that he knew Barbara was Oracle.”
Bruce leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on the table, his chin on top of his knuckles.
“So I decided to drop it,” you continued, “I figured if he knew that, he was more than just… One of those crazy conspiracy theorists. Anyway, I asked him what he wanted and he… He was just playing around.”
“Playing around?”
“Yeah, like he wasn't being serious about it. Like he kidnapped me just to mock me. He told me that… He missed me,” you avoided eye contact with Bruce, “He also said something about how we should appreciate what he does for Gotham. That he was technically one of us.”
“Hmm.”
“Yeah, exactly my thought,” you agreed, “He has this delusion that he's doing good, more good than we are. He mentioned Black Mask, and how he was a gift. Because now there's one less crime lord in the streets. I told him that he's not like us. We don't kill. And then- and then he got a bit emotional.”
“How so?”
“Well, the whole time he was relatively calm. But when we got to the topic of you,” you hesitated, “He seemed frustrated. He said it's the one thing you will never get. He said that you can't stop crime, and you can only control it. And that's what he was doing.”
“He thinks he is controlling crime?”
“Yes,” you nodded.
“And what about… All that,” Bruce gestured to his own neck instead of yours.
You thought of how he touched you, how he had his hands underneath your panties and put his finger inside you. You decided to leave that out.
“He came up behind me and blindfolded me,” you started blushing, “He took off his helmet and-”
“He took off his helmet?” Bruce looked at you, the creases in between his eyebrows deepening, his shoulders suddenly tense.
“Yes, but I couldn't see anything,” you told him, “I was blindfolded.”
You noticed how Bruce relaxed his shoulders- very slightly.
“He said I motivated him,” you continued, “He masked his voice- like how you always do. I didn't recognise it.”
“Go on.”
“He said he killed for me,” you frowned, now remembering that odd statement he made, “I don't know what he meant by that. He never clarified. And then- he started to- do this.”
You waved at your neck, still avoiding eye contact.
“And then he started choking me,” you quickly went on, “He said he was considering keeping me there and… Tormenting me. And that the only thing that would keep me sane is the thought of you coming for me. But then he said that you wouldn't. That you would just… Replace me.”
You glanced at Bruce now, who was just silent, absorbing in everything you were saying. There was on odd expression in his eyes. Was it sadness?
“The last thing he said to me was that he wanted me to see you for who you really are, and see him for who he really is and what he's doing for Gotham.”
You waited for a response.
Finally, Bruce said “I see.”
Very anticlimactic.
“What do you see?” you prompted.
“It's even clearer now that he targeted you to get to me. He's trying to turn you against me,” Bruce spoke.
“I think I got that already,” you rolled your eyes, “But why? And what's this about replacing me?”
He remained silent, staring into space.
“Bruce,” you began, “We’ve been through this. You need to tell me things.”
“There's nothing to tell.”
“There's obviously something to tell,” you argued, “I just got kidnapped by him! Isn't it time for you to tell me who he is?”
“I don't know who he is,” he insisted.
“That's a big fat lie and you know it,” you accused.
“I'm lying for your own good!” he started to raise his voice.
“My own- my own good?” you scoffed, and then stood up, “Haven't you been paying attention, Bruce? I. Got. Kidnapped. By. Him. Obviously keeping me in the dark is not helping.”
“Back down,” Bruce rose from his seat as well to tower over you, “Now.”
“Don't you care about me Bruce?!” you yelled
“Of course I care! Which is why-”
“Don't give me that bullshit!” you fumed, “You keep on telling me to trust you-”
“I said back down, Robin-”
“But trust goes both wa-”
“BACK DOWN, JASON!”
You gaped at him, not believing your ears. You've always been insecure. You always thought that Bruce either adopted you out of guilt, or worse.
As a replacement.
It was the first time he ever mistakenly called you him.
The ghost of Jason Todd had caught up to you.
“I mean- I meant-” Bruce tried to correct himself, horrified at what he had just said.
You turned and left.
***
He was tired.
Jason was tired.
The rain made his bones ache.
The past few weeks had taken a toll on him. He went out almost every single night to do his job- be it kill a few people, extract information, deal with Moehler’s international contacts, and also deal with the people under him who has broken rules or planned to start a coup. They thought he didn't know. He’ll deal with them later.
He had gotten back from his money collecting run, taking the profits from the people beneath him. Through whispers and some interrogating, he found out about some insignificant rebels. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with those now.
He took a shower, and laid naked in bed, splayed on his back.
He probably should put on some clothes. It was getting cold.
Though, he was used to it.
There were so many times when he was a kid living in the streets that he had to deal with the cold without much insulation. Even when he had a roof over his head, it wasn’t like his parents paid for a heater.
Parents.
The reason why he became Robin was because his parents were bad. The reason why he died was because his biological mother betrayed him. And the reason why he was who he is now-
No. Bruce was never a father to him. He refused to admit it.
Bruce was just looking for a soldier to brainwash.
A soldier like you. He had brainwashed you pretty well. Jason wondered what words of encouragement Bruce had given to you, that he probably gave Jason as well, all those years ago.
When Jason saw you start to panic, he knew. He knew that you knew deep down, Jason was right. Which meant that Bruce probably had not changed since Jason died.
Did Bruce ever tell you “good job”? Did Bruce ever fuss over your injuries? Did Bruce ever gave you affection?
He doubted it.
After all, Jason knew Bruce. The only thing Bruce cared about was his past.
Justice.
Or so Bruce liked to call his own insecurities, an excuse to not move on from the traumatic childhood he faced.
Bruce was the fucked up one here, not Jason.
Jason was perfectly sane.
Not that he cared about how Bruce raised you. Not that he cared that you were probably facing the same problems he did, all those years ago. After all, Jason was just using you to get to him. He knew what he was doing was obvious, but it didn’t matter.
It only took one trigger- and you would spiral. As long as you had any doubt about Bruce, Jason’s plan would work.
“Fuck,” he said out loud. The rain outside was hitting hard like pellets on his metal roof.
Jason was tired.
He closed his eyes, and remembered how you looked when he started touching you. How your breath hitched, how your voice went high, how you let out the tiniest moan.
Jason smirked to himself.
You were probably craving him all those weeks you didn’t meet- it was part of his plan after all. And the moment he gave you all the attention you wanted, you got wet.
Withdraw, and then attack.
It was an excellent strategy. To get you to miss him so much that you welcomed his touch.
And welcome him you did.
Jason wasn’t blind. He saw how you looked at his hard on straining against his pants.
Remembering those scenes again made blood shoot to his cock. He remembered finally being able to feel your tits.
Fuck.
He reached down and fisted his cock- now hard and leaking. He gave himself a few light strokes, remembering how much he wanted to fuck you right then and there.
The glove.
He opened his eyes and walked towards his backpack, his erection slapping his lower belly with every step, and took out the ziplock he had put his glove in. He took it out, and collapsed on the bed again.
He was wearing the glove when he fingered you.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the glove.
The smell of leather was overpowering, but faintly, he smelled you. He kept it in a ziplock bag for a reason.
It was equivalent to panty sniffing, and Jason thought about how absolutely pathetic he was being- but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Because you always drove him insane anyway.
His cock was leaking on his stomach, and he stroked himself to the faint sweet tangy smell of your juices on his glove. Maybe he should have taken a taste instead.
Would that have driven you wild as much as it would him?
God, and your tits. It was so soft, so supple, and it was spilling in his hand. He just wanted to see it bounce. Why must you wear so much armor?
Jason was sweating now despite the cold, the sound of rain outside drowning his pants and moans.
He wouldn’t call it backfire, but Jason’s plan to not see you for so long also affected him more than he thought it would.
He stroked himself faster, and squeezed himself tighter, imagining your mouth drooling over the head of his cock.
Fuck. He told you your lip gloss made him think of that, didn’t he? And what did you do? You fucking whimpered.
“Fuck,” Jason groaned. He loved how much you liked it when he talked dirty to you. He loved how you tightened around his finger.
Pleasure and heat built up and spread, making his toes curl. Finally, he came all over his fist, spilling onto his abdomen.
He huffed.
After cleaning up, he decided to text you. It was about time anyway.
Hey, Princess. I'm sorry I haven't texted you in so long. Life just got in the way, and I was facing some personal issues. I hope you're not mad. Anyway, I read about what happened in the papers. Putting the fact that you didn't tell me you were THE Wayne kid aside, are you okay? he sent the text.
He was hoping to prey on your kindness and understanding.
And he saw you typing back almost immediately.
Hey, Jason. Don't worry, I'm not mad. I completely understand. I've had times like that too. And I'm okay, a bit shaken up, but still okay. Also, you didn't tell me your last name so why would I tell you yours? you replied with a winky face at the end.
Touché. Would you be up to meeting me at Robinson Park tomorrow? I'll get you ice cream. It’s the least I could do, he asked.
That would be great! I’ll see you around three? you texted back.
It’s a date, doll, Jason sent with another winky face.
He knew that one text would make you giddy with excitement.
***
Jason was self-conscious in public.
Whenever he walked in the daylight without his helmet on, he felt like everyone was staring at him, judging him. His scars, his scowl, his crooked nose that had been broken and reset again so many times.
So he usually kept his head down, and his calloused hands in his pockets, avoiding the glares he knew deep down was just part of his imagination.
Until he saw you waiting at the park bench wearing a white sundress, the slight breeze blowing your hair, the sunlight shining on your skin.
He straightened up, confidence returning, and even before you saw him, he smiled.
It wasn’t like you made him happy, it wasn’t like he was looking forward to seeing you. Nor was it because you made him feel like the Jason Todd who never died.
No, he was just getting into character in advance.
A character to fool you, manipulate you, corrupt you.
“So, do you come here often?” he said when he crept up to you, making you jump.
“You scared me!” you laughed, slapping him on the arm lightly. And then, your smile faded ever so slightly, and a slight crease between your brows formed, “Not many people can sneak up on me like that.”
“My friends always did say I was light on my feet,” he shrugged, sitting down on the bench next to you, “Could be useful in the force, actually.”
“Definitely,” you grinned.
He noticed the bruises he left on your neck were absent- probably hidden by layers of makeup. He was slightly disappointed. His hickies on your skin would have looked amazing as a contrast to the low cut sundress you were wearing.
“So how are you?” he asked, “Wayne?”
You rolled your eyes, “Like I said, you didn’t offer me your last name, too. Plus, my picture’s everywhere.”
“I don’t really keep up with the news, sweetheart,” Jason replied, “Why would I care about other people’s adopted daughters?”
“I guess that’s true,” you conceded, “You’re one in a million, then. Everyone’s obsessed with that kind of information these days.”
“So enlighten me then,” Jason said, “How did Bruce Wayne come to adopt you?”
“Well,” you started, “My parents have always been trying to get close to him. They invited him for those fancy galas and charity dinners. I remember always seeing him around. When they died, and I was left with nothing and no one, he decided to adopt me.”
“Any particular reason he chose to adopt you?” Jason prompted.
You bit your lip. And then, Jason noticed that your eyes started tearing up.
“Oh, no,” Jason responded, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. We don’t have to talk about it.”
What was up with you?
“No, no,” you sniffed, wiping away your tears with the back of your hand, “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m so stupid. I’ve just… been wondering about that too.”
Finally, Jason thought. He thought you would never have figured out you were always meant to be his replacement. He wondered what happened between you and Bruce. He had no doubt that the kidnapping triggered it.
Just as he planned.
“Hey, look at me,” he took your chin in his hand and tilted your head to face him.
Fuck.
It was the wrong move. Because seeing you teary eyed, red nosed, lower lip trembling, so close to him. So vulnerable.
It made his cock twitch.
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Jason tried to pull himself together, “Or if you just want a shoulder to cry on, I’ll gladly offer you mine.”
With his thumb, he wiped away a tear that fell on your cheeks. He could see how your long lashes clumped together in the wetness, how your skin was slightly flushed.
He wanted to kiss you and tell you everything was going to be okay.
The thought shocked Jason. So much so that he jolted away from you.
“I- I’m sorry,” Jason sputtered, “I probably crossed a line, or something.”
He looked away, not wanting you to see the panic that was rising. No, no, not here. Not now.
“It’s okay,” he heard your voice, but it seemed so far away, “Jason?”
He tried to calm his breathing. He fisted the material of his jeans and took deep breaths. 5 things that he could see.
The green grass. The blue sky. Someone’s red frisbee flying. Little yellow flowers. Kids running around.
4 things that he could touch.
His denim. The wooden bench. The gravel beneath his feet. Your warm hands.
3 things that he could hear.
A dog barking. The bells from the ice cream man. Your voice calling him out, getting nearer.
2 things he could smell.
His own cologne. And your shampoo.
1 thing he could taste.
He turned to face you and crashed his lips against yours, surprising you. But Jason felt you relax against him, and kissed him back.
Your lip gloss was strawberry flavoured.
Jason broke the kiss, and blushed at you, “I’m sorry. I never know how to act when I’m with you.”
He saw you take the bait. Your wide, curious eyes fluttered downwards in embarrassment.
“That’s okay,” you tucked your hair behind your ear, “I feel the same way.”
“I promised you ice cream didn’t I?” he stood up, and offered you his hand, “Shall we?”
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ice and tanqueray - two
warning(s): this series contains smut (18+)
[ masterlist ] / [ story tag ] / [ niall tag ]
The First (Non) Date
Y/N should really learn to pay attention in her lectures, but she’s got a nasty habit of scrolling through social media when the material is dry. Her disinterest has yet to get her in trouble despite the quiet giggles and obvious lack of eye contact. Yet, that her streak of good luck seems to end when she receives a text message from Niall. It pops up on her phone screen while she’s reading trash article about the latest celebrity scandal. And for a moment, she thinks about ignoring it until she gets out of class. But, the lecture is just so boring and surely Niall’s message is even slightly more riveting.
And it is.
Would like you to accompany me to Louis’ benefit, if you’re free. Free food, booze, and a chance to step away from school for a bit.
A gasp heaves itself from her lungs which she quickly tries to conceal with a hand over her mouth and stretching an arm up behind her. The fake yawn does little to convince her professor, a stern looking older man that has a fluffy eyebrow raised at Y/N. If he has any choice words to say to her, he does not voice them. He simply makes it a point to keep eye contact with her for an uncomfortably long time before turning back to the presentation. She takes the moment to reread the message.
He couldn’t have possibly meant to send it to her her. There’s no way that he would want her to join him at something as public as a benefit and fundraiser hosted by Louis Tomlinson. But, when her eyes pick apart each syllable trying to find any indication that he picked the wrong contact, she can’t think of anyone else he would send it to.
Y/N isn’t an expert on Niall. He is far more complex than one would guess. But, she’s pretty sure she has scheduled enough “play dates” with his friends and colleagues to know he doesn’t know someone still in university.
Except for her. (But, are they friends? Does this mean they’re friends?)
She leaves the text message until there’s a collective rustling of papers and a formal dismissal of the class session. Y/N is quick to pack up her own belongings, shoving it into her large bag before booking it out of the classroom. Partially because she needs to find Robin—her roommate and voice of reason—and mostly because she can see the annoyance in her professor’s eyes as he began walking toward her. She hardly has the time or emotional capacity to deal with a firm talking to for a small disruption. Not when she’s scrambling to figure out what she should say back to Niall’s proposal.
Y/N picks Robin out fairly easily. The thick, tangled auburn bun atop her head stands out amongst the rest. She mumbles quiet apologies as she walks against the grain of people before reaching a hand out to touch Robin’s small wrist. The redhead is a petite little thing, only standing at five feet (and third-quarters, she’ll have you know). Freckles for her ivory skin and green eyes light up when she sees Y/N.
“Hello, little bird!” Robin nearly sings, allowing Y/N to intertwine their fingers.
(They’ve come to call each other “little bird” since moving in with one another. For no reason other than Robin’s namesake. Their home had been affectionately named The Nest shortly after).
“We’ve got a situation,” Y/N leads off, a nervous smile playing at her lips and tongue pressed between her teeth.
Robin nearly rolls her eyes into the back of her head when Y/N details what has happened. They’re walking toward a coffee shop at the other end of campus, hands still intertwined as they walk.
“I thought it was something bad, Y/N.” She giggles, the noise cutting through the sound of the wind. “You’re going to say yes, right?”
“That’s just it! I don’t know if I should,” Y/N says, uncurling her fingers from Robin’s to open the cafe door. “Isn’t that inappropriate?”
Robin thanks her before stepping inside with yet another roll of her eyes. “It’s only inappropriate if you make it inappropriate.” She says, glancing back at Y/N.
Her messy updo bobs with each step, Y/N notices. It brings a soft smile to her lips and provides a second of distraction. She’s bordering on the line of anxious as she walks with Robin into the mostly empty cafe. Robin senses it, too. She reaches her hand out to graze Y/N’s arm as they come to stand in line.
“You deserve a night out, little bird. You’ve worked yourself too hard this semester.” Robin says, her voice holding an equal amount of stern and love for Y/N.
And she’s not wrong. Y/N knows it, too. She’s positive Niall is well aware of it, too, considering his empathy when she was ill. But, the thought of saying yes still fills her tummy with nervous rumblings. Even as she types out the word, thumb hovering over the send button.
“Let your hair down. It’s just one night.” Robin says, eyes glancing down at Y/N’s phone screen.
And Y/N knows she right, so she hurriedly presses the send button before shoving the phone into her friend’s hands. She sighs and mumbles something about being afraid to look when he answers.
“He’s already asked you, Y/N. What else could he possibly say?”
It’s not so much what he says that has Y/N reeling as she steps outside of her apartment building. It more has to do with the way Niall is leaning so nonchalantly against a black Range Rover that she can very nearly see her reflection in. A perfectly knotted tie sits atop a crisp white shirt and beneath the blazer of a surely overpriced tuxedo.
The sight reminds her of the first night they met, but her face doesn’t pinch up in annoyance when he smiles at her. Not even when he pushes himself from the car door, hands still shoved in his pockets. He looks the picture of ease and Y/N envies him slightly. Her bones are still rattling with nervousness. It brings on an external shiver that she tries to pass of as the result of the night air.
“You look beautiful,” Niall says easily, pulling his hand from his pocket to open the door as she nears the curb.
It would all be really cliche if this was actually a date, she thinks. Plucked right out of a movie.
“Thank you,” she says, careful to pinch the slit of her dress together as she climbs into the passenger seat.
The high slit of the black dress is tasteful enough for an event like the Tomlinson Foundation Benefit, but exposes enough of her leg to make her feel slightly uncomfortable under Niall’s quick gaze. Not because she can feel the way his eyes are trailing up the soft skin of her legs–which he does for just a moment before he catches himself–but because she has never felt this exposed in front of him.
Niall grins back at her before letting the door shut and wandering over to his own side. He’s pulling out of his parking spot before Y/N has clicked her seatbelt in. Something she would chatsie anyone else for, but she doesn’t feel all that unsafe in the car with Niall. Quite frankly, he makes her feel timid and calm at the same time. Both wash over her in waves while she just tries to stay afloat. She would prefer if she could just float lazily at the surface, in control and unattached, but his presence hardly allows for that.
“I’m glad you decided to come with me tonight, Y/N.” Niall says with a momentary glance that lands on her profile. “S’gonna be a good night. Louis’ events always are.”
Y/N doesn’t doubt it, either. She might have done a little bit of research on Louis and his benefit after she had agreed to attend. Short phrases entered into a search engine quickly loaded picture results for the event. The one they are attending is only the third annual one, but there appeared to be no shortage of A-list celebrities and well-known footballers. Another quick search turned up results for the purpose of the event and solidified Y/N’s reason for going.
(Louis had developed the benefit to raise money for various charities that helped children and families in need. Some were sports related, others to help children battling childhood cancer. Regardless of the way it which it benefitted kids, Louis tried to support it).
“I’m glad I did, too.” Y/N admits, adjusting the clutch in her lap to sit more comfortably between her thighs.
Niall didn’t tell her that they would essentially be sitting in front of all of the attendees. They were sat across from Louis and to the left of some football players that played for Doncaster. I mean, she doesn’t really mind it all that much when she is wandering through the crowd to get to the bar, but she minds it more when they’re sat for dinner and long speeches.
So, when everyone is given permission to mingle and have fun, Y/N does. Niall had long since excused himself to speak with a few old friends and potential new clients. Y/N is alright once she finds a nice tennis player that doesn’t intimidate her like the rest of the attendees. He’s only sipping at a glass of champagne while Y/N rambles on about how she even came to be at the event because she thinks it is painfully obvious that she does not fit in with the crowd.
But Alexander, the tennis player, reassures her that she doesn’t need to fit in. Even tells her that he came to talk to her because of it. It makes her already alcohol-induced flush heat up even further beneath her makeup. She can feel the heat blossom lower on her cheeks and tries to ignore her increasing heart rate. Because Y/N tries hard to remain independent, in control. Cute boys with strawberry blonde hair that are likely harmlessly flirting with her doesn’t exactly scream independent and control.
But, when she catches a glimpse of Niall across the room, she’s reminded that tonight isn’t about being either one of those things. He invited her out to relax and not worry about her upcoming assignments or when the rent is due. (Or how she’s going to scrounge up enough money to pay for designer shoes that aren’t even for her). She does her best to compartmentalize them in some corner of her mind where she can ignore them for a few hours. At least to the extent where she can have a little bit of fun and not worry about wasting her time with some boy.
Niall’s stay on her even as she turns her attention to the boy across from her. He hardly recognizes him, but the pang of jealousy still leaves a lasting sting. He doesn’t try to convince himself that it’s something else because he knows damn well that it’s not. Though, he hadn’t thought he liked her quite as much as to be jealous of someone flirting with her. But, he is and Louis is quick to pick up on it.
“You’ve been watchin’ her all night, mate.” Louis laughs, nudging him with his elbow.
Louis takes a long swig of his beer, eyes watching Niall finally drag his watchful gaze from Y/N. His image is slightly clouded by the caramel covered glass, but he can still see the way Niall attempts to smooth out his features. Wiggling his jaw, slightly sore from being clenched just slightly. Pulling his shoulders from his ears and letting a sigh fall from his lips.
“S’obvious, isn’t it?” Niall chuckles, the sound dry in his ears.
He knows he’s essentially fucked. That he is the one who fucked himself over by hiring her.
“Well…” Louis leads, leaning against the mahogany wood of the bar. “Don’t know why you didn’t just ask her out on a date if you were goin’ to stare at her all night anyway.”
“She’s my assistant,” he stresses the last word to remind himself.
“Hardly looks like that’s all she is to you,” Louis laughs and it’s times like this that Niall wishes he wasn’t so cheeky. “Why’d ya hire her if you fancied her this much?”
Niall stays silent because he doesn’t want to admit he hadn’t thought it through. Simply thought that it would be a great way to bring them closer. He hoped it would make her see that he isn’t all that bad. Not nearly as arrogant as the day they had met. At least not all the time.
“Does she even know ya like her?” Louis persists, a smirk now playing at his lips. He takes Niall’s extended silence as a no. “School age stuff, innit? You’ve got to at least tell her.”
Niall knows that Louis is egging him on, but he knows that is with good intentions. Louis knows him well enough to know that his friend hardly ever gets jealous over some girl. He thinks it is safe to assume that Y/N is more than that. Significantly more than that based off the way Niall’s eyes wander back over to her during the lull in their conversation.
She’s laughing at something the strawberry blonde boy has said and a delicate hand comes to brush his arm. Louis watches a frown settle on Niall’s features. He’s pouting, really. But, Louis doesn’t want to overstep his bounds tonight.
“Could tell her on that business trip you’ve got comin’ up,” Louis suggests, “You did say you were bringing her along, yeah?”
The trip to Barcelona had completely slipped his mind despite his correspondence with another agent there. He had intended to invite Y/N along, but his intentions had been purely business. With a multiplicity of potential new clients to meet and a few sporting events to attend, he knew he would need help.
But, perhaps Louis’ suggestion isn’t all that ludicrous. Maybe the sun, food, and time together will suddenly make a relationship blossom organically. Or maybe and more likely, Niall needs to buck up and tell Y/N he likes her.
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