#gotham has enough problems without that piece of shit

[batcavescolony]

*Comic bats+rogues get dropped into Gotham tv show universe*

Batman: *on tv* to all my rogues, you have 30 minutes to meet us in Robinson Park, or I send the kids after you. If you can't get to the park in 30min you're all smart enough to find a way.

Voice from the back: WHICH ONES.

Batman: Hmmmm, All of them?

Voice from the back: ...DOES ROBIN HAVE HIS SWORD?

Batman: yes

*a few colorfully dressed people part from the crowd towards Robinson Park*

[mostly-imagines]

Guard Dog vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s gf pt. II

3 in 1 blurbs

warnings: mild standard gotham violence, in the 3rd section: attempted sexual assault and panicky thoughts afterwards from reader

“Sweetheart, this is…not good.”

You turn your head over to him, where he’s frowning, hands on his hips as he inspects your bedroom window.

You tilt your head, looking it over from your place on the couch. “What’s wrong with it?”

He sighs, “Well for one, the lock is broken. But even if it weren’t, this thing would be so easy to break.”

“It’s the lock the place came with.” You shrug. At least it has a lock. In Gotham that’s kind of asking a lot.

“Yeah, I can tell.” He frowns at the window once again, moving over to stand behind the couch. “I’m getting you better locks.” He looks to you, “I can install them tomorrow?”

You tilt your head up to look at him, “You don’t need to get me new locks, Jay…”

“Okay.” He kisses your head, “I’m getting them.”

You sigh in defeat, though your smile makes it lose its credibility. “Tomorrow’s fine. I assume you’re staying the night, then?”

He makes his way to the kitchen as he says, “Well, I’m not leaving you alone here with this piece of shit the only thing between you and Gotham.”

“I’ve lived here for two years.” You say flatly.

“Don’t remind me.” He mumbles as he moves behind the counter. “Actually, your door chain’s broken too, isn’t it?” It is, but that’s his own fault.

You had a long day a couple weeks ago and had a very long, very hot shower the second you got home. Unfortunately, it had slipped your mind to text him that you were home safe and he’d broken through the chain in one try to make sure you were okay.

You hum, “It wasn’t doing much anyways.” Clearly.

He grimaces as he heats up the stove for dinner.

You laugh lightly, “What?”

He looks back at you with a frankly adorable frown, “I don’t like that.”

You’d never thought much of it. You hadn’t had any—well, many—problems living here before, and you still had your deadbolt and handle lock.

“It’s okay. I’m safe here.”

He looks like he strongly disagrees. He comes back over, sitting next to you, taking your face in his hands. “Will you please let me set up some security measures around here?”

“Did Jason Todd just say please?” You say in faux-shock.

He rolls his eyes at you, “I’m serious.”

You sigh, contemplatively. “I don’t want my apartment looking like the Home Alone set.”

He laughs at that, “It’s not going to. You won’t even notice most of them. Just do it for me, please?”

“I’ll agree, but only because I know you’re going to do it anyways and I’d like to pretend I have control over this.” That’s not true, you’d agree to literally anything if he said please that sweetly again, but that’s your business.

“Fair enough.” He smiles, kissing your cheek.

No, it’s not fair at all.

It’s late. You’re not even sure how late but the city has calmed from its usual noises, indicating that your boyfriend will be home soon.

You’re coming up heavy on cramps tonight and according to the mockingly empty spot in your medicine cabinet, you’re out of ibuprofen. Yeah, it’s late, but the store on the corner is a three minute walk and fuck your stomach hurts. Jason wouldn’t like it if you went out without telling him though, so maybe you should wait until—

The sound of the living room window sliding open breaks you away from your thoughts, followed by a clatter of something hitting the ground.

You walk back into the dimly lit room, finding your boyfriend sliding the window shut again, holsters abandoned on the ground. He turns and collapses onto the couch face first, body immediately gone limp.

“Hey, baby.” You bite back a laugh, coming over to rub his muscled back from behind the couch. He groans into the cushion in response. “Why don’t you go get in bed?”

He hums almost imperceptibly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes roughly with his palms.

He stands and takes your hand in his as he passes by, tugging you towards the bedroom. The deep ache in your abdomen reminds you of your earlier train of thought. You pull your hand back, stopping in your tracks.

He turns back to you with a frown, wanting to know what could possibly be getting in his way of falling asleep, holding you close.

“I gotta go pick up some ibuprofen. I’ll be right back.” You say quietly, not wanting to disturb the quietness of the night for him. His frown deepens as you head towards the door, watching you.

You’ve got your purse in hand and are reaching for the handle when you hear his footsteps following in suit. “Hey, it’s okay. Stay here, I’m just going to the 24 hour store on the corner.”

He shakes his head, “You’re not going out in Gotham alone at two in the morning. Put your coat on, it’s cold.”

You do as you’re told, shrugging the coat on as you glance over at him. “Jason, it’s okay. You’re exhausted, go to sleep.”

He ignores you, throwing a sweatshirt on to cover up his armor, and follows you out the door; albeit far more sluggish than usual.

He was right though, the night air is bitter and slaps your face with every step forward you take. He lingers a few steps behind you, honest to god almost falling asleep mid step a couple times.

Frankly, you’re not even sure what kind of fight he’d be able to put up in this state. Though, he’s surprised you plenty of times before. In any case, his head snaps up every time there’s any sign of movement around, instantly on alert.

He trails behind you as you browse through the narrow aisles, hands stuffed in his sweatshirt.

As you’re standing at the store counter paying, his neck is craned forward, resting on your shoulder. You rub soothing circles into his hand with your thumb, though you’re sure it’s not doing anything to help his exhaustion.

You’re walking back home, the bite of the air a bit more forgiving in this direction. There’s another man walking down the sidewalk approaching, hands in pocket.

Jason’s too tired to bother with subtlety, glaring directly at the passerby before he could even think of trying anything. And it works, because the guy averts his gaze real quick and speeds up past you.

He continues working at his post from just behind you all the way until you’re back inside your apartment.

He takes the medicine container out of his pocket and cracks it open for you, wordlessly filling up a glass of water after. You gulp down a couple of the pills, and he takes the glass and bottle out of your hand the second you’re done, setting them on the counter.

He turns to you, eyes barely open, mumbling, “Can we sleep now?”

You smile at his fatigued state and take his hand, leading him to the bedroom.

Your neighbor likes you. You know it, Jason knows it.

The worst he’d done was flirt with you, badly, and shut his mouth real quick whenever your boyfriend emerged from your apartment.

And Jason let that go; he knows better than anybody that you’re heavenly and sweet and clever, of course this fucking guy likes you. Jason set an unspoken rule with himself, that he won’t get violent with any guys unless they put their hands on you. Something he knows for absolute fact your neighbor has not done.

At least he hadn’t until a couple of hours ago. You’d been in the hallway at the mailslots, your boyfriend nowhere in sight, when he decided it was the perfect time to make a move. Make several moves, actually.

You’re sitting on the couch, knees to chest, still trying to wrap your mind wround what had happened when Jason sees you. You stopped crying a while ago and you’ve entered the phase of…well. That happened.

Your hear keys jingling outside the door, followed by your boyfriend's entrance. He’s carrying some grocery bags and has a book tucked under his chin.

He lets the bags slide off his arms, and sets the book on the counter with them, beaming, “You’re never gonna guess what b—“ His smile drops when he sees you. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, “Nothing.” But your blinking feels off all of a sudden, and you can’t remember what you usually do with your face when you’re not lying. It doesn’t matter though, you could be an academy award winning actress and you’re still sure Jason would be able to see right through you with a single glance.

He frowns, “Don’t lie to me.” He moves towards you, kneeling down in front of you. “Please. What’s wrong?” His eyes are worried now, more than usual.

You don’t want him to worry about this. He already worries about you too much and he’s got all his vigilante stuff and…you just want to believe that this is a manageable situation and not a problem. Not something that affected you.

“It’s just…it’s not a big deal, okay? I can handle it—”

His posture stiffens and his voice suddenly goes low and serious, “What happened?”

You know where this is going. “Jason. Promise me you won’t do anything.”

His brow furrows, and his frown turns to something closer to anger. “Did someone put their hands on you? Who?”

“Jason—”

“Who did it?”

“The neighbor, b—” he immediately snaps to a stand and starts towards the door. You hurry to grab onto his hand before he can escape your proximity, “Jason. Please don’t.”

The break in your voice is enough to make his rage falter and turn back around to face you.

“Baby, if he touched you—” His eyes are pleading, begging you to let him go take care of this. If not for you, then for him.

“It wasn’t—he didn’t do anything. He didn’t get to. I hit him and he backed off.” Which is…sort of true.

He stares at you. “In the hallway?”

You blink. “…Yeah?”

He takes off towards the bedroom wordlessly. You follow quickly on his tail, watching him sit on the edge of your bed, opening his computer and clicking through it quickly.

You slide over next to him, and see that he's pulling up a file under the name of your building and today’s date. It takes you two seconds too long to realize what he’s doing, the thought only sinking in right as you see the hallway security camera footage on the screen.

“Jason—” you try to close the computer but he bats your hand away.

He forwards through the footage, as you scramble trying and failing to reach past him, various building occupants coming in and out of frame rapidly.

“—please just listen to me.” But he did listen to you, and he heard that someone tried to hurt you. That was all he needed to hear.

He stops when he sees you enter the frame, watching closely. He sees you flipping through the mail. He sees your neighbor slither out of his apartment and stand far too close to you. You take a step back only to be met with two steps forward by him. He says something to you, probably asking where your boyfriend is.

The angle doesn’t show his face, but it does see yours, and you look incredibly uncomfortable. You don’t answer him, which evidently was enough of an answer in itself.

Your neighbor tries to brush some of your hair out of your face but you snap your head away, stumbling back a little. He uses your lack of balance as an “excuse” to grab onto your waist, pulling you close to him.

Your hands are out in front of you and you’re shaking your head as he pushes towards you. His lips land on your neck and you try to move backwards, but he grabs your wrists and holds you in place.

You fight against his grip, and upon realizing that your struggling doesn’t matter to him at all, you dig your nails into his wrists so hard you draw blood. He groans in pain and his grip on you loosens.

You snap your hands away and push yourself away, locking yourself in your apartment. Your neighbor lingers for a moment, shouting something at the door before trudging back into his apartment and slamming the door.

Jason snaps the laptop shut, coming to a stand once again. His fists clinch at his sides. “That was not nothing.”

No, it wasn’t. But you feel so helpless right now. You sure as hell felt it in the hallway, and it keeps lingering in you and you’re not sure why. You couldn’t do anything then, you can’t do anything now…it feels like all the bad things in the world are closing in on you and you just have to let it happen.

“I…I don’t want anyone to die because of me…” your words aren’t quite matching your thoughts, but this is the closest you can get right now.

He pulls back to look at you, brows furrowed. “It’s—it’s not because of you. It’s because of him. Baby, if I were on patrol and saw him grab some other girl like that I’d do the same thing.”

You know that. You know that. But communication seems impossible right now even though it’s the only tool you have to stop things from closing in.

“No, I know that. I know…it’s just…” Things are closing in anyways. Alright, this is happening now. Your eyes start watering and your voice trembles.

“Fuck, baby.” His hand flies to the back of your head, other arm wrapping around your middle, pulling you to him.

You feel a bit silly, crying over the potential death of someone who tried to hurt you, in front of the Red Hood of all people.

“I’m sorry, I—I don’t know. It’s—it’s too many bad things. I can’t…”

“Okay. Okay. It’s okay. I’ll stay here. I’m staying here with you, okay?” You nod into his chest, tears dampening his shirt.

This is a temporary solution, you know that even now. But you think once it expires, it might be easier to accept whatever Jason’s going to do later.

He’s quiet for a few minutes, holding you in his arms as you sway back and forth lightly.

“Will you forgive me if I kill him?” He whispers into your hair.

You roll your eyes but smile nonetheless. “Don’t.”

“Is that a yes?”

You pull back to look him in the eyes, face setting. “I’m getting the feeling you’re going to do something regardless of how this conversation ends.” He says nothing. “Just, please, don’t kill him.”

He holds you tighter and you do the same, laying your head against his chest again. You feel him press a kiss to your head as he takes a deep breath.

You think on it for a moment, figuring it needs saying, “And don’t get in trouble.”

Your neighbor comes home late that night, trudging through the front door with a perpetual frown. He opens the door to his notably unlocked apartment. He drops his bag on the ground with a thump and flicks on the lamp next to the door. He shuts the door and turns the lock when the red elephant in the room pipes up.

“Hey, bud.”

He jumps, spinning around, “Who the fuck—oh, shit.” He freezes the second he sees him, sitting in the armchair across the room. The Red Hood nods, loading the gun in his hand.

Your neighbor stutters, “What—what are you doing here?”

He looks up at him, cocking the gun. “You put your hands on your neighbor, yeah?”

He looks fake-shocked at the accusation. “What? No, I would ne—which neighbor?”

He can’t see it, but Hood’s face drops into a deadpan. “That is really not helping your case.”

Your neighbor eyes the gun nervously.

Hood sighs, “I’m not going to kill you. I’ve been told it’s bad manners to execute someone the first time you meet.” He glances down the nail marks on his arm and steels his jaw. “No. What’s going to happen is you’re going to break your lease and move out. Within the next week.”

The neighbors eyes widen, “A week? Are you insane?”

Hood tilts his head a bit before shaking it, “Nah, you’re right. By tomorrow night.”

“This is my apartment. I live here, I’m not going anywhere. And unless you’re secretly Saul the landlord under there, you can’t do anything about it.” He crosses his arms, clearly feeling very proud of himself. Well, killing him isn’t the only option, is it?

Hood stands, making his way across the room casually. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” He clocks him hard on the head with the frame of his gun. He goes down quickly and loudly, clutching his head, groaning. “The alternative is getting beaten half to death and hoping whatever hospital you end up at knows what they’re doing.”

Honestly, neighbor boy is pressing his luck as is. Maybe it was a bad idea for Jason to bring the gun.

“Fuck! Fine! I’ll go!” He wails.

Hood kicks his abdomen with the side of his boot, though not nearly as hard as he wanted to. “Shut up. You’ll disturb the neighbors.”

The neighbor groans again, quieter. He mumbles something about Hood being crazy but it gets lost under the grunts of pain.

Hood crouches down next to him, patting him on the head with the barrel of his gun. “Don’t worry, bud. I’ll check up on you. And if I ever see you so much as look in the general direction of another girl I’ll put a bullet in your head. Sound good?”

Your former neighbor drops his head to the ground, hand still clutching the growing swell on his forehead.

[chaoticwriting]

GOTHAM'S NEW ROGUE 4

Part 3

Danny looks at the guy skeptically. Last time someone approached him, they were Red Robin, Spoiler and Signal. This time, a dude that looks like an average office worker approaches him.

Trickster: Sure, why not?

???: Thank you.

Trickster: So, what do you want with me?

???: Let me introduce myself first. I am Clark Kent. A journalist from the Daily Planet. I would like to ask, is it true that you know Batman's secret identity?

Trickster: You mean those pictures I stole from his wallet? Yeah sure. Why do you wanna know?

Clark: As you know, I am a journalist. And it is our job to find out about news and share it with the general public. I am just thinking, what would you like to exchange for the real identity of Batman.

Trickster: Hmmm..... What price huh? Let me think for a moment.

Danny then continues to eat his food as he pretends to think about Clark's offer. Honestly, he doesn't give a damn about this Clark guy. He is also a vigilante once, so he knows the importance of their secret identities. While slurping away his last coke, Danny gains a very good idea (He thinks it is a good idea).

Trickster: Well, I don't think I would sell the pictures just yet since the card is still useful and I don't need money. However, I have a very interesting topic you can investigate.

Clark: Oh? What is it?

Trickster: Try searching for something called GIW. It is a government branch and I'm sure it will be a hit piece.

Clark: GIW? What is that?

Trickster: Well that's for you to figure out. Oh well. I'm pretty full now. Gotta go now. See you never.

Danny then disappears right in front of Clark before he can do anything. Clark can't even hear or see the kid anymore with his enhanced sense and x-ray vision further cementing that the kid probably has teleportation power.

Danny meanwhile is laying on his makeshift bed while watching the stars after he uses his power to clear the sky thinking what he just did is very smart. Unfortunately, he doesn't know this decision is as good as the previous time he thinks his idea is good.

-1 month later-

Danny is picking up scraps from the junkyard for his next prank. Collecting some toasters, some blenders and even some radios. Danny has spent a lot of time these past few months, tinkering with machines that he practically knows what component is in which appliances.

Suddenly, he sees a very familiar device among the junk. A sleek silver gun with a few green buttons on it. It doesn't have the usual designs that Danny used to see but Danny knows without a doubt in his mind that it is an ecto gun.

The problem is that, the gun is new. Very new. Like it is just created. And that means one thing. A GIW agent is here. Shit! Danny needs to run. But where? He has checked before this but the only place with enough ectoplasm to hide him is either Gotham or Amity Park. No where else in the world has as much ambience ectoplasm to hide him from the ecto detector.

But now that they are in Gotham, he might as well not hide since at such close proximity, the ambient ectoplasm can only hide him if they are not close. Danny is thinking very hard when his ears pick up something. A group of people is coming his way, and from the way they are all carrying heavy devices, they are probably GIW agents.

Danny against his better judgement turns invisible and flies high enough so that if the agents decide to shoot him, he will have time to dodge them. Danny watches quietly as the ecto detector bips faster and faster the more they go to where he is previously.

???: Damn it. I thought this is where Trickster is. But it's just the gun that you lost.

???: Hey, at least we don't need to file reports of missing weapons right? Also, didn't that thing already get set up by the Fentons to find Trickster?

???: It's probably them messing it up. It's not like them messing shit up is something new anyway.

???: Yeah. Let's just say it is a false alarm. I hear the higher ups are thinking of lowering our budgets next year if we don't produce any results soon.

???: Ugghh, don't remind me of that. Not only do they pressure us like that. I even heard that there is some guy that has been snooping around our base, taking pictures and stuff.

???: I hate those reporters. We are trying to do our job and save them from those savages, and yet here they are messing with us. Calling us genocidal maniacs and the second coming of Nazis.

???: If that is not bad enough, they even say that they feel like we should treat the ghost as if they are people. Ghosts are not people! They are merely beast pretending to be someone we used to know and love.

???: I would love to just punch those reporters to the face if not for the fact that Boss ordered us to stay put.

Suddenly their walky talky start to beep.

Walkie-talkie: Agent P, Agent Q. Return to the base of operation immediately. We are receiving visits from the higher ups.

Both of the agents reply with Roger and hurriedly run towards their van and drive off somewhere. Danny looks at them and decides, he has found what his next prank is going to be.

Part 5

[sagaduwyrm]

DCxDP Idea - Tucker x Tim Soulmate AU:

Now on AO3

So the Justice League believes the Fentons and the GIW. Not completely, but enough. That’s the bad news. The worse news is that they have Danny, and are apparently planning to use him in some kind of spell to banish all the ghosts from the living plane. Which, okay, sure, not the worst idea, except that trying to banish a Liminal is a great way to kill them instead, and guess what everyone in Amity Park is? Not to mention what powering such a ritual could do to Danny.

Tucker is not having a panic attack. He might have one later, but right now he has a job to do.

So the thing about the Justice League is that they’re powerful and together they cover each other’s weaknesses, but individually they are, if not manageable, then at least survivable. They can’t take on the entire league, but Ghosts and their ilk have fangs for a reason, and every predator knows how to divide and conquer.

Technus and Skulker are using Lex Luthor’s tech to deal with the Supers. Jazz has got emotional manipulation and FrightKnight’s sword to take down the Flashes. Desiree agreed to start a mage’s duel with the Justice League Dark. Sam, Ember, Johnny, and Kitty hopefully have the watchtower in hand, with Walker playing backup to get Danny free.

Tucker has two jobs. One, work with Technus to take down the Justice League communications without making it look like anything is up. Two, for the love of the Ancients, do not let the Bats realize something is wrong.

And you know what? He’s got this. Duul Aman was the most feared sorcerer of his time. Tucker isn’t him, not really, but he’s no slouch in the magic department. Egyptian magic, the way Duul Aman knew it, was almost like code. Relearning it was as easy as breathing, but the real reason Tucker’s job is to deal with the bats is because he took it further than his last life ever could. Sure, he’s a dab hand at illusions, his curses are almost as nasty as Sam’s, and instant sandstorms are never not useful, but where he really thrives is with tech. Afterall, if ectoplasm can be combined with computers, why can’t magic?

Tucker is the world's first technomage and he’s goddamn proud of it.

It’s his saving grace now. Infiltrating Oracle’s system took weeks, and he still wasn’t able to look at or do anything important, but it was enough of an opening for his magic. He wormed his illusion through every single piece of bat-tech he could reach, whispering in their ear, Gotham needs you. The Justice League is fine. Gotham is where the problems are. 

Weeks of work and sleepless nights, and he still doubts he’ll be able to keep them from noticing anything for more than a few hours. Luckily, by that time Danny will be free and Tucker will be long gone from Gotham.

This confidence lasts until he brushes hands with another guy in the cafe. He can feel the bond snap into place, a soulmark crawling across his body. Tim Drake stares at him, eyes wide but sharp. 

Tim Drake.

Red Robin.

Shit.

Time to see whether fighting ghosts extends to fighting humans, because he is not letting this asshole mess up Danny’s rescue.

+++

The first thing Tim notices when he meets his soulmate is the rage in the man’s eyes.

They’re really pretty eyes. A bright, glowing gold, lined in kohl. Almost certainly a sign of magic. 

They look at him like the man wants to turn him inside out and burn the remains. Tim’s a little offended, beneath the shock and awe.

“Fuck,” the man hisses. Tim’s offense is starting to supersede his surprise. He’s a catch, thank you very much.

He says as much. The man laughs, and it’s almost friendly.  The cafe is empty. The people of Gotham have good instincts, and there’s something in the air around this man that puts Tim’s hackles up.

“You know, I think that’d be more believable if you hadn’t started this.”

Tim’s brow wrinkled. He felt like he’d remember starting something with his soulmate though? What was he supposed to have started, anyway? Saying ‘this’ wasn’t very specific. 

He rolled and dodged to avoid the sudden lash of golden sand. Ah. A fight. He could do that. Figure out why his soulmate was angry later, defeat him now.

He reached up to call for backup and only got static.

Shit.

He was on his own. Time to show this bastard why underestimating a bat was a bad idea.

[tickle-bugs]

Chase the Memory of it Still

Summary: Clark is deeply, madly, head-over-heels in love with the one person he can't have. What happens when he can have him, if only for a little while? Fake dating friends to lovers superbat hehe

this one's for @fickle-tiction as payment for being a goblin in her dms LOL love ya!! the sequel to this is in progress >:) also it literally doesn't matter but vicki has a jersey shore/boston accent to me. i won't justify it.

Edit: now with a sequel, But You Were Mine

Clark has never really cared much about his paycheck—not in the grand scheme of things, anyway—but fuck he really doesn’t get paid enough. 

“Sorry, Mr…Kent, but no press is allowed at the event. You’re more than welcome to wait outside with everyone else.” One of the guards—a bald fella who looks way too excited to turn him away—crosses his arms. 

“…in the freezing rain.” Clark attempts to wipe his glasses on a dry part of his outfit. All he does is push the water around on the lenses. His suit’s about three shades darker from the storm. Why didn’t he wear his coat? 

“You all seem quite dedicated. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” The guard smiles at him and shifts his weight, looking straight ahead as if all six feet of dripping Kryptonian have just vanished. The doorman reopens the door and shows Clark his people—a swarming mob of reporters hunched behind metal barriers in windbreakers, using plastic bags to keep their livelihoods safe. 

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Clark clenches his fist until it shakes. Inhale, hold…exhale. He came all the way out to cold, rainy Gotham—wait. Gotham.

He glances past the guards and sifts through the noise of the gala until he finds the one heartbeat he knows better than anything. He smiles. 

“Oh, my mistake. I thought he hadn’t shown up. My partner is right there.” Clark points. They both turn to look—would’ve been an excellent time to subdue them if he was feeling more brash—as he waves across the floor at Bruce. 

He looks spectacular, honestly. His hair is doing that ‘I woke up this perfect’ messy thing, his shoulders are unfairly crisp under a three piece suit that’s probably worth more than Clark’s rent, and he just…glows. He’s chatting with a young woman who looks more than happy to fawn over him. Clark’s no longer staring but gazing, he feels it, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do. Maybe Bruce should stop being so…distracting. 

He sees the surprise and hears the murmured ‘Clark?’ under Bruce’s breath. He thankfully doesn’t say anything else as he approaches, just glides over with a glass of champagne. 

It’s at this moment that what he’s done, what he’s implied really sinks in, but it’s too late to turn back now. 

“Hey, I left my invite at your place and these…upstanding citizens can’t find room in their heart to let me by. That’s what I get for showing up to support my partner, huh?” He hopes his emphasis isn’t too much, but he really, really doesn’t want to stand outside after all of this effort. 

Bruce’s expression lands somewhere between pleasure and disbelief, minute and restrained as always. It’s only the uptick of his eyebrow and the slight narrowing of his eyes that gives him away. Bordering on amusement, but not quite. 

“That’s unfortunate. What seems to be the problem?” Bruce sips. The guards shift uncomfortably. Clark tries to quell his shit-eating grin. 

“I guess they think you’re outta my league.” Clark can’t help but snort a little. Bruce rolls his eyes. 

“Mr. Wayne, can we see your invitation please?” Baldy clears his throat and plays official, knowing damn well it won’t make a difference. Bruce hands it over without a second glance.  

“You look handsome.” Clark winks at him. He could smell Bruce’s cologne before he even walked over. At this proximity, he’s starting to get a little weak in the knees. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” Bruce reaches past and adjusts Clark’s tie. Nice touch. 

“Alright, Mr. Kent, you can enter.” The guards shuffle aside. Just to be an asshole, Clark shakes all the water off his form like a dog, splattering both the guards with the rainwater they tried to keep him in. Their shouts of confusion and disgust are the perfect soundtrack to his entry. 

Bruce offers an arm as if he hadn’t seen a thing and leads him over to the coat check, as if he would have a coat to check. He takes Clark’s glasses off his nose, dries them with his kerchief, and puts them back. Clark wrinkles his nose at the gesture—it’s so Bruce to just…do it himself. 

“Thank you. I’m so sorry,” Clark sighs. The lenses are terribly smudged. He plans for a headache.

“You owe me. Boyfriend? Really?” Bruce passes him a glass of champagne. 

“I know, I know. I tried to get by as press and when I saw you, I panicked. Lex is here and Lois and I have been trying to corner the bastard for weeks—“ 

“Hold my hand.” Bruce extends a palm. Clark chokes on his drink. If champagne wasn’t trying to migrate into his lungs, he would’ve taken a serious crack at x-raying and double-checking it was really his Bruce. 

“Clearly you’ve never done this before,” he murmurs, the very same palm sliding down Clark’s back. “Casual affection is key. We’re being watched.”

Bruce subtly laces their fingers together as they walk through the crowd. Clark tries to appear as put-together and boyfriendy as possible, but when he looks around, every single eye in the place is on him and Bruce. He starts to sweat and doesn't take another breath until they arrive at a little private corner on the far side of the room. 

“So, you were saying about Lex?” Bruce leans against the wall, scanning the room over the rim of his glass. His eyes catch back on Clark, warm and intense. 

“I, uh…he’s here.” Clark swallows. He’s starting to feel dizzy. This is a lot. He’s used to the grit of Batman or the gentle gruffness of Bruce. Bruce Wayne is a whole different creature. 

“Mhm. He’s looking for R&D investments again. I was told it’d be rude for me not to attend.” A wry smile crosses Bruce’s features. He breaks eye contact to scan and it gives Clark the wherewithal to finish his thought. 

“Lex is pulling his whole ‘get rid of anyone with superpowers’ shtick again. Really mad at me specifically, as usual. I’d bet you ten bucks he has a Kryptonite ray upstairs. He’s probably in the process of building more…or something worse.”

“You have a plan?” 

“I was going to go up there and, yknow—“ he mimes smashing something— “but I can hear about twenty people whispering about us and I don’t want to make you look bad. Not that you look bad, you look great! I just know your reputation is important and I put you in a weird spot and I’m sorry—“ 

Bruce shushes him. Clark blinks and splutters, because who shushes people, but suddenly Bruce is so close that he can’t think. He can see the tiny scar on Bruce’s lip, the one he lies and says was from a household accident. Clark wants to brush his thumb over it. 

He feels entirely normal about Bruce Wayne. 

“Stop overthinking. You’ll hurt yourself.” Bruce roughly pats Clark’s cheek. Clark has to actively shift his focus from the calloused warmth of Bruce’s hands to his eyes.

“Okay, ouch.” Clark rolls his eyes. “I’m just…this is your element. I’m not good at this.” 

“If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to stay.” Bruce tilts Clark’s chin down. Brushes some schmutz off his face. 

“I got us into this. It’s alright.” Clark can’t look him in the eye. He’s so painfully aware of all the ways Bruce is touching. A perfectly choreographed performance for the outside eye. An act.

For a moment, he indulges himself, allows his mind to wander to a different world where Bruce might do this for him anyway. Somewhere so gently domestic that their rituals of touch are sacred. He wonders what it might be like to have a Bruce that’d dote on him like this, even while fussing at him. 

Of course he has it now, but it’s not the same. Not when the eyes of hungry spectators cling to them from every shadow. 

“I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up.” He already has his phone out and is halfway through dialing by the time Clark can grab him. Bruce spins out of the hold and starts walking away, still dialing. 

“Bruce.” Clark yanks him back by the bicep. “I can survive mingling for a few hours. It’s no different than using a cover. What do I need to know?” Clark releases him only when it’s clear his stubborn streak is done rearing its head. Bruce works his jaw for a while and then sighs. 

“When you’re talking to these people, they’re going to try and get to the center of you. Try not to lie. The truth will always be easier to remember. Just repackage it.” Bruce adjusts the clean lines of Clark’s suit with his fingertips, procedural and routine. Clark wonders briefly how many times he’s done this. 

“Makes sense. Anything else?” Clark takes a measured breath. 

“We have to sell this. People need to see easy affection before they believe that we’re…doing okay. Now, imagine someone’s watching us—“

“Are they?” Clark tries very hard not to scan the room. He starts to sweat. 

“Shh. Someone’s watching us and you notice. They’re definitely gossiping. What do you do?” Bruce raises an eyebrow. The light of the obnoxious chandelier on the ceiling gives him a gentle glow. His eyes crinkle at the corners just slightly, even without a smile, and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. The surge of emotion in Clark’s chest knocks him off balance. 

“Well, staring isn’t—“ 

Clark kisses him breathless. 

Bruce leans into it, one hand cupping the back of Clark’s neck. There’s a perfect sunburst of giddy adrenaline—his hands find Bruce’s hips and pull them closer. Bruce’s heart thunders in his chest yet his hands are steady as they brace against Clark’s back. Clark cups Bruce’s jaw and brushes his fingers through the gentle stubble there, lets it tickle at his fingers. 

Clark breaks them apart with a quiet, triumphant chuckle—years worth of watching, waiting, and yearning all cresting towards this one moment. He can hear their comfortable status quo shatter as he does, but it’s worth it. It has to be. 

“Wow.” Bruce smooths his hands down Clark’s chest. He can’t tell anymore if the heartbeat thundering in his ears is Bruce’s or his own but he doesn’t care to know—if it’s the former, he’ll combust. Or faint. Somewhere in there. 

“How’d I do?” Clark manages to adjust his glasses without snapping them clean in half. 

“I might have a few pointers,” Bruce clears his throat and looks away. 

“We have plenty of time.” Clark steals another kiss and thanks the universe that Lois isn’t here to talk some sense into him.

……..

“So, you and Mr. Wayne, hm?” A blonde woman with a massive fur shawl wound through her arms sidles up with a glass of champagne. Clark freezes at the snack table. 

“Hm?” He hides the multiple horderves in his hand behind his back. He’s very acutely aware that he shouldn’t be unsupervised right now, but Bruce is being flocked by investors with no hope for escape. He sneaks a pleading glance in Bruce’s direction.

They do lock eyes above the crowd, but the horde encircling him has the tenacity of seagulls on the boardwalk. Bruce apologizes with his eyes. Clark resigns himself to perish. 

“Phyllis Hough, a pleasure.” She extends her hand to him and he takes it out of practice, kissing the knuckles. Her skin is so dry and clammy that he has to bite back the urge to gag. 

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” He presses his lips into something like a smile. 

“Forgive me for intruding, but you’ve been the talk of the party since you arrived. How did you and Bruce meet?” She sidles too close, like they’re sharing a secret about someone else. Her demeanor reminds him too much of the foxes that used to terrorize his chicken coop growing up. 

The truth is always easier to remember. Just repackage it. 

“Well, he…needed my help. We met through work. We realized we worked well together and after that, everything sort of fell in place.” Clark shrugs. 

“That’s just darling. My husband and I met on a mission trip to Ghana.” She points to a deflated puddle of a man who’s leaned up on the bar, looking like he’d rather disappear than be here.

“A mission trip? That’s so…necessary.” Clark smiles and tries not to throw up in his mouth.

“I adore helping the less fortunate. It’s a hobby dear to my heart.” She places a hand on her chest, showing off the obnoxious diamonds on her bony fingers. Diamonds likely stolen from the same places she claims to ‘help’. 

“Ah, Mrs. Hough. Looking lovely as always. Do you mind if I steal Clark from you?” Oh thank god.

Bruce gives her a quick spin, using the move to squeeze closer to Clark’s side. He winds an arm around Bruce’s waist. Bruce rests his hand overtop Clark’s and he can’t help but grin like an idiot. He’ll never get over the little zing of his nerves every time they brush hands. 

“So soon? We were just getting to know one another.” Mrs. Hough tries to slide back into their space. Bruce stares her down, but not unkindly—just a blank, mannequin-like stare and a smile that almost looks real. 

A tense silence blooms between them. Clark’s sure if he listens just a bit harder, he’ll hear Bruce cursing this woman to high-heaven in his head. The silence stretches on.

“Forgive us. We haven’t spent much time together this week. I’ll admit I’m a little clingy. I never like to be far from him.” He cups Bruce’s cheek and gives him a quick, chaste kiss. Bruce chases his lips and lingers longer. Clark actually gets a little lost in it until a feeble cough splits them apart. 

“Well, who am I to interrupt love?” She strains the word strangely. “I best take my leave. I’ll see you around, gentlemen.” She waves over her shoulder and traipses back into the crowd. As soon as she leaves, Clark heaves a deep, weathered sigh. 

“How do you do this? I’d rather chew off my own fingers than rub elbows with these people.” Clark takes Bruce’s glass from his hand and downs it. The fizz is nice, but it might as well be water. He starts munching on his poached horderves. 

“Trust me, it’s not fun for me either.” Bruce grumbles, plucking a cracker with crab dip from Clark’s little stash. 

“Why do it then? Why pretend?” 

“It’s part of the job. You know that better than anyone.” There’s something so very tired in Bruce’s eyes. Even as he smiles, it’s empty and rueful—the light doesn’t make it to his eyes. 

“You don’t have to do that with me.” Clark squeezes his shoulder. Bruce’s gaze drops to the floor and his shoulder sag minutely, the tiniest give in his guard that Clark’s privileged enough to see. For a moment, he’s not Bruce Wayne but Bruce. 

He doesn’t lean to catch Bruce’s eye—he knows he hates that—so he just stands there and rubs circles into his shoulder. 

“I like who you are under the mask.” Clark offers him another cracker. Bruce takes it and taps it against Clark’s last ones, as if they’re holding glasses, and pops it in his mouth. Clark snickers. Only Bruce could make something so dorky look so charming. 

“Am I dreaming, or is that you, Bruce?” A feminine voice cuts through the din with ease. Clark catches the moment that Bruce’s muscles lock up and the eyeroll before he turns around. Just like that, Bruce Wayne returns. 

A woman in a long green gown slinks across the floor. Her posture sets her aside from everyone else in the room—her stance is powerful and lithe. 

“Vicki. It’s been a while.” Bruce gives her that practiced smile he’s been wearing most of the evening. His posture is so unnecessarily rigid that Clark rubs his back before he can think better of it.

“How’ve you been, Brucie? Hear you’re gettin’ into some interesting trouble. Speaking of trouble—“ 

“Vicki Vale, Gotham Gazette.” She sticks out her hand to shake. Tall, blonde, terrifying eyes—yeah, he could see how she would be Bruce’s type. Definitely an ex. 

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet.” He shakes her hand. “I thought press weren’t allowed in.” 

“I have my ways. So do you, it seems.” She winks and passes him a flute of champagne. He graciously accepts. 

“Ah, well. Perks of being around this guy I suppose.” Clark bumps Bruce’s hip a little. Bruce looks so startled by the motion that Clark can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Listen, Clark, I’ve been with Bruce before and—“ she leans in close but doesn’t whisper, like she’s giving the world’s most public secret— “He’s honestly a softie under all the suits and cars.”

“I am not a softie. I can hear you.” Bruce shoves his hands into his pockets. Even though he’s turtling, there’s a levity to it. 

“He has a thing for stubborn asses who get into trouble, ‘cause he is one. If that’s anything like you, you’ve got a good thing going here.” She smacks Clark’s chest with the back of her hand. Her honesty is…jarring, but not unfun. 

“Oh, do you now?” Clark raises an eyebrow at Bruce over the rim of his glass. 

“It’s not a thing. I don’t have a thing.” Bruce grumbles, the faintest hint of pink tinging his cheeks. 

“Kinda sounds like you have a thing, Brucie.” Clark grins. Bruce scowls. He might be pushing his luck but it’s the only fun he’s really had all night. 

“You two been together long?“ Vicki snatches a fresh glass from a passing waiter like a viper. 

“Few months. Feels like longer.” Bruce doesn’t skip a beat. Clark hopes his smile makes Bruce’s tone sound less under duress. 

“Wow, that’s pretty serious. Congrats.” She raises her glass in salute. Clark wants to cut in—that absolutely felt sarcastic—but Bruce gives his hand a squeeze. 

“Can’t imagine life without him.” Bruce gives him such an earnest look that Clark has to avert his eyes before he gets too hopeful. His stomach twists. Play the part. 

“Do you got somethin’ you like most about him?” Vicki locks onto Clark and he jumps a little. She dissects him with her gaze in that way only journalists can. He does his best not to shuffle under her scrutiny. 

“Vicki, I hope this isn’t an interview.” Clark gives her his best stern stare. 

“If it was, you botched it.” She bumps shoulders with him. “I’m kidding. Off the record. I haven’t seen Bruce glow like this, ever. Just lookin’ for your secret.“ 

That sends a sweet, traitorous flutter through his ribcage. 

“Do you want to dance?” Bruce abruptly turns on his heel and shoves his hand into Clark’s personal space. 

“Do…you want to dance?” Clark furrows his brow. Bruce looks like he might explode. 

“Come on.” Bruce pulls Clark onto the dance floor. 

“Bye, Vicki!” Clark calls over his shoulder, but Bruce is spinning him into the gentle embrace of violin song faster than he can resist. They glide far, far away from that corner of the room, losing her verdant silhouette in the crowd.

“Be honest. Did you just run from your ex?” Clark laughs, trying to keep in time with Bruce’s steps. He’s always had two left feet, but Lois had forced him to go to ballroom dancing classes with her enough times for him to pick up some semblance of rhythm.

“No.” Bruce leads just a little too fast for the music at hand. Clark drags his feet in an effort to slow them down. 

“I don’t buy it. You would’ve been happier to see Harley than Vicki.” Clark almost dips Bruce on autopilot. He course-corrects pretty quickly and pulls a tight-lipped Bruce close instead. Nearly cheek-to-cheek, Clark takes the lead as easy as breathing. 

Clark isn’t sure when he started humming, but he lets the music take them both. Bruce allows him to maintain the lead, surprisingly, and he guides them languidly around the dance floor. He even twirls Bruce, shocked he gets away with it, but he’s too wrapped up in whatever this is to question anything.

When Clark pulls back a bit to tease, Bruce is staring at him with those wide, pretty eyes. 

“What?” Clark can hear the gears in Bruce’s head turning, even when there’s nothing to say. A remarkable talent.

“I…didn’t know you could dance.” Bruce shifts his hand from Clark’s shoulder to his back. 

“I’m full of surprises.” Clark grins. Their form slowly morphs from proper ballroom to a casual, dance-in-the-kitchen kind of waltz--Clark links his fingers with Bruce’s and leads them by the hands, they somehow find a way to get closer to one another, and they end up in a slow, gentle sway. 

“We should dance more.” Clark spins Bruce again and they end up back-to-chest, arms crossed over Bruce’s torso. 

“You can’t be serious.” Bruce’s ears are adorably rosy. Clark chooses to remain alive and not comment on it. 

“It’s good for you, Bruce! Lord knows you could use the smiles.” Clark spins them again, back to proper form. Bruce’s whole face scrunches and he stops in his tracks. A tinnitus-like sound ringing gently from Bruce’s ear and into their personal space makes Clark wince a little.

Of course he’s wearing comms. 

“Diana’s got Lex cornered upstairs.” Bruce leans in and murmurs low in Clark’s ear. He fights tooth and nail against a full body shiver. 

“Diana’s here? You called for backup?” Clark adjusts his glasses.

“If anything we’re her backup.” Bruce scoffs. “We need people to see us disappear so we have an alibi. Act natural.” 

Clark walks away. Bruce yanks him back by the bicep and leans in close. 

“Flirt with me. No, no—Clark, like you mean it.” Bruce compensates for the awkwardness by messing with Clark’s tie, but it starts to look like a tic more than anything else. Clark caresses Bruce’s cheek but it looks more like he’s wiping something off his face. 

“I’m trying!” He huffs. “This isn’t exactly my skillset.” 

“You had all of…that a minute ago—“ Bruce gestures at him— “where’d it go?” 

Clark tries to summon ‘that’,  whatever that means. The best he can do is scowl uncertainly and lead them back into an awkward sway. 

“You could at least pretend like you like me,” Bruce huffs, uncharacteristically petulant. Clark almost gives himself away then and there.

“I’m not good at this.” He swallows and averts his eyes.

“Come on, American Pie. You’ve gotta be working with more than those doe eyes.” Bruce’s devilish smirk genuinely tears the breath from Clark’s lungs. He takes a ridiculous inhale to buy him time until—yep, there it is, the smirk disappears. 

“Nope. This pie is fresh outta doe…eyes…that was going to be a dough joke but I think I should let it die.” Clark lets his forehead collide with Bruce’s shoulder as they sway, relishing in the comforting pat on the back that he gets. 

“That would be merciful.” Bruce laughs. 

“Did you just laugh?” Clark perks up. 

“No.” Bruce’s jaw tightens. He can’t kill the sparkle in his eye though, no matter how hard he tries. It’s there and it's stunning, like the cosmos in its depths. 

“You actually think I’m funny. You laughed at my joke!” Clark doesn’t realize that he’s dipped Bruce until they’re nose to nose, sharing the space of a breath. He quickly pulls him back up. 

Enough dancing. Clearly he can’t handle that. 

“I think you are…moderately amusing.” Bruce rolls his eyes. Clark squints.

“I think you are super…man.” Clark drags out the pause. Bruce all-but-scoffs. 

“Seriously?” He shoves Clark’s chest. There’s a fondness to the gesture that makes his heart ache. 

“You wanna laugh. I see it in your eyes, you do this squint—“ Clark pokes Bruce’s nose, mostly because he can’t do anything about it.  

“I don’t want to laugh. I want to punch you.” Bruce gives his best scowl. Clark’s finger on his nose cuts most of the threatening aura. 

“You’re smiling though. You are!” Clark scritches beneath Bruce’s chin as a fond gesture, something Lois often does to him. 

Bruce squeaks.

“You are beyond immature,” Bruce huffs, jerking away from the touch. Clark’s brain struggles to reconcile what he just heard with what he’s seeing, as a suddenly perfectly-stoic Bruce adjusts his suit jacket. 

Clark reaches out to do it again and Bruce latches onto both of his arms to push him away. Clark pushes back with no strain, as if the grown man clinging to his wrists weighs no more than bracelets, and repeats the gentle tickle. 

Bruce smashes his chin down to his chest as a couple of scratchy snickers force their way free. 

“No way.” Clark beams. 

“Don’t you dare. Do not. Clark—Clark.” Bruce starts to back away. Clark snakes an arm around his waist and holds him tight. 

“What? I’m flirting.” Clark presses his fingers into the curve of Bruce’s waist and it earns him a headbutt—thankfully avoiding the glasses. He finds a spot beneath Bruce’s ribs that gets a snort. 

“You’re so cute. I wish you’d smile more.” Clark worms his fingers beneath the curve of Bruce’s jaw, chasing that squeak that opened up such beautiful horizons. 

“I am not cute, you dick.” Bruce tries to bite at Clark’s fingers. 

“Mmm, I disagree.”

“I’m going to bury you in the shallowest of graves.” Bruce grits out, curling into Clark’s shoulder. A strangled squeal flies out upon contact with his ears and Clark stays there, fascinated by the degree of squirming happening in his immovable arms. 

“I’m sure you will.” He persists until finally, finally, a choked giggle emerges. It’s quiet enough to float beneath the ambient noise of the gala, but it rings loud and clear in Clark’s ear. 

“Are you coming? Otherwise, I’m taking him to Arkham myself. He’s…irritating.” Diana’s voice is a tinny pinprick in Bruce’s ear, but Clark still picks up on her message. He stills his fingers.

“On our way,” Bruce murmurs. As soon as the connection is severed, Clark steals one more squeeze at his side before they vanish to the service corridors to meet Diana. 

…

“Boys. You’re late.” Diana looks up from where she’s been braiding the Lasso of Hestia. On the other end, Lex Luthor hums an irritating tune. 

“Busy day,” Batman grouses, flexing his fingers. He makes his way over to the contraption in the corner and starts picking at the wires. 

“Whatcha got over there?”

“A highly concentrated laser stocked with a rainbow of Kryptonite strands. We were right on time.” Batman dislodges something with a mighty crack. In his hands, a glass capsule full of suspended Kryptonite crystals glitters in the light. The lenses on the cowl flick blue as he analyzes them further. 

“Well, Lex, you’ve just made me ten dollars richer.” Superman puts his hands on his hips. He can feel the faint, crawling fatigue starting to burrow into him from the proximity of the Kryptonite, but he resists it. He yanks a handful of wires free from the machine, crushes the focus, and kicks the motherboard hard enough to disintegrate it. 

“I hope your investors don’t hear about this,” he tuts, crossing his arms. “I’d hate for Wayne Enterprises to leave you in the dust for the…what, sixth year in a row?”

“We’ll see who’s laughing soon, Man of Steel. Your supposed altruism is nothing but your own selfish desire, fueled by greed—“

Superman knocks him out before he can finish.

…

“What the hell do you gel your hair with? Cement?” Bruce ruffles Clark’s hair again with a scowl. It doesn’t move. 

”Mrs. Duvet’s Quick-Dry Iron Hold gel. Otherwise it gets super obvious when I’ve been out flying.” Clark carefully starts pulling strands to the front, mimicking Bruce’s helmet hair. 

“Of course you do.” Bruce continues carefully messing with his hair. Clark shivers at the fingers on his scalp. 

“I can just wet it and shake it out real quick?” Clark grabs for the sink handle and starts sizing up how to fit his head into the basin. 

“I’d rather not leave a soaking wet bathroom for the custodians.” Bruce runs his hands beneath the tap, then holds them towards Clark. “May I?”

He nods numbly. Bruce runs his hands through Clark’s hair and he utterly melts into it. Oh, it’s a crime this won’t last.

“Looking like, uh, we had sex is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” Clark starts fiddling with his tie. He can feel his face heating up at the idea of it. 

“There is an art to it. Here, let me.” Bruce takes the ends of the tie and gives it a quick full Windsor with practiced hands. Then he loosens it just right. 

“Honestly, Bruce, no one will notice if I sneak out. I’m just some reporter they’ve never heard of.” Clark’s eyes dart to Bruce’s lips for a moment. 

“These people have nothing but time and wealth—they’re always looking for gossip. We disappear and you don’t come back? In two days, someone will find you and hunt you down for the exclusive on our ‘tumultuous relationship’.” Bruce fiddles with Clark’s shirt collar. Undoes a button. 

“So I’ll tell them we went our separate ways. Big deal.” Clark clears his throat. 

“Vicki and I broke up eight years ago. To this day, she still gets harassed by paparazzi on her way to work. Maybe that doesn’t bother you, but what are you going to do when people with cameras and time start realizing how much you disappear from the Daily Planet?” Bruce makes an exasperated hand gesture that seems to lack a target. 

“Fair enough.” Perry and Lois can only protect him so much. Bruce, regrettably, has a point. 

“We’re playing a part. After this, you won’t have to worry. I’ll give a statement that we quietly split and in a week or two, you’ll be left alone. Let’s focus on getting out of here.” Bruce returns to fiddling with Clark’s hair. 

Clark takes Bruce’s hands in his own. His breathing stutters a bit.

“Can I kiss you, Bruce?” Never has a question felt so heavy, so precarious. 

“Is there someone in here?” Bruce’s voice drops low, eyes darting to the stalls. 

“No! No, I just thought it’d be easier to…y’know…rather than faking it.” He can’t bring himself to look Bruce in the eye. He loses track of whose heartbeat is thundering in his ears. He feels like he’s back in high school and fumbling his way through practicing in the mirror. 

“What?” No going back now. 

“It would just be for a minute or two. It might be more effective than pretending. We could kiss a little. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Clark shrugs. Yeah. Logic is good. This is strictly a business arrangement. Friends kiss sometimes. They’ve been through hell and high water together, this should be easy. 

Bruce stares at him for a long while, long enough to make him sweat, to make him sick. Years of friendship and trust suddenly hang in the balance and he’s not ready for that. He’s not ready to lose that. What the fuck has he done? 

“I—“

“Are you…reasoning your way through making out with me?” Bruce puts his hands on his hips, expression utterly unreadable. 

“Maybe?” Clark swallows. 

Silence envelops the bathroom. Clark starts running through ways to retcon the worst mistake of his life—passing it off as a joke? Yeah, that might work. He starts to fumble his way through the syllables of an apology, when—

Bruce laughs. Hand on the wall, shoulders shaking, laughs. He tips his head back as the last snickers float and echo. He looks at Clark down the length of his nose, still beaming. It’s the rarest thing he’ll ever see and he commits every detail to memory. 

“I don’t think anyone’s asked so nicely before. Is this how they do it in Kansas?” Bruce unravels Clark’s tie in seconds. He wraps both ends around his knuckles idly, hanging his wrists off of Clark’s shoulders. 

Clark grabs both sides of Bruce’s head and kisses him deeply to shut him up. Bruce tilts his head and pulls Clark roughly forward, slamming them both into the wall. He lets out a beautiful little noise as his hands slide beneath Clark’s jacket and absolutely ruin the clean press of his shirt. Clark has half a mind to hoist Bruce onto one of the sinks, but he resists. 

He’s beautiful. It’s the only clear thought that runs through Clark’s head as he starts unbuttoning the buttons of Bruce’s shirt. He tilts Bruce’s jaw up and presses tender, lingering kisses down the column of his throat. Bruce pulls at Clark’s hair, forcing his head up, and catches his lips with a growl. 

“That’s how we do it in Kansas.” Clark breathes, hovering in Bruce’s personal space. His glasses are fogged and smudged but he can still see the tantalizing tilt of Bruce’s lips. 

“Again, I have a few pointers—“

This time Clark does pick him up. Bruce’s eyes go wide. 

“Nevermind.” Bruce pulls him back in with a forearm around the neck. Clark surges forward and mouths beneath Bruce’s jaw. He can feel Bruce’s heartbeat nearby and he hunts for it, spurred on by the storm of his own want. When he finds it, he sucks slow and steady against his warm, soft skin until he’s sure it’ll bruise. Bruce lets out a keening whine that stutters into a gasp, gripping Clark’s shoulders. His thighs clench around Clark’s waist. 

Clark’s better judgment grabs him and he breaks them apart. Bruce doesn’t move away and that lights his brain up like a Christmas tree. He hovers there for far too long, fighting tooth and nail against the urge to chase the adrenaline. Bruce looks utterly sinful in his grip, flushed in a way Clark hasn’t ever seen. 

The concept of self-control comes to him in a whisper like it’s foreign. He remembers himself. 

“Are we…good?” Clark vaguely realizes he’s still holding Bruce and sets him down. He’s buzzing from head-to-toe, like he’s just taken a full day’s nap in the sunlight. He’s not entirely certain he can feel his face. He touches his own lips reverently. 

“What? Oh. Yeah, c’mon.” Bruce grabs him and leads them through the venue. 

When Bruce pulls him through the party and towards the front doors, he doesn’t even process the prying eyes and whispers. All that matters is Bruce’s hand gripping his own. 

Clark’s determined to catch this shooting star in his hand, even if it doesn’t last. Even if it burns him down the line. 

[istherewifiinhell]

LETS FUUUUUCKIIINGGGGGG GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

BAT TURTLES

Here yee here yee! Come one come all! New and long time fans, young (ish) and old. These are so god damn. PREMIUM. Grade A. Turtlefied Certified. Ninja Turtles. Who are Mutant Teens.

Long have we wondered. Must a turtles movie overly explain the concept and set up of the turtles. Or else be a sequel that could confusing or lower quality. Must there sadness about fathers, conflict between brothers and general. Condensed movie run time character arc things. Well. The answer is here. And its this. Who know who the fucking turtles are. And Batman too. So lets just get to do some fucking Movie Ass Movie shit.

(And okay side note I only know animated dc im not like. All up on it but. Yeah. Its batman. Hes over there).

There is a plot a foot! A foot plot! even. Turtle villain and bat villian team up that leads the guys to gotham! And due to it being. Ninja robberies. Misunderstandings abound. But then the team up of the. Two teams. And conflicts arise there. Until they work it out for the greater threats, and thematic culmination in your final action set piece. Delightful. Tasty. So so workable.

Anyway. HELLO ANIMATION. These turtles are so. Wonderous and goofy looking. We have distinct shapes and colouration going on, which is the hotness for modern designs. They have the all white eyes look which is classic and cool. Theyre a bit toned down in shape and snoot having but its a vibe, it looks great in motion.

The action is sick as shit. and a little bloody! your not in nicktoons anymore! hey some turtles arent for little kids indeed. people can be killed! But its not like. Aggressively so. Just enough to feel it. But also theyre doing great comedy animation too. all rounder.

So whats the real meat of it? Well. WOULDNT IT BE SICK IF THE TURTLES WERE IN GOTHAM? And yes. Yes it is. Due to the crossover nature and large cast. We dont really need large changes and arcs. Isnt it enough to see how characters would bounce off situations and others...

Hows our comic lover goof ball, with slight powers of 4th wall poking, enjoy the rogue gallery. What happens when our sciencey tech guy puts his mind to finding a secretive vigilante. What do our serious leaders in blue make of each other. What if an EXTREMELY self aware 16 year old with an attitude read ur entire gimmick from a mile away. What happens when 4 sewer raised teens end up in a rich dude MANOR with a whole ass bulter...

Like basically. All of them are allowed to be their cool funky selves without needing to push it into something thats gonna be the crux of a joke or problem. We get that Leo has the weight of his responisblity as leader stuff, but his still a teen, without him having to tear into anyone. Donnie's doing his tech stuff that goes over other ppls heads without anyone saying he "relies on it too much" or being pressured into fixing everything for everyone. Mikey is techincally, a joke in that. hes saying funny things, hes goofing. But no one needs to slip into anything down right cruel about it, nor does it make him a fuck up.

And Raph... my RAPHIE.... Giving the fucking. Crown of Raph understanders to these fine folks! Yes he's implusive! Yes he's the bruiser. Yes he finds his little brothers jokes annoying! (this is half the point of a little siblings joke. trust me). But also he loves his fucking family. He's nice to kids! And he doesn't have time for anyones elses dramatic broody horseshit. THATS HIS THING??

Delicious. Finally some good fucking food. And eh. Pish posh I really dont know enough about the other bat characters but know its Babs, who is also a purple smartie, and she was fun! Shes fun to see react back at the turtles. And The smallest angriest robin. Who yeah really idk him. BUT DELIGHTFUL. To force into contact with the turtles. This is a mandatory playdate you WILL be dragged into shenangans. Enjoy ur new older bro/cousin figures. They came free with ur fucking crossover.

Shout the fucks out. Watch this movie. They gave the turtle van a little angry mouth again. Fuck Yeah.

[marauderundercover]

Crashed Dates (Day 2: Scarecrow)

Marinette grins at her boyfriend, swinging their intertwined hands back and forth as they walk around the pumpkin farm. It was so nice, finally being able to go on cute dates like this. They’d first started dating while he was in Paris on business, around a year ago. Sure, he’d made trips to Paris and she’d made a few to Metropolis, but it was different now that she had moved to Gotham. Now they were able to go on random, unplanned dates, instead of dates that had been planned for weeks. He was definitely worried when she first told him she was moving to Gotham, but she had reassured him that it would be fine. (Not that she had a choice in the matter, Tikki had informed her on her last trip to Metropolis that Gotham was sick, that it was calling out for help and that as the Guardian, it was her job to help it). Gotham was….interesting, but she’d settled in just fine in the two weeks she’d been there.

And so, when he had called her out of the blue to tell her he found a place he thought she’d love, she made sure she had enough layers and jumped at the chance for a day with him. So far, the day had been absolutely perfect. They’d drank hot apple cider, ate warm donuts, taken a trip around the farm on the hayride- everything was great. But for some reason, her amazingly stubborn boyfriend didn’t want to go into the corn maze. 

“Please! You’ll be my favorite person in the whole world.” She begs again, her grin quickly switching into a pout. She keeps pouting, leaning against his arm, until he sighs.

“Fine, we can do the maze.” He says and she cheers, standing on her toes and tugging him down slightly to give him a quick kiss. 

“You are the best!” She says, over enunciating every word. He just grins, giving her another soft kiss. 

“If we get lost, I’m calling the Demon Spawn to come get us out. Pretty sure he has a tracker on my phone.” Jason says, letting her tug him along towards the maze. She just rolls her eyes, grinning. 

“You know you’re secretly touched that he cares enough to track you.” She teases as they near the entrance of the maze.

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbles, glaring at the scarecrow situated at the entrance of the maze. Marinette raises an eyebrow. 

“You have a problem with men made of straw?” She asks, legitimately confused by his reaction. 

“Geeze M, I knew you were new to Gotham but I forget how new.” He says, pulling her closer. She melts into him, still confused by his reaction, but happy to be close. As they walk through the maze, frustratingly running into deadends, Jason explains Scarecrow. Marinette decides that he’s number two on the list of villains she never wants to meet. Joker is number one. (Joker is also number one on the list of villains she wants to meet, but that’s because she’s always wondered what it would look like to cataclysm a psychotic clown). She’s just about to suggest they call Damian and utilize the tracker that was, undoubtedly on Jason’s phone, when the screaming begins. 

“There isn’t a haunted house here, is there.” Marinette says, her face pale. She wasn’t ready to be a hero again. She’d only defeated Hawkmoth a year ago. Just before meeting Jason. She didn’t want that part of her life again, not now. 

“No, no there’s not.” Jason says, eyes glancing around wildly. Marinette’s heart breaks at the panic on his face. She knew that, despite his tough guy appearance, he struggled. A lot. He had nightmares, constantly, mostly of the time Joker had kidnapped him (hence the whole, cataclysm Joker thing). Pushing down her own fear and doubt, she tightens her grip on his hand and squares her shoulders. 

“Come on.” She instructs, tugging him behind her as she darts through the maze, determined to get out. She stumbles over a rock and lets go of Jason’s hand in time for her to fall into a larger clearing. She curses as she falls, her palms stinging. 

“What have we here?” A voice says. Marinette sits up, staring up at a man in a scarecrow costume and suddenly, Jason’s fear, or rather, dislike, of scarecrows makes more sense. So much more sense. She glances around and lets out a sigh of relief. She’d let go of Jason quick enough. He wasn’t caught up in this. Hopefully, he could call his father. She wasn’t sure if the rumors about Bruce Wayne and Batman dating were true, but Batman was always quick to interfere if it was a Wayne or Wayne adjacent involved. 

“A girl who’s a little pissed that you crashed her date.” She retorts, standing up and brushing her stinging palms off on her jeans. She’d have to get the blood out later, which would be a pain. Better than having the blood on her palms mix with the dirt that also now covered her hands. 

“You’re either very brave or very stupid, little girl. Let’s see how you deal with my newest strain of fear toxin.” He says, and she lunges towards the man, not willing to go down without a fight. Almost immediately, a sharp pinch on her neck has her stumbling back away from the man as she tries to take in her new surroundings. 

She was back in Paris, but it wasn’t the Paris she had left. The city that was healing. Instead this Paris was underwater. Buildings were toppled over, and the moon was in pieces in the sky. She was back there. A place she hadn’t seen in person since she was fourteen, a place that had haunted her nightmares for ten years. She inhales sharply when she sees him. Chat Blanc. But instead of fear, she’s just angry. This isn’t real. It can’t be. Adrien Agreste was Chat Noir. And Adrien was….turning, she realizes that she can almost see him. Out of the corner of her eye, she can almost see Scarecrow, watching her. Waiting for her to react. Anger coursing through her, she charges the man, tackling him all the way to the ground. She pulls back her fist and punches him, repeatedly. 

“How dare you! How dare you use his face like that! You son of a bitch!” She screams as she hits, the roaring in her ears blocking out all other sounds. She keeps her focus on feeling the man she’s hitting, because the second she lets her focus wander, she gets sucked into her surroundings again. The way the sky just looks wrong. The odd haze over everything. And now, the corpses floating in the water closest to her. Adrien. Maman. Papa. She’s not scared, she’s pissed. Sure, those were her biggest fears and that’s definitely why she was seeing them all like that, but she’d already seen it. She’s lived it. They were gone, not coming back. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to fall down and break about it. Not when some asshole with fear toxin was running around randomly injecting people. Suddenly, something is wrapped around her and she’s pulled up. She kicks frantically, trying to get out of the steel grip she’s trapped in. She had to- what did she have to do? Another sharp pinch in her neck makes her eyes droop sleepily. She struggles again, barely able to hear the voice calling her name as she succumbs to the darkness.

---

Jason Todd feels like a major prick. He watched his girlfriend trip and instead of helping her up, he uses it as a distraction to try and call B. How the fuck was he supposed to know she tripped right into the Scarecrow? He’s cursing himself mentally as he rushes towards the ambulance. Replacement had texted him. 

Marinette was injected. At ambulances near front of farm

And Jason felt like shit. She’d never forgive him, not that he deserved it. He’d left her with one of Gotham’s biggest villains. His heart sinks when he sees the blood on her, and the oxygen mask attached to her face. Fuck. He’s almost to her, when one of the asshole cops stops him. 

“Excuse me, sir, you can’t go over there.” He says and Jason scowls. 

“Like hell I can’t. She’s my girlfriend, let me through.” He says, and the man shakes his head. 

“Family only.” He states. Jason’s about to argue, when a hand lands on his shoulder. 

“I still need to get a statement from Mr. Todd, if you’ll excuse us.” Replacement says, leading him away from the cop. 

“I left her.” He says, the second they’re far enough away. Tim frowns.

“What do you-”

“I mean, I left her. She tripped and instead of checking on her, I was a complete and total asshole and left her so I could call B to get his ass over here and solve the goddamn problem.” Jason says, feeling like even more of an asshole now that he’s said it out loud. 

“Did you see Scarecrow?” Replacement asks. Jason scoffs. 

“Of course not! You really think I would’ve left if I had?” He asks with a glare. 

“No, I don’t. So stop blaming yourself. I literally peeled her off of Scarecrow, she was beating the crap out of him. She’s gonna be tired and scared and confused when she wakes up. Just be there-”

“Jason!” Her terrified voice echoes out and Jason turns, sprinting for the cot he’d seen her on a minute ago. She had ripped the oxygen mask off her face and was looking around while arguing with the paramedic. 

“Ma’am please-” “Marinette!” Jason calls, and her face relaxes as she leaps off the cot and launches herself into his arms. He holds her as she shakes, sobs wracking her body. 

“I saw them.” She mumbles once she calms down a little. He frowns. 

“Saw who?” He asks. 

“My parents. Adrien. Their bodies.” She says, and suddenly, Jason has another name to add to his kill list. Being a complete asshole to all of Gotham, sure. Making his girlfriend see the bodies of those she’d lost? Nope. Now the bastard better hope he didn’t meet Red Hood in an alley. 

“God, Mari, I am so sorry. I’m so sorry I left.” He apologizes, his heart aching when she pushes him away. She frowns up at him and he winces, certain she’s about to break up with him. 

“Left?” She asks and he nods. 

“When you tripped, I swear, I didn’t know Scarecrow was there.” He says. 

“But you got Batman here.” She says and he jerks back. How the hell had she figured it out? When did she- “I know Bruce said he isn’t dating Batman, but honestly, I think he’s just in denial.” She adds. 

“I- what?” 

“Batman always comes when anyone in the Wayne family is in danger. Like, so quickly. And I know that Bruce says it’s just a bunch of rumors, like the whole ‘the butts match’ thing? But I also think that Batman is head over heels for Bruce, and your dad is just kinda clueless.” She rambles. Jason just laughs before pulling her into a deep kiss. She was okay. They were okay. He pulls back and grins at her, until he notices the blood again. 

“Shit, that’s a lot of blood.” He says, taking her hand in his to try and find the source. He glances at her face and raises an eyebrow at the blush that had taken over her face. 

“Oh, um, it’s not mine.” She mumbles. 

“Then who-” “Apparently I beat the hell out of Scarecrow. In my defense, that fear toxin sucked. And I was kinda pissed.” She says, frowning down at the blood on her hands. Jason takes one of his hands and gently tilts her chin up so that she’s looking at him again. He grins at her, giving her a short, soft kiss before pulling back. 

“I love you.” He says, and if the kiss she gave him in return meant anything, she felt the same way.

Next

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[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 7

Chapter 1     Chapter 6

Marinette rubbed her head as though the action might actually have an effect on her throbbing headache.  It hadn’t any time she’d tried it in the last hour, but it gave her brain the illusion that she was doing something to help other than just waiting for the painkillers to kick in.  The action also gave her something to focus on other than the pounding hangover from not getting nearly drunk enough last night.  Because somehow despite the massive amounts she, Jason, and Roy had drunk last night, all of her problems still existed.  Utter bullshit, that.  And now she still had to deal with all her problems and felt like crap on top of it.  Double bullshit.

She adjusted her sunglasses again, fighting the urge to squint because squinting hurt.  Although honestly, she wasn’t sure which hurt more, the florescent lights, the sunlight beaming through the hotel windows, or squinting.  She was sure there was some way to settle the glasses on her face to block out all light, she just hadn’t been able to figure it out.  She now realized why people significantly smarter than her wore those godawful, ugly glasses that wrap around their head and cut out all sun.

She took a deep breath and braced herself for the full blast of a suspiciously sunny Gotham morning. Gotham has like three sunny days a year and one of them is today?  What the Hell did she do to Tikki to deserve the last few days?  She wandered out of the hotel still contemplating revenge. How does one get revenge against a god anyway?  How many ways can she destroy cookies?

She didn’t get more than a few steps before she sensed someone in front of her.  She weaved slightly to the left but quickly realized there was someone there too.  She weaved to the right and finally looked up when she realized there was someone there. There were people all around her, taking pictures of her, shoving phones in her face as they yelled questions at her.

She stumbled back a few steps and blinked at the group of reporters that had apparently been camping out in front of the hotel for her.  She quickly plastered on one of Adrien’s patented PR smiles and nodded to them. She tried to push through them, expecting them to move out of her way, as they did in Paris for Adrien.  But reporters in Gotham clearly did not show the same respect that Parisian reporters did because none of them moved out of her way.  

Her smile strained slightly as she looked to the one in front of her.  “Excuse me, please,” she requested in the most sickeningly sweet voice she could manage.

The reporter sent back an excited smile.  “Ms. Dupain Cheng, would you care to comment on your relationship with your family? Perhaps explain why Gotham hadn’t had the pleasure of your presence before?”

Marinette looked the reporter up and down.  She looked at the group surrounding her, noting how they had closed the circle to the point of touching her.  She’d been to raves with more personal space.  She moved to push through a small gap between reporters, but stopped when they quickly closed the gap.  Marinette gritted her teeth and widened her smile.  “There’s a reason we’ve chosen not to speak about this and that reason was NOT to discuss it in an exclusive with you at this exact moment.  Now if you will excuse me, I would very, very much like to get some coffee.  I’m sure you can understand the difficulty of starting a day without it.”

She gave them a conspiratorial smile, hoping if they felt like they were in on the joke they would let her through. Instead, her response emboldened the reporters, who started shouting out her name and more questions.

“Will you attend more Wayne functions now?”

Marinette didn’t even know which reporter shouted the question to address them if she wanted.  She huffed and decided to give up on pleasantries.  She was hung over.  She was hungry.  She wanted coffee.  “Why would people change a relationship that doesn’t involve you because you know about it?” she grunted as she tried to push through the cracks between people.  

The reporters closed ranks tighter around her, making it impossible for her to break through without injuring someone, which she was sure was the plan of at least a few of them.  Whether it was to get a more salacious story or to sue Bruce Wayne, she wasn’t sure.  Probably both.  She looked back to the hotel lobby hoping the concierge would see her predicament and help her, but he was determinedly ignoring the scene in front of the hotel.

She set her jaw and prepared herself to create a scene channeling her best imitation of an irate Chloe Bourgeoisie.  She’d deal with the fallout later.  Right now, she needed to get out of this situation before someone actually did push a little too hard and tiny gods decided to curse the city.  She opened her mouth to yell but instead heard someone else’s voice boom through the crowd.

“I think my sister told you to leave her the fuck alone.”

Marinette looked around to try to find the source of the voice but couldn’t see past the wall of reporters.  She didn’t have to wait long for him to push his way through the crowd like a wrecking ball, not worrying about injuring anyone as he shoved his way through.  Jason stopped in front of her with a smirk.  “She just says it in a much more polite way than I do.”  He held up a bag and a tray of coffee.  “I come bearing gifts so you don’t have to deal with this shit out there somewhere.”  

Marinette shot him a grateful smile and turned back toward the hotel.  “That sounds brilliant.  Thank you.”

Jason winked at her.  “I got you.”

They didn’t stop or even look at each other until the elevator doors closed behind them.  Marinette leaned against the wall and finally took a full breath.  She looked over to Jason with another grateful smile.  “Thank you. I wasn’t expecting that and I…” She looked down for a moment to collect her thoughts.  “I wasn’t prepared.  I’ll do better next time.”

Jason’s eyes softened.  The press was a lot for all of them to get used to.  None of them had taken naturally to it, especially Gotham’s press.  They at least had the advantage of starting young and knowing what to expect, not to mention since they were kids, the press didn’t have a lot of chances to get to them.  Marinette had just been thrown out there without a life preserver.  Bruce didn’t even send any guards.  “Don’t worry about it.  I thought you could use the save.”

Marinette laughed and narrowed her eyes at him.  “That was a socially acceptable version of a kidnapping.  I had no way of getting out of that without exposing that there is no relationship.”

“Should have just exposed it then,” he shrugged, not remotely nonplussed by her comment.  “I just thought you could use some sustenance after last night.”  He held up the bag for her as they exited the elevator and made their way to her room.  “I know you must be used to fancy French food so I got a variety of food from the best bakery in town.  And I didn’t know how you take your coffee or if you prefer tea so I got both and lots of sugar and creamer.”

Marinette giggled as she opened her door.  “You’re not wrong.  My parents owned a patisserie.  I grew up on the best baked goods in France.”

Jason blinked a few times at her before setting the drinks and food on the coffee table.  “That’s it, next family reunion is at your place.”

“Not so sure that’s going to be a thing,” she said quietly.  She reached for one of the croissants and ripped off a small piece, popping it in her mouth.  “Not really sure I count as family.  That’s kind of been made clear.”

“Yeah well, we didn’t know and we’d like to get to know you, if you’re okay with it,” he said biting off a chunk of cheese Danish. “Look, I’m not looking for family dinners and brunches and shit, I just… want to make sure you’re okay.”  He looked up at her earnestly for a moment before his eyes turned mischievous.  “Although if you grew up in a bakery, I might want all that at your parents’ place.”

“At least you’re asking.  That’s something anyway,” she grumbled as she took another small bite.  

“Speaking of family, where is model boy?”

Marinette puckered her lips in disapproval as she watched the crumbs fall from Jason’s mouth as he spoke.  She looked away before she snapped at him.  “He and Max went apartment hunting.”

“Without you?” Jason asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Neither of them were suffering from a raging hangover that took double the normal dosage of painkillers just to take the edge off of,” she said pointedly.

“Coffee,” Jason grunted, motioning toward the coffee. “Lots of coffee and food and water.” He pushed the bag toward her. “Not the bird bites you’ve been taking.”

She studied the croissant in front of her with a furrowed brow as though it had some kind of answers for her.  She nearly dropped it when she heard a knock on the door. She looked through the peephole and gasped, flinching back from the door.  Jason immediately jumped up and ran over to her.  “What is it?  Another reporter?”

“No,” Marinette rasped out, her eyes never leaving the door.  “Worse.” Her heart started racing and her breathing became labored.  She wasn’t ready for this.  She wasn’t ready to speak with him.  What was she supposed to say?  How was she supposed to speak with him?  She didn’t even know how she felt yet.  She hadn’t sorted through this all yet.  Tears threatened to fall from her eyes.  She wasn’t ready.  This was happening too fast.

She flinched visibly when he knocked again. He’d had time to prepare.  He’d had time to think this through.  He knew how he felt about this.  He’d had time to plan and prepare.  She had none of that and here he was on her doorstep.  He knew about her and she knew nothing about him. He was ready and she wasn’t given that chance.  

She was just expected to deal with it.  She was just expected to handle it.  She was just expected to accept it.  He’d created this entire situation and she was left to pick up the pieces and move on.  And now he was here.  He was on her figurative doorstep in person and now she had to deal with it, on his timetable, according to his preference, because yet again it all had to be done on his terms.  Her preferences didn’t matter.  Her feelings didn’t matter.  Her opinion didn’t matter.

“Want me to kick their ass out?” Jason offered already reaching for the handle.

Marinette shook her head and let out a calming breath. He thinks he can come in after twenty years gone and act like everything is fine and expect her to play nice, he has another thing coming.  He wanted a detached relationship?  She could do that.  She’d seen it enough growing up with Adrien and Chloe’s parents.  She knew how to play the game.

She shook her hands to get the tension out before finally reaching out to open the door.  “Mr. Wayne.  This is an unexpected pl… experience,” she stuttered.  She mentally grimaced.  She was showing weakness.  She needed to be strong.  She plastered on a clearly fake smile.  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being weak.  She wouldn’t cry for him.  She hadn’t cried because of him in the twenty years he’d been absent, she wouldn’t do it now.

Bruce took a breath.  “Marinette…”  He froze for a second.  He hadn’t thought hard enough about this.  He knew what he wanted to say, what he wanted to tell her, but he hadn’t thought about how to tell her, how to lead into it.  “I was hoping to speak with you,” he rushed out, wincing internally at the sound of it.

“Well, that’s a first,” she scoffed before she could stop herself.  She slapped her hand over her mouth and mentally berated herself.  What was she doing?  She was supposed to be calm not cruel.  She was losing this game!

Jason grinned and propped his arms behind his head as he kicked out his legs, the very picture of relaxed.  “I like her.  I’m keeping her.”

Marinette shot him an appreciative smile but Bruce did a double take, frowning at the sight.  His mind raced as to what it meant that Jason was there.  Was it good?  It was good, wasn’t it?  She was getting close to one of her brothers already.  But that brother was Jason, and despite the fact that he loved Jason, he was well aware their relationship was still contentious at best.  Not exactly the best brother for her to get close to. And he was already encouraging her hostility against him.  Not that he didn’t deserve it, he knew he did, it was just that any of the other brothers would help mitigate that hostility.  Jason would fan it.  “Jason, what are you doing here?”

“Brought baked goods and coffee,” he answered casually, a smirk making its way onto his face.  “You?”

Bruce let out a heavy sigh through his nose and smoothed out his face.  Getting annoyed now would do nothing for his goal.  If Marinette was connecting to Jason, getting frustrated with him would just push her further away.  “As I mentioned, I was hoping I could speak with Marinette about the… situation.  I wanted…”

“‘The situation’,” Jason mocked shaking his head at Bruce.  God was he always this bad with his kids?  He thought it was just him.  “Way to sound sincere, B.”

Bruce’s lips pursed until they were no longer visible. He didn’t need Jason sabotaging him right now.  He was doing a good enough job of it on his own.  “I’d like to speak with Marinette on our own, please.  Why don’t you go home?”

Marinette’s eyes went wide and her chest clenched. She didn't want Jason to leave.  She wasn't ready for Jason to leave.  Once Jason left it was just her and him.  Just thinking about it suddenly she couldn't breathe.  Suddenly the air felt too thin and too heavy at the same time.  No.  She needed somebody else here.  

Jason shot a look over to Marinette, letting his eyes pass over Marinette like he hadn’t been noting her body language.  He let his eyes wander for a second before returning to Bruce with a tilt to his head.  “No.  I’m witnessing this, unless Pixie tells me to go home.”

Marinette could have kissed him… on the cheek. Because he was her br… it was complicated.  But she was beyond grateful he had spoken up for her.  She let out the breath she’d been holding and raised an eyebrow at him. “Pixie?”

“Small, violent,” Jason grinned at her.

Marinette laughed and playfully narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine, whatever, Goliath.”

Jason leaned back again.  “Oh, no, that one’s already taken.  By a dragon bat, no less.”

Marinette’s face scrunched in confusion.  She tried to search through her Americanisms for what a dragon bat could be.  It had to be a species of bat right?  Maybe? But then again it was American English so for all she knew it could be a flower.  “A what?”

“Jason!” Bruce admonished.  He was really not looking forward to trying to explain what a dragon bat was or how Damian came to be in possession of one.

Jason rose up enough to grab one of the croissants and shove half of it into his mouth before he spoke.  “I’ll introduce you sometime, or Damian will have to actually… which he won’t.  I’ll show you a picture, you seem like the kind of person who likes terrifying animals as long as they’re fuzzy.”

“I… fair,” Marinette conceded easily.

“If I can bring us back to the topic at hand,” Bruce interjected loudly, cutting off any more discussion of dragon bats.

“Family bonding, right?”  Jason cut him off with a pointed look.  “Isn’t that what we were doing?”

Bruce glared at Jason for a few seconds, which did nothing to wipe the smug smirk off his face.  Giving up on Jason, Bruce focused on Marinette.  “At the gala you mentioned you didn’t plan on being in town much longer, leaving today actually.  I was hoping I could convince you to stay a bit longer.”

Marinette examined him with a dour curiosity.  She cocked her head to the side.  “And why might that be?  You don’t need me here to make an announcement that we prefer to keep our relationship private, hence they didn’t know about me.”

Bruce let out a deep sigh.  That was fair.  It was a fair response.  Sabine had warned him she would be suspicious of him.  “This isn’t for the public,” he assured her.

“Isn’t it?”  She blinked a few times at him, her face blank.  “Are you sure?  It feels like it is.”  She turned to Jason.  “Doesn’t it feel like it is to you?”

“It does indeed,” Jason nodded in agreement, keeping eye contact with Bruce as he did.

“Jason…” he started threateningly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you relying on me to make fixing your fuck up easier for you?  Wrong kid.  You’re looking for Dick or Tim… actually I wouldn’t rely on Tim for help explaining why being an absentee father isn’t actually that bad.”

“Jason, I think it’s time for you to go home,” Bruce growled.

Marinette straightened up and moved between him and Jason.  She wasn’t going to let him bully Jason for standing up for her.  “I don’t think so.  So far he’s the only member of my family I like.”

“Ooh, you should totally give Cass and Steph and Duke a chance too,” Jason offered with a faked enthusiasm as though the confrontation with Bruce didn’t just happen.  He kept his eyes on Marinette but relished the increasingly frustrated scowl on Bruce’s face as they ignored him.

Marinette nodded.  “I’ll consider it.”

“Oh and Alfred… and I guess Tim too.  He’s a prick but he’s alright I guess,” Jason continued.

Marinette blinked at him.  It was like a never ending list of people.  An ongoing list of people he had taken in after walking away from her.  A long list of people he’d cared about and for without having to be pressured into it by the press.  A mile long list of people he wasn’t pretending to care about.  “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

“We have a lot,” Jason corrected her.  They were in this together and he’d remind her of that as many times as she needed.  “Alfred isn’t a sibling though.  He’s like a grandfather.”

Marinette paused at that.  She hadn’t considered that.  Another grandfather figure.  Another grandfather that didn’t want anything to do with her.  Sure now Grand-père Roland loved her but for the first fifteen years, he’d known about her and didn’t care.  Maybe it was her.  It had to be her right?  Two grandparents, that isn’t coincidence.  That’s a pattern and the only commonality was her.  She pursed her lips together to focus on something other than the tears welling up behind her eyes.  “Sounds like the kind of person who definitely would have known about me.”

Jason’s eyes widened.  “I… don’t know the answer to that,” he answered slowly.

Marinette nodded, slowly going numb.  “So, what I’m getting from this so far is I have a another grandfather-type figure that knew about me and didn’t feel any kind of interest in me and a ton of people that my father decided were worthy of his love and affection when I wasn’t.  So it isn’t that my father didn’t want to be a father, just that he didn’t want to be my father.”

“That isn’t…” Jason started.  This was going down the wrong path.  He was trying to show her he had her back, not remind her about the pain.  But instead, now Marinette was getting hurt, remembering the pain.  She’d lost her sass and impertinence and now was moving toward hurt.  And she was blaming Alfred.  Alfred was one of the only good things about being a Wayne!

“Jason!  I think it’s time for you to go home.  Now!” Bruce roared.

Marinette contemplated Bruce coldly, numbness consuming her fears and insecurities and morphing into cold, analytic contemplation.  He was blaming Jason.  Her frustration wasn’t because of Jason or anything he said. Her pain wasn’t because of Jason, it was because of him, because of his decisions.  And instead of taking responsibility for it, he was blaming Jason.

Jason blinked a few times, no longer certain of his role in this interaction.  He looked back and forth between Marinette and Bruce, noting Marinette’s hardening features.  She was getting ready for a fight.  He could see it developing, but he wasn’t at all sure Bruce did.  He held up his hands in surrender and sat back down calmly. “I promised I wouldn’t leave unless Pixie asked me to.  I intend to keep my promise to her,” he said calmly.

Bruce glared at him again and faced back to Marinette, a fake smile plastered on.   “As I was saying.  I’d like a chance to get to know you, if you would let me.”

“And how many members of the press did you want to be there when you do?” she inquired sharply.

Bruce sighed and rubbed his forehead.  “That’s not fair.”

Marinette’s mouth dropped and she shook her head at him incredulously.  “Wow. Way to pull the rich, white guy entitlement card. ‘I know everything about this situation has been unbelievably unfair to you, but now I’m being inconvenienced in the mildest way possible and I don’t like it,’” she mocked. She rocked back on her heels and narrowed her eyes at him.  “Rest assured M. Wayne, I do not intend to speak out against you.  Your reputation will not be harmed by me.  Tell the press whatever you want.  I won’t contradict you.  You can relax.”

“Marinette…” he started, unsure of where to go. Everything she had said was so far from the truth, he didn’t know where to start.  Her view of the situation was so skewed, he didn’t know how to put it back on kilter.  His shoulders sagged in defeat.  “This has nothing to do with the press.  I had put plans in motion to get in contact with you before any of this started.  Mr. Fox will confirm that for you if you don’t trust me.  You seem like quite an impressive young lady and I would like to get to know you better, if you’ll give me the chance.”

His tone was contrite and quiet, but Marinette wasn’t done being upset yet.  She wasn’t ready to move on and let go of the anger.  “And if I wasn’t, you would continue to ignore me?  If I was a problem child, if I had social issues, if I couldn’t find a job, you’d continue to treat me like I never existed?  I’ve finally done enough to gain your attention. Oh thank you so much for letting me know.”

“That isn’t what I said,” Bruce rushed to assure her. “I meant to compliment you not say you had to earn my attention.”

Marinette pursed her lips and looked over to Jason. He was looking back at her with sympathetic, concerned eyes.  She let out a long sigh and looked away from them both.  “Look, I meant what I told the press earlier.  I had no intention of you seeing me at the gala.  I had no intention of anyone finding out about me. I didn’t even know there was anything to find out when I made the plan to come here.  And I have no expectation of anything about our relationship changing.”

Bruce perked up slightly, but focused on keeping his body language the same, so she wouldn’t see the difference.  That was an opening; expectation instead of intention. It wasn’t that she intended not to change it, it’s that she didn’t expect it.  “I do,” he assured her, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice, keeping it calm and even.  “I would like to change our relationship.  I would like the chance to explain and try to start to make it up to you.  If you would like to try.  

“If you’re open to it, I can extend your reservation until you are ready to move on, or if you would prefer, you are more than welcome to stay at the manor.  I would love to have you stay with us but I understand that may be overwhelming.  Or, WE has have some flats available, with multiple bedrooms.  You and your friends could stay there for a while.  Your friend is going to need a place to stay while he looks for an apartment, right?

“I’ll leave the choice to you.  Whether we pursue a relationship, if you stay, where you stay; they’re all your choice.  Here,” he handed her a paper with several numbers hand written on it. “These are my numbers; office, home office, cell phone, manor.  You can use any of them to contact me.”

Marinette took the paper impassively.  She squeezed her other hand in an effort to keep the tremble from being too obvious.  “Thank you, M. Wayne.  I will consider your words.”

Bruce nodded, letting the very formal use of his name wash away.  This was still progress.  This was still movement in the right direction, even if it wasn’t as much as he would want.  He knew it could take a long time.  He knew he wouldn’t be able to fix this today.  “Thank you, Marinette.  That’s all I can ask for.  And I’m sorry for ambushing you here.  I tried to call and text you all yesterday to set up a time to talk in person so you could prepare but it seems like your phone was off.”  

He let out a small breath seeing her eyes widen at his admission.  That had to be a good sign.  Maybe he actually said the right thing for once.  He nodded to her and left her to think, hoping Jason would urge her to call. He seemed to want a relationship with her as well.  Hopefully, he would realize this was the best way to get that.

Jason sighed and looked up at her as soon as the door closed behind Bruce.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not.  It’s… it’s a lot.  I think I want to be alone,” Marinette said absently staring at the numbers in her hand.

Jason nodded.  “It is.  I understand. If you want to talk, at all, about anything.  About where to drink in town, best burger, anything, give me a call.”  He gently took the paper Bruce had handed her out of hand, letting her decide if she gave it to him or not.  When she let go, he put his number on it as well.  “I only have one number, but now you have it.”

Marinette nodded at him.  “Thank you, Jason.”

Jason hesitated briefly.  “For what it’s worth, if you decide to stay you should take him up on the flat.  The hotel is stupid expensive and WE offers the flat to visiting collaborators all the time, so it’s not like it’s all that special… if you want to avoid being treated special.”

Marinette nodded at his words, barely taking them in as her mind tried to fight the numbing process.  Jason watched her tentatively.  “You look like a hugger,” he said uncertainly.  “Did you… do you want a, um, a hug?”  

Marinette looked over at him and blinked a few times, not sure how to take his words, partly because he seemed unsure of them himself, but partly because things were having a harder time permeating her brain right now.  Jason took her curious look as doubt.  “Oh come on. It’s fine.  I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.  Trust me.  I tell Dick to fuck off enough when he tries to hug me.  I have no problem saying no to hugs I don’t want.  I’m offering because I mean it.”

Marinette blinked a few more times but finally nodded vacantly.  Jason pulled her into a warm, comforting hug.  After a few moments he pulled away.  “It will all be okay.  No matter what you decide, it will all be okay.  And no matter what you decide, I’m here.  Nobody’s replacing you as my sister.  So get ready for some completely inappropriate Christmas presents this year.”

Marinette smiled absently at his joke, her eyes never meeting his.  “Thanks, Jason.”  She leaned against the door after she closed it behind him and slid down it, staring blankly at nothing.  The room felt colder than it was before, but she couldn’t manage to care enough to get up and get a blanket.  She thought there might have been ambient noise going on around her but none of it registered.  Nothing registered.  Not the numbing sensation that was rapidly overtaking her body from her fingers and toes up to her head until she stopped feeling anything.  Not even the point she was staring at.  She didn’t know how long she stared at the nothingness before black overtook her vision and she passed out.

Chapter 8

Tags:

@maribat-bdbwm @jayjayspixiepop @redscarlet95 @alice-hazelwood @deathssilentapproach-blog @unoriginalmess @alyssadeliv @emotionalsupportginger @frieddonutsweets @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @toodaloo-kangaroo @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @iloontjeboontje @wolf-for-life @maribatserver @aespades @prettylittlebutterflie @imarivers8  @ certainmuffinbagelcalzone @ritacrow-blog @unoriginalmess @demonicbusiness @kking13 @lady-bee-fechin @blur-of-colours @kittenmywaythrulife @kashlyn 

[butwhyduh]

Fit to be Tied

Jason Todd x reader

Warning: Christmas? And the f word.

Christmas series 2

Jason didn’t pay much attention to holidays. Nope. That was for the living. He didn’t have much of need for it. But he did know that Christmas was quiet and New Years was busy for patrol. He guessed everyone ate Christmas dinner and and then got bored of playing nice. Or maybe that just wanted to start the new year with a big ass bang. Who knows?

Even when he was a kid, he didn’t celebrate the holidays. Too poor, mom too lost in drugs, and dad? Well fuck him. He was a piece of shit when he was around.

Jason kicked a beer can out of his way into the pile of trash on the sidewalk. They didn’t get the trash again this week it looked like. Daddy Bruce could play bat but couldn’t throw his money around enough to keep trash from piling on the street.

It was fine. He had more important things to do anyways. He had to buy a Christmas present. He didn’t care for the holidays but the sweet girl he had at home was a doll and fuck, if she didn’t deserve something. So Jason went down to the local pawn shop. Usually not a problem but it was 2 AM. Not exactly prime business hours.

So yes, Red Hood was breaking into a pawn shop to get a bracelet. He was leaving cash, $20 over the cost too. It was something you had seen earlier in the week and had admired. Gems of some kind shaped to look like a butterfly. You’d taken a minute longer to stare at it.

He left as quick as he came. And it wasn’t long until he was opening the window of your apartment dressed in street clothes. You were asleep. Jason had used the excuse of patrol to get out. But in the early morning hours of Christmas, he wanted to wake you.

“Princess,” he said gently. You moved a little before opening your eyes. You smiled up at him. Fuck, he didn’t deserve the way you looked at him. Your eyes looked so innocent and sweet. You never looked at him like he scared you.

“Jaybird, what’s going on?”

“I got you something for Christmas and it’s technically Christmas..” he said pulling out the box. You sat up, curious.

“It’s Christmas Eve. You got me something? I didn’t think we were- I didn’t get anything. I couldn’t-“ you said turning red. Money was too tight to consider it. The fact that the heat was still on this late in the month was a Christmas miracle.

“No no. It’s fine. Just being here is enough for me. I’ve never really celebrated Christmas anyways,” Jason said pushing the box in your hand. You held the box before kissing him.

You opened the box to see the bracelet you had been looking at the pawn shop. You smiled and stared at the pretty little butterfly. Jason watched you carefully for a reaction. He’d never admit it but he was more nervous now than fighting on the street.

“You saw me looking at it. I didn’t think you’d notice,” you murmured softly as you picked it up. Jason took it and wrapped it around your wrist. He clasped it on and you looked at it, moving your wrist in the light.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful,” you said quietly looking at it. You had a little grin on your face. Jason smiled. That’s the look he wanted. That little bit of happiness that you showed when you were really pleased. He intertwined his fingers in yours.

“Princess, you’re so cold,” Jason said with a frown. He could feel it colder outside but now that he was getting used to the temperature, it wasn’t warm as it should be.

“The heater was acting up again so I turned it down. The blankets are plenty warm,” you said and his heart all but broke. There was no way he was going to let you be cold all winter because the landlord wouldn’t fix things. He might pay this guy a visit. You sensed his anger.

“It’s okay, Jay. Come lay with me and get warm,” you said taking his hands. He let you pull him into bed. He kicked off his pants and shoes and laid on his side. You curled into him as a little spoon. His long big frame all but engulfed you. It always felt to protective. If he was holding you, he knew you were safe. Jason ran his fingers along your bracelet soft as his rough fingers could.

“You’re so good to me,” you said softly and his heart clenched again. Fuck, if you knew all the bad he did. His messed up past. He thought you would have run away when you first learned he was Red Hood but no, you had been kind.

“Naw, Princess you deserve more then this shitty place,” he said, and for the first time, he felt a little bad about giving all of his trust fund to the soup kitchen he would visit as a kid. A little would have been nice to get a better place for you. But he had been making a ton crushing the drug trade at the time and didn’t have a girl back home when he did it. He couldn’t be as reckless now.

You turned in his arms to look in his blue eyes. He has such an intense look on his face that you frowned. “Jaybird, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said pulling his face back to normal. “Just thinking. I wanna move you to a better place, a safer place than this,” he said running his thumb across your cheeks. You grasped his wrist and leaned into his touch. Jason would sometimes get like that. Thinking you deserved better. And you humored him even though you wouldn’t even know what to do with wealth.

“We’re moving. Soon. I’m promising now,” he said thinking about the painful conversation he was going to have with Bruce. His adoptive father he hadn’t even told you about. Bruce would do just about anything Jason asked. Probably the guilt of letting him die.

“But Jay, we’d miss the water that went from boiling to freezing at random. And I’m not sure if I can sleep without Mr and Mrs Jancowski having sex every Tuesday at 2 AM,” you said with a smile. He kissed you to shut you up. You were joking but each one felt like a little knife in his guilt. You pulled him over you and the thought of money troubles faded from your mind.

———————————————

Jason woke before you and watched you sleep. You laid on his chest with your hand in his hair and your soft breath on his throat. The bracelet was still on your wrist. You looked so peaceful, trusted him while you slept. Jason carefully grabbed his phone and texted Alfred. He’d also have to tell you about his adoptive family. His very famous adoptive family.

He threaded his fingers in your hand that was flung across his waist. You began to stir. Jason moved hair from your face and you blinked to see his pale blue eyes watching you.

“Morning, Princess,” he said with a rough morning voice. You smiled.

“Morning, Jaybird.”

“I’ve got something to tell you,” he started. “I want you to meet my family tonight.”

“Tonight? Your family? I thought your parents...” you trailed off.

“I was adopted. I never told you because I don’t have the best relationship with them. But I think it’s time for you to meet them. I’ve got to tell you something else,” he said and you could hear his heart beat quicker as you laid on him.

“My adoptive father is Bruce Wayne.”

Silence.

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. And tonight I’m taking you to meet him. And my adoptive siblings.”

“You aren’t joking,” you said sitting up. Jason sat up too.

“I’m not. I’m kinda the... black sheep of the family. He adopted me when I was 12. I was trying to boost the wheels from the b- Bentley he was driving,” Jason corrected. It was one thing to tell you he was Red Hood. He couldn’t say Bruce Wayne was Batman.

“Wow. I- wow. Okay. That’s a lot to take in. Also on brand to be honest,” you said and he smiled and shrugged.

“Wait. What the fuck do you wear to the freaking Wayne manor for Christmas Eve?” You said a little panicky.

“Whatever you want. It’s just family,” he said with a sideways smile.

“Oh no. I can’t go to freaking Wayne Manor in a Kmart sweater,” you said quickly.

“You can wear,” he said hopping out of bed. He dug way in the back of his closet for a pretty red sweater that was slightly oversized. “This. Should fit fine. Pretty expensive too.”

“Where the hell did you get that?”

“I’ve had it for year and it definitely doesn’t fit now,” Jason said with a laugh. “Try it on.”

—————————————

The weather sucked. Freaking sleet that threatened everything it touched. You were grateful it wasn’t a night of Jason patrolling. This meant taking your car instead of Jason’s motorcycle. Your car was at least 15 years old and you called it Frankenstein because of all the repairs done over the years.

The radio skipped as Jason drove over a speed bump by Wayne Manor and you burst out laughing. Jason looked at you from the side.

“It’s not that funny,” he said. “What’s up?”

“My car is trash, I’m wearing your old sweater, and we’re late. If you weren’t the black sheep before, bringing me home, you will be now,” you said. He grabbed your hand and parked in front of a random house.

“I’ve been the black sheep since I was a kid and you aren’t going to change any thing for the worse. Trust me. In fact they’ll probably think you’re too good for me,” Jason said with a dry chuckle. “So don’t worry about anything. Except making room for pudding. I know it sounds weird,” he said starting to drive again. “But it’s the best part of Christmas.”

Wayne Manor was huge. You knew that. You’d even seen it on tv. But to see it in front of you was honestly terrifying, especially in the nasty weather. You almost hoped Jason was playing some weird elaborate joke and was going to drive on by but he knew the passcode to the gate. He drove in the covered drop off spot by the front door and parked. You both quickly ran in the building.

The front entry was breathtaking. A gigantic Christmas tree and a full staircase decked out in garland like a Hallmark movie. It was like a magazine. In fact, it was in the Christmas episode of Gotham Life the year before.

You gripped Jason’s hand tightly as you walked down the hall. Your shoes sounded unnaturally loud and you had the urge to quiet them like it was a library. Jason pulled you to the doorway of a dinning room full of people settling to eat. Jadon cleared his throat.

“Master Jason! You made it,” Alfred said excitedly. “I recieved your message but it’s been many years. Sit. Sit.”

“Glad you could come,” Jason’s brother Dick said with a grin. He looked at you in curious excitement. You looked down at some kind of mushroom soup placed in front of you. Everyone else was dressed so nicely and ate so perfectly. It was intimidating.

“Yeah, it’s Christmas,” Jason said shrugging. He gave Dick a look that said don’t ask. It didn’t take much for Dick to drop it because he seemed incredibly distracted. You spent most of the meal trying to keep up on conversations you clearly didn’t understand while trying food you’ve never seen before. You could barely remember everyone you were introduced to. One of Jason’s sister(s?) gave you a big hug along with everyone else when she arrived. You couldn’t tell anyone what was even said after the meal. Or so you thought.

Until right across from you, Dick proposes to his girlfriend. He stuttered around before finally asking. “Will you marry me? Oh god, I have a ring,” he said producing one. Everyone watched as she stared in the box.

“Will I marry you?” She asked faintly and you worried she’d say no. How terrible would it be??

“Please say something,” he pleaded and you could tell the man was practically in pain before she said yes. They kissed, the family applauded, and champagne was served.

Jason watched you from the corner of his eyes. How did you react to this? What did you think? You didn’t look jealous or anything. It made Jason think of marriage. He hadn’t before. He’d thought about moving into something more permanent but marriage. He’d never thought about marriage as his future, ever. Of course when you die at 16 and come back with a vengeance, love is low on the priority list.

“Jaybird, you there,” you asked slightly tapping his shoulder. He blinked and looked at you.

“Yeah, I’m here. Just in my head,” he said and you nodded. He’d do that sometimes.

“The party is moving to the parlor,” you said quietly in a proper rich Gothamite voice and Jason huffed before covering his smiling mouth with a nose rub. The rest of the group was moving ahead of you. Dick and his new fiancé were retiring for the night.

“I’m never going to hear the end of it, am I?”

“I’m so sorry, dearest. I can’t understand you with a silver spoon in your mouth,” you laughed. Jason rolled his eyes before guiding your shoulders towards the door. You heard a soft laugh behind you and you turned to see Tim’s girlfriend smiling.

“Sorry to interrupt but I’ve got to use that on Tim,” she said grabbing her coat and walking out.

After making sure you were cool with hanging with Tim’s girlfriend and their adoptive sister Cass, Jason and Tim started a very competitive game of pool. You couldn’t help but look at things that cost more than you’ve ever even seen. The chess set Damian and his girlfriend were playing with probably cost more than your car.

But it was Christmas and you tried to push your insecurities aside. It was a fun evening. A glass of wine you kept sipping on helped as well.

After a while Bruce announced that the roads were too bad and that no one was leaving. Jason clenched his jaw for a second before looking at you and relaxing. He didn’t want to stay but he wasn’t risking your health in any way. Instead he focused on the game.

“So if I win,” Jason said a full hour later. By this time, Damian’s girlfriend had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Your eyes felt a little heavy as well. “I get the penthouse.”

“Sure Jay. That’s Bruce’s. But I’m willing to gamble it,” Tim said throwing his hands up at the ridiculousness.

“I accept terms,” Bruce said. Both boys looked at him surprised. “Whoever wins gets the penthouse.”

You turned quickly to watch the game. Okay, is that a normal thing for them? To bet property. The look on everyone’s face said that no it wasn’t normal.

Jason was excellent at pool. It was a common for you both to go down to the pool hall and play some games. Jason would occasionally make some money playing and he did often as a kid. It was also a way to waste time when your mom was throwing beers back like a fish, like Jason’s mother did. Tim didn’t stand a chance. He wasn’t as good and looked almost like he was in pain occasionally. But maybe it wasn’t a real competition? Maybe Bruce was trying to give Jason something he’d always want to but didn’t know how. Jason easily won the game.

“So the penthouse is mine?” Jason asked. Bruce nodded and shrugged. Tim softly coughed in his hand. Your heart raced. They couldn’t be serious.

“If you’ll live in it,” Bruce said. Damian was carefully carrying his girlfriend upstairs.

“Deal,” Jason says quickly.

“Deal,” Bruce said looking quiet pleased. Was this his plan all along?

“I guess, deal?” Tim said confused. “Though you should owe me. You’re the one that got me shot.”

Your brain broke. He was shot? And it was Jason’s fault?

“What?! You got him shot?” Tim’s girlfriend asked loudly. Tim blanched.

“Not my fault.”

“Literally your fault,” Tim countered.

“What did you do?” You asked looking at him suspiciously. He offered you a sheepish smile.

“I might have said ‘what are you gonna do, shoot us?’ I meant me. Not Tim! He also has a bulletproof suit,” Jason said. Tim must be a vigilante too. You glared at Jason.

“That’s not in the report,” Bruce said with his eyes narrowing.

“Good night everybody. Merry Christmas,” Jason said pulling you from the room and up to his childhood room.

“You’re in so much trouble,” you said and he grinned.

“I’ll deal with it tomorrow. How do you feel about a penthouse? Better than our current place hu?” Jason said pulling you close. You felt dizzy at the idea.

“Seriously? We can’t afford it,” you said trying to stay grounded. It was too good to be true. Things like that didn’t happen to people like you.

“I think I know a guy who can keep the lights on,” he joked and you gave him a serious look. “Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy the idea of constant hot water. Lights never going off,” Jason said pushing you towards the bed. “No one can hear me make you scream.”

“Tempting. Very tempting,” you said and of fucking course it was. A safe beautiful clean penthouse over your trashy scary apartment wasn’t even a contest. Jason pushed you on the bed and hovered over you.

“What are you doing,” you asked flushed but still encouraging him. It was still his dad’s house and he was getting handsy.

“Trying to have sex with my girlfriend on my old bed like every guy ever has dreamed of,” Jason said. He nipped at your throat. You gasped.

“Got to be quiet, Princess,” he whispered and you pulled him down to kiss more.

————————————

The next morning you woke to an empty bed. You fixed your hair as best you could and threw on Jason’s sweatshirt before going downstairs. You caught a glimpse of the kitchen as Bruce slowly slid a set of keys Jason’s way before taking a long drink from his coffee. “I’m glad you made home for Christmas this year, Jason.” The penthouse.

“Morning,” Bruce said to you nodding before leaving the room. Jason was alone in the kitchen but you could hear others in the breakfast nook a door over.

“Keys,” Jason said showing you. “And no lecture.”

You gave him a hug and looked at the shiny metal keys. It would be a while before you could handle the idea of a freaking penthouse being yours. “But you should get something for Tim. You did get him shot.”

“Let him shoot me?”

“Jason, no.”

[messymessyml]

Breaking and Entering

I'll be moving this one over to AO3 at some point (done, available here), but I'll start this off on Tumblr. This is a lighthearted, multi-chapter Jasonette story.

Summary:

Marinette is away from home when a curious visitor drops in. The kwami don't see any problem letting the man in; the question is: what will the guardian think when she realizes an intruder was in her house while she was gone?

Chapter 1 is below the cut.

Chapter 1: What did I come back to now?

Marinette felt a wave of relief hit her as her key turned smoothly in the lock. She was more than ready to unload her bags and take a well-deserved night in after a whirlwind week of consulting with clients in Metropolis. She’d decided to take Tikki and Sass with her and rent a hotel for the week as most of her clients were only available for early morning consultations, and while it was the most effective way to make sure she didn’t miss a meeting, she was glad to be back home.

Gotham may not be as glitzy or have as many potential clients as Metropolis, but it more than made up for that with the anonymity that Gotham allowed her. The local mentality of ‘take no shit’ and ‘mind your own damn business and I’ll mind mine’ allowed the kwami and her freedom that they wouldn’t get in Metropolis, a city crawling with news stations and a baffling love of all things mundane. Half the time when she visited Metropolis it felt like she had a target on her back; the paparazzi were worse in Metropolis than they ever were in her Parisian hero days and that held for her professional pseudonym as well as plain Marinette. It was a wonder that with so many news outlets (and Superman to report on for crying out loud) that she was still the topic of a news piece twice in the past week: once as MDC and once as plain old Marinette. In all seriousness was helping with a local tree planting event for Earth Day that newsworthy?

‘Enough of that’, she thought, realizing that although her door was now unlocked, she’d thought so much about arriving home that she hadn’t even fully opened her door. A slight twinge of embarrassment hit her. Carrying her tiny friends everywhere was always a blessing, but sometimes, she mused, it might be nice not to have an audience for every action she took—no matter how embarrassing.

Letting go of that train of thought, Marinette stepped through and closed her door behind her, feeling tension bleed out of her shoulders. The underlying scent of vanilla and blossom honey hit her nose as she strode over to the kitchen island. She set her bags to the side and took a hold of one of her swinging barstools with the intention to sit for a bit before making any attempt at dinner for the kwami and herself. Absently tracking the path Sass and Tikki took as they flew in the direction of the room where she kept the Miracle Box, she hesitated to sit as she noticed a slowly building feeling of unease hit her. Something, she thought, was off.

Sharpening her gaze and gripping the barstool a little tighter, Marinette scanned her apartment. At first glance, the living space looked unchanged from how she left it; the furniture was where it belonged, and her shelves and wall art were unmoved. As she looked closer though, she saw items around the house that were shifted a bit more than they would be if the kwami had decided to explore while she was away: the living room rug was centered, the dishes she had left to dry right before leaving the house a week ago were put away, and the barstool she was currently grasping was a bit more level than it had ever been, thrifted as it were. The kwami were a joy to interact with and an honor to serve as their guardian, but cleaners and tinkers they were not.

Marinette released her grip on the stool, rounding the kitchen island to open the cabinets. Like she thought, the dishes she had washed a week ago were put away and the towers of plates and bowls looked straighter than they were normally. Her gut churned as the beginning stages of worry started to fill her.

A chorus of greetings from behind her met her ears, disrupting her thoughts. Turning, Marinette saw the kwami flying towards her from the hallway.

“Marinette, did you have a nice trip?” Mullo squeaked.

“Guardian, I hope all went well on your trip. It is wonderful to have you back home.” Wayzz said.

The other kwami threw in their own noises and words of agreement, mirroring Wayzz’s welcome.

Marinette couldn’t help her small smile, replying, “My trip went well, and I am happy to be back here with you all.” She paused, hesitating before she asked, “Did anything happen while we were away?”

“Not much, Pigtails.” Plagg swam leisurely into view, tailed closely by Tikki, both twirling as they approached. “Some fighting outside, and a bit of a showdown on rooftops at the end of the block, but no damage to our building.”

Wayzz intercepted Plagg’s path, floating into the center of her vision to say, “That may be true, Plagg; however, one of the combatants took a breather on our balcony by using the garden for cover. He didn’t seem injured, but he was breathing heavier than was wise. Most of us hid in the box while I continued to strengthen the wards on the outer walls and windows.”

Marinette interrupted, “No one entered the apartment?”

Wayzz hesitated, then said “The man stayed hidden as best he could, but he was quite large, and I could feel the shifting balance; if he stayed on the balcony, he would have drawn fire here. I strengthened the barrier outwards then loosened the barrier on the balcony doors, undid the latch for him, and asked Trixx to hide us from view. He had a protector’s spirit and none of us could feel an intent to harm any but the ones he’d been fighting outside. I am sorry, Guardian, for making this decision without your input.”

Marinette took a deep breath to fend off the impending tension headache, unclenching the hand she had used to subconsciously gripped her other wrist. She loosened the muscles around her eyes to soften her gaze. “It’s alright, Wayzz. I wasn’t there, and I trust your intuition. What did he do?”

“He seemed distrustful of the open door at first but ended up entering almost silently and quickly moved to scan the apartment.”

Trixx added, “I made sure he could not see the Miracle Box and that he was not visible from the outside at any point, but he stayed away from the windows for the most part.”

Roarr piped in, “He has a fierce spirit, and I agree with Wayzz that he has a strong protective streak.”

She heard some murmurs of agreement from the other kwami, some of them breaking out into small discussion pertaining to the man’s character. “If so many of you saw him, did you leave the Miracle Box then? What did you see?” Desperately, Marinette wished that the immortal beings she called friends could get to the points.

“Some of us came out to see, but most of us stayed in the box. Trixx’s illusions held; he didn’t see or hear any of us.” Barkk confirmed.

“Yes, he mostly stayed in the living room. He sat right here for a while!” Saying this, Pollen surged towards the end of the couch, landing with their back to the armrest in a bored sprawl. “Like this!”

Plagg, swaying upside down near the ceiling, lazily added, “He wasn’t much fun. All he did was check his guns then started cleaning the place. Boring.”

“Guns?! Cleaning? Why?” Alarmed, Marinette’s heartbeat started to pound at the picture painted by the kwami. They had let a large combatant enter her apartment and all he did was inspect his guns and clean??? ‘This can’t be real’, she thought. ‘Was I caught up in one of Scarecrow’s attacks on the way home?’

“He had good manners at the least.” Kaalki sniffed. “His gear smelled of money and he fixed that stool of yours that never would have entered the premises if you had listened to me from the start. At least now it isn’t horrendously squeaky.”

“Hey!” Mullo protested.

Kaalki just turned away.

“He needed the protection.” Wayzz apologetically said. “He didn’t seem interested in your workroom and he wouldn’t have been able to find the box, so we observed. He cleaned a bit and left after checking that the coast was clear outside.”

Marinette allowed her shoulders to sag. “Alright. If you’re sure.” Glancing around, she gave the kwami a smile, eyes hesitating on the glass doors leading to the balcony, she absently added, “Thank you for keeping an eye on things while I was gone.”

Striding over to the doors leading out to the balcony, she peered out. Nothing seemed out of place out here, but she couldn’t be certain. Checking the door handles, she noticed that one of the kwami or her mystery visitor must have relatched the lock. Unlocking it, she stepped out and went to sit at her patio table. Leaning back in her chair, she let her head tip back to view the sunset, partially obscured by the balcony two floors above her own. Her apartment building had mostly staggered the balconies to allow more light to reach its inhabitants, a must in Gotham’s dreary weather.

After a few moments, she let her head droop forward to land in her hands. As much as she loved them, the kwami’s survival instincts always seemed at odds with hers. She couldn’t tell whether that was due to her anxiety amplifying everything past the point of reason or that the kwami’s inherent existence rendering most danger obsolete, but while some intruder might not be a danger to beings that could turn intangible and invisible at will, she was definitely a bit more breakable (‘Mortal’, her brain whispered) than them. If she had been here? Who knows how that visit might have gone?

Taking a few more minutes to calm her body’s response, a few deep breaths, and a moment or two of gratitude that nothing bad had happened, she straightened a bit as the evening wind started to pick up and a splash of white started to flutter at the edge of her vision. Glancing up, her eye caught on a piece of paper at the other end of the table that was weighted down with a rock she had decorated a while back with paintings of ladybugs and cats playfully chasing each other across a meadow. That particular rock usually spent time in the catnip bed Plagg had insisted on and Tikki had seconded as a nod to both kwami. Curious, she reached out and grabbed the sheet of paper underneath. Opening it, she read:

Dear Stranger,

I was in a bit of a tight spot and hanging around your balcony when your door swung open. Haunted house, much? Hope you don’t mind, but I ended up using your house as a temporary safe house while you were gone. Don’t worry, I made sure no one saw me entering or exiting, so you shouldn’t have any problems from the type of shit that follows me.

On the topic of haunted houses, are you sure yours isn’t haunted? Your house is unnervingly the calmest- and safest-feeling place I’ve been in a while, but I kept seeing blurs out of the corner of my eye and I was NOT concussed. Might want to talk to someone about that.

I ended up tidying a bit while you were gone, hope you don’t mind. Fairs fair, you (unknowingly, I know) lent me a place to stay, I tidied up a bit. Stay out of trouble, alright?

Cheers,

- Red Hood

The Red Hood? The RED HOOD is who they let into the house? For kwami’s sake, what were they thinking?!?

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Make A Scene

AMHL – Masterlist

Dick immediately noticed when Y/N started getting quieter and quieter as they got closer and closer to the venue.

Bruce had hired a driver to pick them up from their apartment in Gotham. And the car had gone quiet now. 

Dick reached over to gently hold her hand.

“Nervous?” He asked.

Y/N shrugged, not really seeing the point in trying to lie to her boyfriend.

“This isn’t your first rodeo, ya know.”

She gave him a look. “You know that wasn’t the same.” Her eyes flickered to the driver. “I wasn’t exactly…myself. And I wasn’t your girlfriend.”

Also, tonight they didn’t have the security and comfort of being at Wayne Manor.

No, instead this particular event was being held at the ballroom of Gotham’s most extravagant five-star hotel. It was a party for Wayne Enterprises, not a personal charity or party of the Wayne family.

Bruce had kindly asked Dick and Y/N to attend when board members and business partners started asking if the whole family would be attending. Jason hadn’t answered anyone’s calls or texts about it. None of them expected him to show up. Tim had to attend since he worked for Wayne Enterprises. And Damian…Well, Damian was his father’s son and not yet an adult. He basically had to do whatever Bruce asked of him while he lived under his roof.

“I’m not gonna leave your side,” Dick promised.

He squeezed her hand to further emphasize it.

Their car pulled up to the carpet at the bottom of the stairs.

There had to be a hundred journalists and photographers, along with random civilians who had nothing better to do than to see Gotham’s elite get out of cars and walk into a hotel.

Dick took in a deep breath.

Thankfully the car’s windows were tinted and protected them from any onlookers.

“Ready?” He asked her.

She nodded.

Dick opened the door and ignored the screams and flashes as he carefully helped Y/N out of the car with his offered hand. He also shielded her from the photographers to give her a moment to get out and adjust herself before they could capture any photos of her.

“Mr. Grayson! Mr. Grayson! Who is your mystery girlfriend?” Someone yelled.

Sometimes Y/N forgot that Dick was somewhat of a celebrity in Gotham City through association.

It wasn’t like people were asking for selfies everywhere he went. Or that the paparazzi were following his every move.

But in Gotham, people took note of where Dick Grayson went and who he was with.

And everyone noticed he’d had the same woman on his arm for quite some time now.

Even though Y/N and Dick had been dating for over a year, the media still couldn’t figure out Y/N’s identity. 

What they didn’t realize was that she controlled every single piece of information about herself that lived on the internet.

They didn’t stand a chance. 

Dick smiled and waved at people who called his name. But his hand other hand never left Y/N’s as he helped her up the stairs.

“Who are you wearing?” A female journalist yelled at Y/N.

She ignored them and focused on getting up the stairs without tripping and face planting. Not that Dick would ever let that happen.

However, she knew her outfit was going to draw gazes.

Y/N had made a promise to herself that if she was going to be forced to attend events like this with Dick, then she was going make a statement. People were already going to be staring at her, so she figured she might as well give them something good to stare at.

Instead of wearing a typical cocktail and formal dress, Y/N wore a full men’s suit that was tailored to perfection, but with the bowtie undone. It was what the fashion magazines would describe as “androgynous” in the press tomorrow morning.

Y/N wanted to control her own narrative. And she’d rather be judged for her bold decisions than just her trying to blend in.

Bruce insisted on paying for all the boys’ date’s dresses – in this case, suit – if they happened to bring one. He always thought it was more of an incentive for them to attend these terrible events if he encouraged them to bring significant others. And the press always had a field day with it, which only helped throw people of their trail when it came to their secret lives as vigilantes.

Everyone kept screaming Dick’s name as they walked in, and Y/N wondered how he got so good at smiling through the chaos and ignoring them.

Once they were inside, Dick felt the tension leave Y/N’s body a bit.

“Alcohol?” He offered with a smirk.

“Yes, please.”

He nodded, knowing it was exactly what she needed.

Quickly, he grabbed two champagne flutes off a passing waiter.

They clinked glasses.

Then he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Thank you for being my date.”

Y/N smiled at his sincerity.

Dick sighed before he threw back the champagne, “The quicker we find Bruce and prove we were here, the sooner we can leave.”

“Try not to sound so excited,” she laughed darkly.

Suddenly felt a small human wrap around her thighs.

Y/N gasped in excitement, “Dami!”

Dick smiled as he looked down at his 10-year-old brother hugging his girlfriend.

“Dick gave me the drawing you made for us. It’s so beautiful. I’m trying to find the perfect frame for it,” she told the boy.

Damian beamed with pride at that.

Suddenly the boy started asking a million questions about Stoker, one of his kittens that he’d given to them to take care of when Bruce gave a limit to how many cats Damian was allowed to have in the manor.

Then, to Dick’s shock, he saw Jason slowly walk over to them with his hands in his pant pockets.

He was not at all dressed nice enough for the event. No suit jacket. No tie. His white button-up shirt wrinkled, messily tucked into his pants, and with two many buttons undone. The sloppiness of it all clearly wasn’t an issue with the women, seeing as all of them were ogling Jason.

“Todd,” Damian greeted coldly, pausing his conversation with Y/N, who whipped around at the name.

“Hey, you,” Y/N smiled as she went to greet him.

Jason gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek and a quick hug.

“I really didn’t think you were coming,” Dick told his brother.

“Well, I wasn’t. But I got a business engagement.”

Y/N and Dick shared a confused look.

“What do you mean?” Dick asked.

“I found my neighbor crying on her fire escape a few nights ago. Apparently… one of the finance bros of Wayne fucking Enterprises was everything but a gentleman to her.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in realization. “J, I already took care of that.”

“I know,” Jason nodded as his eyes scanned the room. He was clearly on a personal mission tonight. “You deleted the evidence. I am teaching him a lesson.”

Dick slowly put together what they were implying.

“Oh, please don’t make a scene, Jason.” Dick begged him.

Because he knew Bruce wouldn’t be dealing with the aftermath; it would be him.

“Don’t worry!” Jason laughed. "I’m gonna take him outside before I beat the shit out of him. No one here will even notice. It’ll be fine,” Jason assured him as he gave Dick a far too heavy slap on the back.

“Just tell Bruce and he’ll get him fired,” Dick tried to convince him to take the less violent route.

“Oh, we already did,” Y/N muttered.

Dick’s gaze shot to his girlfriend.

“He’s getting fired on Monday,” she clarified sheepishly.

“Since when do the two of you work together behind my back?” Dick accused them.

But he wasn’t actually mad about anything – maybe just a little bit bitter.

Jason opened his mouth.

“I swear to God, Jason, if you say ‘club business,’ I will lose it…” Dick warned.

Y/N tried to hide her smile.

“Got him,” Jason growled as he glared at someone on the other side of the room.

As soon as he left them, Dick gave Y/N his full attention.

“Seriously?” He accused.

“I’m sorry! He asked me for a favor and I was happy to do it once I realized what it was,” Y/N defended.

Dick pouted a little. Mostly because he hated being left out.

“Don’t worry, ya big baby. I’m still your ‘guy in the chair’ and no one else’s,” she teased before giving him a kiss, immediately wiping the lipstick off his lips.

“How come Jason gets to beat up people at events like this, but I’m expected to behave like a well-trained dog?” Damian mumbled.

Dick sighed and shook his head.

“Jason likes to think he’s a lone wolf who doesn’t have to play by the rules,” Y/N tried to comfort the boy.

To distract Damian from getting further into how unfair it was, Y/N asked him to show her more of his drawings.

This seemed to please Damian and he pulled his phone out, flipping through photos and showing Y/N his recent sketches.

With Y/N being entertained by his youngest brother, Dick decided to go to the bar and get the two of them a stronger drink and maybe get a kiddie cocktail for Damian. He’d pretend to be patronized and annoyed by it, but Dick knew better.

He patiently waited for the bartender’s attention. 

“So Gotham’s Golden Boy really has returned…” a husky voice uttered beside him at the bar.

Dick glanced over to see a beautiful woman close to his age eyeing him.

It was clear what she wanted. Dick used tactics like this on countless missions.

“So I have,” he answered.

He was polite, but distant.

Women hitting on him at events like this was nothing new. To Gotham, Dick Grayson was a Bruce Wayne 2.0 – younger, just as charming and handsome as his mentor and stand-in father figure. 

Dick knew how to play the game. But he never had any interest in casual relationships like Bruce did.

“Back for good?” The woman persisted.

“My girlfriend and I are just in town for a few weeks,” he answered before ordering his drinks with the bartender finally.

“Oh, brought up the girlfriend rather quickly,” she laughed.

Dick quirked an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s just…my friends and I had a bet going.”

Then she pointed to a group of three young women, who were giggling and smiling, not even trying to pretend like they weren’t watching them closely.

“Oh, yeah?” Dick asked, already tired of this conversation.

--

Jason had already rejoined Y/N and Damian.

Y/N looked down to see his knuckles red with irritation and bruised.

“Please tell me there’s not a corpse in the alley behind this hotel now…” Y/N sighed.

“No,” Jason answered coldly. “Though there fucking should be.”

“What did he do?” Damian asked curiously, clearly he hadn’t been listening to their earlier conversation that closely.

Y/N shifted her weight in discomfort, not sure how to handle the subject with the boy. Yes, Damian was far more mature than many grown men, but he was still just a kid. There were some things Y/N felt like they should at least try to protect him from still. 

“He got my neighbor too drunk to consent, filmed them having sex without her knowing it, and then showed it to a bunch of people at their work,” Jason answered bluntly.

Damian’s brow furrowed, clearly thinking long and hard about what his brother just told him.

After a moment, the boy perked up, “I know where we could hide the body so even father won’t find out.”

“Damian!” Y/N scolded.

But Jason was beaming.

Y/N looked around for Dick, hoping to find another sane person to stop the two boys from actually murdering anyone tonight.

But when she finally spotted him, she saw a woman standing far too close to Dick and pointing to a group of girls who flirtatiously waved and winked at both of them.

“Real cute,” Y/N muttered to herself.

“Vultures,” Damian growled as he followed her gaze.

“Jason, if I leave you alone with Damian, are you going to kill someone?” She asked without taking her eyes off her boyfriend.

“I don’t need to be watched,” Damian groaned.

“No, I need you to watch Jason to make sure he doesn’t change his mind about keeping that asshole alive.”

“Fine,” Damian whined.

Without any further confirmation, Y/N left them. 

She walked across the party on a mission, never taking her stare off of her boyfriend.

Dick did a double take when he noticed her heading towards him.

“Hey,” he greeted innocently.

Because he was innocent. All he’d done was be polite to a bunch of women who were after him for his name…and maybe his good looks.

“I was wondering where my drink was,” Y/N said with a surprising calmness and smile.

Then she turned to the woman. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N. You must be a friend of Dick’s.” 

She held her hand out.

No cattiness. No rudeness.

Y/N said it with the same kindness that drunk women having with other drunk women in bar bathrooms.

“Oh…I’m Irina,” the woman stuttered as she took Y/N’s offered hand, clearly confused by Y/N’s niceness.

Dick held out her drink.

Y/N took it, quickly clinked her glass with both Dick and Irina.

“Cheers,” she sang before tossing it back and chugging the drink that was meant to be slowly sipped.

Dick didn’t know what game his girlfriend was playing, but he was intrigued.

Once Y/N lightly placed her empty glass back on the bar, she turned to Dick and tilted her head to the side. “Could you show me to the bathrooms? I have no idea where they are.”

“Of course,” Dick answered without knowing where this was going.

“It was nice meeting you, Irina,” Y/N told the woman as she linked her fingers with Dick’s and guided him away.

—

Meanwhile, Jason watched the interaction as if he were watching an award-winning movie. Him and Damian were way too far to hear, but everyone in the bat family could read lips more than fluently.

Then Jason smirked as he watched Y/N drag Dick away.

“Boys,” Bruce greeted as he snuck up on the two of them. “What are we staring at?”

“Oh, you know,” Jason hummed with hilarity, “just watching Y/N assert her dominance.”

“Good for her,” Bruce grinned as he realized what was happening.

He moved his attention to his youngest boy. “Alfred is waiting outside with the car. You’re officially released from your duties.”

“Finally,” Damian groaned.

“Don’t you wanna say bye to Y/N?” Jason asked.

“They’re coming to the manor tomorrow afternoon,” Bruce answered for his son. Then he raised a brow at Jason. “You’re welcome to join us.”

Jason’s only response was a shrug.

Bruce tried to hide his disappointment and nodded before he guided Damian away and walked him outside, where Alfred was waiting.

10 minutes later, Jason saw Dick trailing behind Y/N as she walked back to the main area of the event.

Jason burst out laughing at the spectacle. 

Dick’s hair was an absolute mess. Half of his shirt was untucked. His jacket was draped over his forearm. His lips were swollen and pink. Y/N had left lipstick all over his neck and even a bit on the collar of his shirt.

Yet somehow not a single hair was out of place on Y/N and her makeup was still immaculate. Her outfit was just as sleek and clean as when she’d arrived. The only thing different was the proud smirk on her lips.

Clearly Y/N had just had her way with Dick.

But she wanted to make sure the whole party knew about it.

—

Y/N hadn’t said a word to Dick since she dragged him from that woman.

Her body did all the talking.

One second they were at the bathroom doors, the next Y/N had thrown him against the tiled wall after locking the bathroom door.

She gave no verbal explanation, just started kissing him and undoing his pants.

“Not that I’m complaining. Like, at all,” Dick laughed as they rejoined the party. “But wanna to tell me what that was all about?”

Y/N finally stopped walking and turned to face him with narrowed eyes. “I think you know, Richard.”

Y/N only ever used his full first name to provoke and tease him. And he hated that it worked every single time.

Dick glanced around to see that everyone in their vicinity was eyeing them. Well, they were mostly eyeing him and how it was clear he’d just been fucked in the bathroom.

He stepped close to her and lowered his voice, “Ohhh, I see how it is.” His eyes flickered down to her lips for a split second. “If a guy does that, he’s jealous and possessive. But if a woman does it, it’s sexy…”

Y/N proudly smiled like the cheshire cat. “Exactly.”

Something over his shoulder caught her attention. “Oh, I see Tim. I’m going to go say hi.”

Without hesitation, she brushed past him.

Dick let his head fall, put his hands on his hips, and laughed.

He’d pay her back later tonight. And by ‘pay her back,’ he would just tell her how incredibly hot her behavior had been and basically invite her to do it whenever she damn well pleased.

Dick felt a presence beside him, and he didn’t have to raise his head to know it was Bruce.

“Hey,” Dick greeted him nonchalantly.

“You have lipstick all over your neck,” Bruce told him as he took a sip of his drink and looked around the party. “And your zippers down.”

“Sure is,” Dick sighed.

--------------------------

OK. This was way too fun to write. 

Let me know what you think!!!

ALL BONUS CONTENT CAN BE FOUND: HERE

[legends-live-in-memories]

Alleyway Altercation

Ayo its yah boi! I come with part two of a one shot i had no intention of writing a sequel to but yuh know shit happens.

part one is here called Rooftop Rendezvous 

Edit: AO3 link here!

enjoy 2k words of timari getting down and dirty in an alleyway. this is spicy 🥵 so be warned and read at your own risk.

summary:

“After a pendant is stolen from Gotham Museum, Red Robin has a unique method of getting it back.” -Timari, 2.2k words

without further ado

His feet hit the pavement running in hot pursuit of his target. Oracle had gotten the notification when a silent alarm was triggered from the museum and had assigned him and Robin to intercept the thief. To cover more ground, he had sent Robin around the east end to cut off the thief while he brought up the rear from the south side. At least, that’s what he told them were his intentions. In truth, he planned to confront his little problem personally. Privately. He always finishes what he started after all. 

He ducks into an alleyway that’s enclosed by short apartment buildings and waits. He knows his target will join him soon enough. He hears his brother in his ear, demanding more information from Oracle on Karma’s whereabouts and immediately decides to mute his comm piece. He doesn’t need any distractions or intruders tonight.

The action seems to have been the invitation his target needed because no sooner is she dropping into the alleyway before him. She blocks the only exit. It’s a declaration that the only way he’s getting out of here is through her. He’s more than happy to oblige.

“Words on the street’s that you’ve been looking for me, tweety bird.” Her voice, even muffled by her mask, is light and jovial. She struts slowly towards him, clearly she thinks they have all the time in the world. “I’m honoured, truly, to have caught your interest.” She’s in his space now, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. 

He grabs her wrist and spins her so that she’s face first into the nearest wall. He pins both arms behind her back and cuffs her but doesn’t ease up on the pressure he’s forcing on her back. Tilting his head low, he whispers directly into her ear.

“You seem to have confused ‘Person of Interest’ with an ‘Interesting Person,’” he presses his hips harder into her, and trails a hand down her side, mapping her figure. 

“Why can’t I be both?” Her voice is painted with glee and she wiggles her hips against him, the sensation getting a reaction out of both of them. After mapping her frame, he removes her mask and discards it behind them.

“You have got to stop doing that,” her exasperated huff and eye-roll would be quite adorable if it weren’t for their situation. “That mask wasn’t cheap.”

“Yeah? Well neither was the pendant you stole. Now, where is it?” There weren’t many places on her person that she could have kept it and he needs to find it to return it.

“You have to find it, tweety.” She pushed against his hips once more and he returned the gesture with a roll of his own, letting her feel exactly what effect she has on him. She lowers her voice in a whisper so low he wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t breathing in every exhale she released. “I hid it with you in mind.”

With that he turned her to face him and raked his eyes over her appearance. Her pants that looked practically painted on her was an impossible place for any jewellery to hide. Clearly appreciating the attention, she surged up and captured his lips in a surprisingly soft kiss. It was feather light and as soft as fresh snow. The tenderness had him frozen in place and it was the hesitation she needed to swing a kick at his face. If it weren’t for years of experience he would have never been able to duck under her attack. He stepped back out of her range and she used the distance to jump up and swing her cuffed hands, bringing them in front of her. Before she could keep her upper hand he charged and pressed her back against the wall, once again eliminating the space he had put between them. He’s pinning her by her shoulders and her hands have found purchase on his second belt that hangs low on his waist.

He leans down and catches her lips in a biting kiss that’s more teeth than anything else. She gasps into his mouth and he swallows her moans like a starving man. Not one to be kept idle, she sneaks her nimble fingers to the hidden latches on his belt and unclasps them. The crackle of the material hitting the pavement has him recoiling at the idea of any possible scratches he won’t be able to explain with his dignity intact. Her smirk is filled with spite, indicating she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Be careful. That’s custom-made and expensive.” The hypocrisy is not lost on him, rest assured.

“Oh? Pity. Call it karma then.” 

“Hilarious.”

“Aren’t I?” 

Before he can retort, she’s tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth and sneaking a hand down under the layers of his suit. He bucks and rolls his hips and the attention even through the cup that covers his crotch. A hand that held her shoulders in place sneaks down to her back to graze her exposed flesh and he teases a finger between her skin and the waist of her pants. She removes the cup swiftly, and discards it with his belt pathetically by their feet. Her hand returns and her fingers grip him with unmatched enthusiasm. He hisses at the contact of her gloves on his bare skin and pants against her lips like a hapless dog. Ever the opportunist, she sneaks her tongue into his awaiting mouth and maps out the surface, giving herself a full taste of him. She begins to stroke his length and the sudden rush of pleasure nearly brings him to his knees. He follows her lead, grinding into the motion of her hands while squeezing a hand between the tight fabric of her pants and her ass. He slips a leg between her parted thighs and encourages her to rut against him. She breaks their kiss, which was more heated panting than anything else, and throws her head back at the attention. Her rhythm on his length falters and her grip tightens in reflex and it’s the best thing he’s felt his entire life. He takes advantage of her exposed neck and bites a small but sharp bruise into the juncture that connects to her shoulder. He stays there, sucking and licking until the bruise is a dark purple. Then he leaves another. And another. 

Due to the lack of mobility in her arms, she uses her unoccupied hand to drag him closer by the waist of his pants, so much closer that her front is pressing into the knuckles of the hand stroking him to completion. He can feel her thighs twitch at the contact and he knows the night is coming to an end soon. His hand that’s still clutching her shoulder slips down her chest and grips her right breast softly. Her moans are music to his ears and he keeps up the ministrations, palming her gently. It’s a total juxtaposition to the rough pace her hips has set against the meat of his thigh and it has her begging for more. Her hand grips him even tighter, it’s almost painful but he pays it no mind because her grip is slick with precum and the texture of her glove is both heavenly and hellish in nature. He has to take several steadying breaths to not finish too early. He switches attention from one breast to the other and tightens his hold on her. 

He feels the indent of something pressing into his palm closer to her left armpit so he slips his hand under top, hiking it above the curve of her cleavage. He almost swallows his tongue at the sight before him. Her bra, which had to be handmade, was a soft black lace with a distinct yellow bird outline on the left cup. It was Red Robin themed. He groaned in appreciation and his thigh pressed further into her core. The rhythm of his hips stutters and the obscene squelch of her hand on him would be almost embarrassing if he weren’t still hung up on the obvious claim she staked on him. Her other hand has joined the first down his pants and reaches to stroke his tightening balls. His knees buckle and he raises a leg to steady himself, unintentionally forcing her down more onto his leg. He brings his lips to the space between her breasts and licks a broad strip against her skin. The slight salt of sweat and tang of perfume leaves him reeling. 

Before he loses himself completely, he palms her left breast again, pausing slightly over his symbol and he remembers the indent he felt earlier. Her earlier words sprung back to his mind. I hid it with you in mind the little minx had said. His hand goes under the fabric of her bra and he feels for what he hopes is the stolen pendant. The woman underneath him is a sight to behold; her head almost crashing against the brick wall, her hands down his pants stroking him like it’s the only thing she can do and chasing her release against his thigh. He wishes he had his camera to capture the absolute vision before him. He pockets the necklace before she notices and returns to his earlier ministrations, devoting his full attention where it needs to be. He bends further into her and brings his lips to one of her now exposed nipples with his hand grasping the other. She screams out at the flood of pleasure and grinds insistently on his thigh. She speeds up her strokes and twists her hands just so that has him tumbling into an orgasm. It takes him completely by surprise and he bites down on her in his euphoria. The hand he’s had on her ass this entire time slips further into her pants and feels for her center. She ruts back on his fingers, his gloved digits grazing her most intimate part, and the attention there is what finally brings her over the edge. A rush of warmth envelops his fingers and she shudders against him in ecstasy. Her moans are wanton and she heaves desperately into the night. She brings him back into another searing kiss and he’s almost certain she’s drawn blood at this point. He doesn’t find it in himself to care. 

The kiss cools down into something sweet and teasing with them parting with a hair’s width of space between them. Looking him directly into his masked eyes, she brings her now uncuffed hands to her lips and sucks her fingers clean. He has no idea when she got out of the handcuffs nor when she slipped her hands out of his pants but he’s too focused on her mouth to care about logistics. The sight has him twitching in his pants but they don’t have enough time for another round. Not when he has what he came for. Literally. 

He detangles her from himself, sliding his hands out from under her outfit. They don’t speak; just taking in the sight of each other, debauched and satisfied. In an unusual act of gentleness, he strokes the back of head, feeling her hair flow through his fingers and presses a kiss to her sweaty forehead. Her eyes blow wide at the soft intimacy and her cheeks flush to an adorable rosy colour. He sighs and steps out of her space, leaving her braced against the wall as he reaches for his cup and belt. In the midst of him adjusting his appearance he sees her reach for her mask out the corner of his eye. Her moves are slow and unfocused, probably taken aback from his tender display of affection. 

Their night has come to an end but neither are eager to part ways just yet. Something was different tonight from their regular run-ins with each other but no one was actually going to breach the subject matter. Their pride wouldn’t let them. Sighing, Red Robin sets out his grapple but before he could launch himself onto the nearest roof, Karma takes him by surprise yet again.

“Marinette.” Her voice is low and hesitant, as if she were afraid of her own voice. His silence was an answer enough and she continued unprompted.

“That’s my name, detective. Figure out the rest.” Just like that, she’s gone into the open street, leaving him behind once again to chase after her. Another day his mind reminds him.

Finally climbing to the roof, he freezes in place at the sight of the younger Robin perched with his back to him on the opposite ledge. Before he can trip over himself in explanation, his brother barely turns and regards him with open disdain.

“I hope you’re satisfied. You and your libido let her get away again.” The disgust was layered with a touch of embarrassment, probably from walking in on his older brother getting laid in a dirty alleyway.

“Me and my libido got the stolen pendant. Who cares about how I did it?” He showed off the acquired jewel, hoping his success would stop his brother from judging him within an inch of his life. Besides, he has no time to care about proper protocol when he was just given a clue on how to find his little minx.

Two can play this game, Karma. Or should he say, Marinette. 

[bigskydreaming]

Tom is already rehashing some things, like too many homages to the nineties run, Zucco's daughter plot point, Beatrice had ideas for societal reform he's taking that and giving it to Dick. It'll probably be half hearted, but it stings that Beatrice left just a few issues ago and she's already completely forgotten for the sake of DickBabs or a love triangle.

Like the thing about the nineties runs is I mean, as much flack as we give various elements of them, there’s so much from that time period that was good? Great, even! Just....myself and the writers seem to have very different opinions on what the most interesting elements of the nineties comics were, oh well.

And omgggggg I’m still so mad about Bea, and its literally Shawn Tsang all over again. The writers keep introducing new, interesting characters, investing just enough time and focus into them to have us interested in them and wanting to see more.....and then they toss them aside to go back to drawing from the same well as always.

And the thing is, this isn’t even about me not really being a Dick/Babs shipper, because honestly, I’m not enjoying the Dick/Kory stuff in what I’ve seen of Titans Academy either, and for the exact same reason:

When they create new characters like Shawn and Bea, they KNOW they’re starting from scratch and need to build interest in those characters from the ground up. So they’re forced to put their best foot forward. There’s no short cut there, if you want people to care about a brand new character you have to give them REASONS to care. You have to make those characters likable, you have to make people WANT to root for them, you have to hook them with intriguing backstories that don’t feel formulaic and new angles that don’t feel just derivative of older characters, and that’s how we got stuff like Shawn’s history as a former sidekick to a villain and now running a support group for rogues trying to turn their lives around, and Bea’s work in societal reform.

But then the second they stop having the patience to build the new characters up enough that the interest in them can actually start to reach the levels that lets older characters last and grants longevity....they just toss them aside and move on....except they never really move on, just backwards. Because the problem with so MANY superhero couples, far from just Dick and Babs or Dick and Kory, is just....how lazy it seems to make so many canon writers. They just fall back on rehashing the same old tropes and just updating popular moments that resonated with fans in the past, now just recreated with a slightly more modern twist but without ever really being anything new. 

Even with ships that I’ve never really been sold on in the past like Dick/Babs, I’ve always said, there’s usually nothing stopping me from GAINING interest in them.....its just....the writers have to GIVE ME A REASON TO. And so many of DC’s writers just aren’t even trying. They’re just moving parts around and pushing characters together in various arrangements like everyone’s just a puzzle piece that you can mix and match however you want......and then just basically expecting readers to be interested purely because of who the characters are, or because it hinges on a nice moment that they then milk the hell out of without ever expanding that into building actual STORY around these moments but rather just squeezing each one til they get everything they possibly can out of it and moving on to the next as though its all just about chasing the next soundbite...because it is! LOL.

And honestly, this problem extends far beyond just the Nightwing title or the Batfam or Taylor’s run or writing in particular.....its a company wide issue right now. In fact I would bet just about anything that its a matter of editorial edict, that even before Taylor started his run DC said okay here’s the approach we want everyone taking with their stories right now:

And that’s like.....its all about banking on nostalgia and the comfort of the familiar right now. I think Taylor is drawing all these elements straight from the 90s Nightwing comics, like Blockbuster and Dick having been a cop, etc, because these are the elements of past Nightwing stories that are so well known. Its the same reasoning behind why they put Tim back as Robin and so many of their new characters are just new spins on old faves like Punchline and Harley Quinn, and why they’re pushing all these older ships that haven’t been together in ages and why specific team lineups are reappearing....its because nostalgia is the name of the game for DC right now, and all their writers are just pulling together threads of classic stories that have stood the test of time, figuring anything that landed particularly well with fans in the past will sell with people here and now, and weaving these threads together and brushing over them with a modern social issues veneer. 

As an approach, its basically all just about repackaging previously successful story moments and elements with just enough changes or in just new enough a configuration that readers aren’t likely to complain en masse that like “hey we literally already read all this. We’ve already BOUGHT these issues. When we were kids.” Its minimizing creative risk while maximizing monetary profit. Spend as little creative capital as possible outside of anything that’s already been successful in the past and as such is a relatively proven quantity, instead of testing new material that’s an unknown and runs the risk of falling flat and thus not being profitable.

And see, I’d almost guarantee that all THAT, that whole line-wide approach to DC’s storytelling, is because the powers that be looked at the last several years of stories and how many of THEM fell flat with readers, and decided that the problem was they’d BEEN trying too much new stuff and readers just didn’t like it. Because they WERE concentrating on presenting totally new stories and building up new ideas throughout their books.....but readers have been pretty vocal for years now about being disenchanted with most of DC’s major stories. And so DC I think looked at that and came to the conclusion that okay, people just don’t want new right now, they want the familiar.

But like.....DC’s problem IMO was never that they were trying new stuff? The reason so much of their new and original storylines weren’t gaining traction or bringing in readers and kept shedding old readers had absolutely NOTHING to do with them being new and previously unseen storylines, which makes falling back on nostalgia very much a non-solution to entirely the wrong problem.

No, DC’s problem for years has been that they’ve been all about spectacle instead of story. There’s ZERO emotional pay-off to any of their biggest plot twists or character beats, and emotion is LITERALLY what people read stories for. Its all about racing to the climactic action packed finish of every storyline and then immediately resetting everyone back to square one and jumping straight into the next big story, without ever giving the events of any of their stories time or reason to MATTER to the characters.....and if they don’t matter to the characters, our proxies that we’re viewing these stories through, then why should any of it matter to us? Why should any of it linger, dig in roots, resonate with us as moments that left an impact and that we accordingly want more of?

And again, like because I’m a Dick Grayson focused blog I’ve obviously largely been focused on how much I dislike the SPECIFIC reactions or non-reactions to so many of the major beats in his stories.....but it was spread throughout their entire line.

Bruce and Selina almost got married....but why should anyone care outside of Tom King’s title when nobody else seems to, no other characters feel anything about this, and Bruce in none of his other appearances seems the same as ever without any reminder that he just almost got married but then didn’t.....and if the characters don’t ever seem to be affected by or feeling a need to revisit or reflect on recent stories, why should we bother remembering them either? 

Jason was dramatically and fucked-upily (yes its a word, I totally looked it up and everything) exiled from Gotham....and then all of that is undone in a single issue with one low-stakes awkward conversation between him and Bruce. Damian quits as Robin and goes off the map and everyone in his family is like “hey don’t we have a littler brother, I feel like we did maybe” for one panel per story arc, and that’s it. Roy’s back from the dead and everybody’s like oh hey cool instead of the kind of return we used to get like when Donna came back and everyone was like oh shit, this MATTERS, because we MISSED you....just like Dick’s death never mattered to anyone but fans of his character because much like I was just saying earlier with them not really giving me a reason TO emotionally invest in Dick and Babs’ relationship if I wasn’t already, same thing with the aftermath of Forever Evil. They didn’t give anyone else reason to emotionally invest in that as something that HAPPENED to Dick and that he was AFFECTED by....because the writers didn’t bother writing him as all that affected by it and it was just like oh he’s a spy now, all that was last year’s content, we’ve moved on, keep up.

And on and on it goes. Ric Grayson was the same problem all over again. Rinse and repeat down the line with everyone from Wally to Donna and etc etc etc.

THAT’S why DC’s stories have been falling flat. It has nothing to do with people not being interested in new ideas, characters or directions, its that’s ALL they were giving us, but it was like just reading wiki summaries of events just alongside pretty art, but no real emotional weight or substance to anything we were reading....and thus, literally nothing that we couldn’t get much the same outcome from if we just...stuck to reading wiki summaries after the stories were over, with no real need to follow along with them. For years most fans have basically just been about keeping up to date with changes in the characters’ lives, but without feeling any real need to watch those changes unfold and play out.

And so honestly I worry we’re just gonna be subjected to a company wide rehashing of old and familiar storylines, directions and character beats, but repackaged and delivered in the exact same way DC was delivering us their new stories and ideas these past years....and its basically going to have the same results, because its the same problem. They didn’t actually fix anything by switching gears, they just shuffled around the actual issue.

And DC’s just gonna be like well now wtf are we doing wrong, we were so sure this would work, everyone LOVES nostalgia right? Did we pick the wrong stories and character beats to bring back?

When really its like......it honestly doesn’t matter WHICH stories and beats they rehash, because its not about them picking the ‘right ones,’ the real keepers, the stories that everyone really WAS eager to see brought back or made new again.....

Its about like, the only reason any of those stories or beats or dynamics stood the test of time and are still familiar and well-known....is because the stories AROUND those moments and ideas gave us reason to emotionally invest in them and retain them as crucial to our view of the characters and things that would resonate and stay with us for a long time.

It was never that any of those ideas or stories were just so innately brilliant that they couldn’t help BUT linger in the overall reader consciousness...it was the fact that we CARED about what happened in those moments and stories.

*Shrugs* But I mean hey, what do I know? I’m just a dude on the internet lolol. 

[justcourttee]

So I love your sibling jasonette stuff and was wondering if you wouldnt mind writing more? Bonus if Mari gets hurt and Jason gets overprotective, sorry I just love angst tho. Your writing is amazing tho!

I love writing sibling Jasonette! Like so much! I never mind writing more :)

The Sidekick Curse

Marinette was having a pretty good day overall.

Batman had finally accepted her in his city as his protegee which meant she could permanently spend time with Jason. She was so excited to tell him the good news that his killer stare completely went over her head.

“Turn him down.”

Marinette’s jaw went slack as she stared at Jason’s unmoving scowl.

“But Jaybird, you know this has been my dream ever since I moved to the States! Plus it means he’ll stop trying to kick me out of Gotham! We’ll finally get to spend more time together!”

Jason didn’t answer. Instead he crossed his arms standing firmly in his former position.

“I can’t believe you don’t want me around!”

“Marinette that’s not it-”

“Then what is it?” She hadn’t meant to snap at him but as his eyes hardened, she slowly began to feel the guilt waves rolling in. “I’m sorry Jason, I know he’s not your favorite person but it’ll be different. You were just a kid-”

“You’re just a kid Marinette.” His stare had every fiber in her body screaming to turn and run, but instead something just snapped.

“I’m eighteen Jason. It’s my decision to work with Batman so that I can handle the next big threat that comes my way. I don’t know why I even told you in the first place.”

Jason’s eyes softened as he watched her turn to leave. He didn’t reach out to stop her and somehow, that just made the pain worse. Marinette picked up her pace as she dove into the nearest alleyway to transform. Swinging her yo-yo, she vaulted onto the roof, rolling to a stop before turning on her comm.

“Red, give me a mission, anything. I need to get out of here.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Marinette dropped down into the port keeping her eyes peeled for where Batman could be hiding. Tim told her that he might need backup but to do her best to stay out of his way, only intercept if necessary.

The problem with that? Marinette had no idea where Batman was, so how was she supposed to be his back-up?

A small yelp caught her attention as she pressed her back flat against the nearest line of containers trying to stay in the shadows. Before she could contemplate moving a cold barrel pressed into the back of her head.

“Well, well, well, What do we have here? You’re not a batbrat.”

Marinette swallowed hard readying herself to disarm him the moment she saw an opening.

“No, I’m not. I’m Lady Luck.”

“Really, that’s the best you got little girl?”

Marinette slammed her heel into his foot while using her hand to push the gun into the air right as he fired. With one twist of his wrist, he dropped the gun allowing her to kick it far away.

“Look I’m trying here. I just need a new name and it’s really hard ya feel?”

The man swallowed as Marinette flung her whole weight into the man tackling them both to the ground. Using his dazed state to her aadvantage, she pushed off the ground into a sprint.

Batman was so going to kill her.

She heard the footsteps closing in behind her as she shot her yo-yo into the night sky hoping to catch onto anything to pull her away. Her feet landed on the nearest container with a soft thud watching as the men ran right past where she sat.

“You’re in over your head princess.”

Marinette’s eyes narrowed as her hand reached up to where her comm sat.

“Jason, this is a closed network, how are you even on it?”

“Timmy boy owed me a favor and now I'm paying it forward to you. Get out of there. Batman already left and if those men find you, you’re dead.”

Batman already left? Had she missed the signal Tim told her to look for? Maybe she really wasn’t ready for recon. She slowly stood ready to turn when a flash of dark fabric caught her attention.

Batman hadn’t left, he was right there, and he was surrounded.

“You lied Jason? Do you really hate him that much that you want to see him dead?”

Marinette was fuming as she swung toward where her hero stood, dropping in front of the man as the first round of shots were fired. She easily deflected them leaving several shocked men at the fact that they both still stood.

“Thanks.” Marinette’s gaze flickered to Batman’s in a frantic manner. Had she imagined that? Did Batman just thank her? Oh this day was just getting better.

“Lady Luck!”

Marinette didn’t get the chance to throw her yo-yo up as a bullet pierced her stomach. The pain was unbearable as she collapsed to the ground grasping at the trickle of blood as the shock spread through her body.

She wasn’t quite sure what happened next, all she could see was a fuzzy darkness clouding her vision before everything went dark,

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “Where is she?”

Jason burst through the manor doors not even bothering to utter more than a hey. He was on a warpath and anyone who stood in his way be damned.

“Master Jason-”

“Listen Alfred,” Jason’s hand was in Alfred’s face as the butler simply raised an eyebrow at his antics. “I respect you, that's the only reason you’re not on the ground right now but I need to know where she is, now.”

Alfred simply shook his head motioning Jason forward toward the secret entrance. Without a sign of gratitude, Jason marched forward, practically tearing the door off its hinges. Entering the batcave, he felt as if he had been sucker punched in the gut. All the air in his lungs deflated at the sight of the blood that covered the medtable.

Standing over her was Bruce himself, Tim and some doctor talked off to the side, their faces both grimm.

“You piece of shit!” Jason’s fist acted on its own as it connected with Bruce’s jaw. The man staggered backwards holding out a hand as if trying to slow him down. Pathetic.

“You just had to take her under your wing, give her that good ole sidekick curse huh?”

Jason landed another punch, Bruce not even attempting to stop the assault.

“You just break us all down until we leave or die trying!”

He threw his fist again but this time it never connected. Instead, Tim stood between the two of them, slightly struggling to withhold Jason’s fist.

“Jason, you’re not going to help her by beating him up. He already feels bad enough. We didn’t know the limits of her suit until tonight, she’ll recover eventually.”

Jason opened his mouth to retaliate when he heard her. It was soft, almost inaudible, but he could swear that she was calling to him. He tried to take a step forward, but the labcoat got in his way.

“Sir I think you should take a moment and calm down before approaching the patient.”

Jason attempted to side step the man, but he simply moved with him still blocking him from Marinette. He felt his fist curling as the doctor side stepped once more, still in his way. His hands darted out as he lifted the doctor from the ground by his crumbled lab coat.

“Listen here, that’s my sister right there and she needs me. Move or be moved, I could care less.”

Without much care, he dropped the doctor as he made his way to Marinette’s side. Crouching down to her eye level, he carefully gathered her hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I’m here Marinette, I won’t let you leave me, you hear? You’re stuck with me forever.”

His eyes darted toward the three men as if daring them to disagree, daring them to try and move him.

For weeks he stayed right by her side, never leaving for more than ten minutes at a time. Slowly he watched her recover as she practiced stretching, then walking and eventually running once more.

“Jaybird, I think I’m almost ready to get back to it.”

His smile was solemn. Nobody had the heart to tell her that there was no way Bruce would let her back out again. Not while Jason was still breathing. But that was a conversation for another day. For now, he was just glad that she was still alive.

“Almost princess, almost.”

Permanent Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss

[venialsun]

to begin with, take warning (2/3)

[read on ao3]

1 | 2 | 3

When Damian found his way to his first class of the day, having missed something called homeroom and the first ten minutes, the instructor shook his head playfully and made Damian introduce himself and explain what he had done over the summer. He could not say he had spent the past few months traipsing across the globe, hanging out with killers and thieves, and dying more often than not as he tried to escape the oppressive feeling that had descended upon Gotham after years of tragedies and increasing catastrophes. So he said he spent some time with his mother’s family on their private island, which was close enough, took a seat at the back of the room, and listened to his classmates reconnect with old friends and talk about their vacations and holidays with an increasing sense of annoyance.

The rest of the morning classes were no better. The teachers would guide the students through introductions and some small talk, go through their syllabus, and sometimes begin a lesson that Damian was entirely bored by. A few of his classmates tried to speak with him, asking him questions about his family, about himself, and smiling welcomingly at him, but the last thing he wanted to do was talk about that can of worms. He was not sure what he would say, how to spin his life into something half-truthful yet still benign. He’d never had to before. The rest of the students ignored him, and he was more than happy to ignore them right back.

By lunchtime, he was contemplating leaving and telling his Father he was done with this whole experiment. But Yanez’s yellow slip burned in his pocket, and Damian was not one to give up so easily. He would make it through the day, if nothing else.

The technology atrium was between the main academic building and the arts auditorium. A squat addition to the main building with walls made of glass and supported by steel beams, it stuck out like a sore thumb against the dark slate stones and high neo-Gothic arches and spires of the rest of Gotham Academy. Damian glowered as he neared and realized this was not only the technology atrium but, according to the placard over the main entrance, the Kenneth H. Wayne Technology Atrium.

Of course.

Inside, rows of computers and long tables encircled a central desk where a young woman sat typing at a laptop. She looked up as Damian approached and asked, “What’s up?”

Damian fished out the yellow slip and showed it to her. “Principal Yanez assigned me community tutoring or whatever.”

She took the slip and scanned it. “Already? Dang, kid, what’d ya do?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say. Hold on. Let me pull her notes.” She busied herself clicking and scrolling, then paused. “Oh, wow. I see. Well, hi, Damian. Glad to have you. I’m Miss Daisy.” She handed him back the slip.

“Daisy?” he repeated, incredulous.

“Well, Miss Daskalakis, but I got tired of all you runts mispronouncing it.”

“Miss Daskalakis,” said Damian, exactly.

Daskalakis smiled. “That was pretty good, actually. Okay, in about ten minutes, we should have some of the PSAT and SAT kids show up for their first prep. Make yourself comfortable at one of the tables, eat some of your lunch, and when they show up I’ll introduce you and explain the rundown.”

“Lunch?”

“You brought something to eat, didn’t you? Or you can go pick something up at the cafeteria.” She glanced at her laptop. “There’s still time, and since it’s the first day, there’s no rush.”

Damian hesitated. “Principal Yanez said I was to report here.”

“We’re not going to make you skip lunch, Damian,” said Daskalakis. “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal. Here, what do you want?” She pulled out her phone. “I’ll message my assistant to bring you something. He should already be at the cafeteria.”

“Anything vegetarian,” he said.

Daskalakis gave him a thumbs up. “Got it.”

He went to sit at one of the long tables. Surreptitiously, he pulled out his phone to figure out what in the world the PSAT and SAT were supposed to be. He was puzzling his way through the most confusingly worded, backwards maths questions he had ever read, when the door opened. Damian glanced up and froze.

The red-headed boy at the entrance to the atrium also froze, eyes wide like he had seen a ghost.

“Colin!” called Daskalakis. “Hey, this is Damian. Thanks for grabbing lunch.”

“Colin,” Damian said.

“Damian,” said Colin Wilkes. “Oh, my god. Damian. Dude!”

“Do you two know each other?” asked Daskalakis.

“No,” said Damian, at the same time Colin said, “Yes.” Then Colin said, “No,” at the same time Damian said, “Yes.”

“Cool,” said Daskalakis, dragging out the oo. “Cool, cool, cool. Can you guys figure that out? We have, like, five minutes.”

Colin approached and deposited what looked like a rice dish with vegetables in front of him. “Um, this is for you. I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got you a taco bowl minus the taco.”

“Thanks,” said Damian, accepting the not-taco bowl.

“So.” Colin sat across from him. “Long time no see, huh.”

Damian snorted. “I’ve been busy,” he said.

“No shit. Your family has been freaking out for like the past six months, saying you’re missing and Robin went rogue or something. Then the old Robin came back. The Titans restarted. Then there’s video of another Robin sword-fighting crime all over the world. I assume that was you. Dude, I thought you were dead.”

“To be fair,” said Damian as he opened his taco bowl and mixed the ingredients, “I was. A couple of times. Doesn’t seem to stick.”

Colin laughed. “Your mom?”

Damian chuckled, startling himself. “Something like that. Though the first time was a few years back. I was—gone—for nearly a year, and my Father resurrected me with alien magic.”

“Sick. I remember that,” said Colin. “You dropped off the face of the earth. Didn’t come by the orphanage anymore or sneak out with me for patrols. People were saying Batman went crazy. I thought you just decided you didn’t want to hang out anymore.”

“I—” Damian spooned some rice into mouth. Chewed, swallowed. Colin looked at him throughout, unrelenting. “I didn’t ignore you deliberately. And then after I came back, things were so…”

Colin waved a hand and unwrapped a greasy slice of pizza. He took a bite. “It’s cool, man. You literally just told me you’ve died multiple times. Plural. I can get over my hurt feelings. Seems kind of trivial in comparison.”

Damian frowned and ate some more rice. Colin ate his pizza. Then Damian set his fork down, resolute, grip tight on the handle. As evenly as he could, he said, “I apologize for not being a better friend to you.”

“Whoa.” Colin’s eyebrows shot up. His expression pinched with worry as he searched Damian’s face. “What happened, man?”

Damian swallowed.

Then the door opened again, and an older boy—sixteen or seventeen—peaked inside and asked, “Is this SAT prep?”

“Sure is,” said Daskalakis from the central desk. She stood and indicated Damian and Colin to follow her. “Come in, come in, I’ll set you up right over here.”

Damian stood. “Later,” he said in an undertone. “I’ll explain later. I promise.”

“Okay,” Colin agreed. “But if you disappear on me again, this time I know where you go to school, so there’s no use hiding.”

“Have you known me to ever hide from anything?”

Colin smirked and said nothing.

Damian’s face felt suddenly warm. “Shut up,” he said. “We have work to do.”

•

Surprisingly, tutoring his fellow students was not the disaster he thought it would be. There was some initial skepticism from the upperclassmen about being tutored by a fourteen-year-old, but after Daskalakis declared him “a genius prodigy or something, according to Yanez,” that eventually quieted. It helped that though the PSAT and SAT problems and questions were simple enough, the wording and specificity grated on him, and soon he was insulting the intelligence of the College Board and standardized tests in general. That endeared him to the upperclassmen, and afterward the rest of the lunch hour passed without trouble.

Colin sidled up next to Damian as he gathered his materials to leave and showed him a crumpled-up piece of paper. “What’s your next class?” he asked. It was his schedule.

“Physical education,” said Damian. He had already memorized his own.

“Oh, really? Sweet. Me, too. We’ll go to PE together. I met Coach Freeman at the orientation. I think you’ll like her. What about after?”

Damian listed off his afternoon classes: physical education, then biology, then ancient rhetorics, and ending with a free study period. They shared no core classes, only homeroom, lunch, and physical education. Colin teased him for taking the honors track, and Damian started to complain that the classes were not interesting let alone challenging. But then he got sidetracked by wondering why Colin was somehow not in the honors track but still Daskalakis’s assistant for community tutoring (which, Damian insisted, was a dumb idea for punishments and an even dumber name). Colin laughed and explained he mostly helped with the younger kids. He said he was good with them, thanks to all the practice he’d had helping the nuns wrangle traumatized orphans and foster kids while growing up in the orphanage.

“After all that, spoiled rich kids are easy,” Colin said. He nudged Damian in the ribs. “It’s why we’re friends.”

“I thought that was because we both liked beating up on creeps a little too much,” said Damian, wry.

Colin grinned, and for a moment his face seemed to take on the grisly severity of Abuse—Venom-distorted and menacing. “That too.”

Physical education—“Just call it PE, dude,” Colin said—was a bore, more than Damian had anticipated. After changing into their gym uniforms and the requisite round of introductions, Coach Freeman set them on an obstacle course made up of rubber tires and colorful ropes. Damian was not impressed. But he remembered what his Father had said about damaging school property and refrained from destroying the so-called obstacles as he passed his struggling classmates and returned to Coach Freeman.

“What now?” he asked. To his frustration, he had hardly broken a sweat.

“Excuse me,” said Freeman. “Why aren’t you on the course?”

“I’ve finished it.”

“You’ve finished it?” Freeman checked the stopwatch hanging from her neck. “In slightly under six minutes? I don’t think so. Did you take a shortcut?”

“No,” said Damian. “It was easy.”

“Right. Well, if it was so easy, then hop to it. Do it again,” she said. “And this time, I’ll be watching you.”

“Weren’t you already supposed to be doing that?” asked Damian, but he did not argue further and restarted the course. It was better than doing nothing and standing around like an invalid, anyway.

This time he forced himself to go slower, aware he had done something abnormal. But it wasn’t his fault he was above this child’s play. He jogged the 100 meters to the start of course, climbed up the wooden incline, jumped down, belly-crawled under the mesh ropes, alternated jumps between tires then between wooden slats, climbed the rope to ring a bell, balanced across the too-wide beams, swung from bar to bar, and finished off by climbing over three wooden walls of increasing height. At the last wall, he paused and pulled a girl who had been struggling for the last two minutes up and over. Then he jumped down and high-fived Colin, who had finished his first runthrough. Going slower had forced him to focus the strain on his muscles, and the burn in his body and clarity of mind was starting to feel comforting and familiar.

He jogged back to Coach Freeman. “Shall I go again?”

She clicked her stopwatch and stared at it. Then she stared at him. “Slightly under eight minutes,” she said. “What’s your name, son?”

“I’m not your son.” He crossed his arms. “And name’s Damian. Damian Wayne.”

“Wayne, huh?” Freeman grinned. “Well, Mr. Wayne, Gotham Academy’s happy to have you. What’s your poison?”

“Pardon?”

“Your sport, Mr. Wayne. Your sport. Everyone’s got one. And if you don’t, not to worry. The Academy’s got a team for everything. You’ll be attending the end-of-day assembly, correct?”

“It is mandatory,” said Damian.

“Perfect,” said Freeman. “The main teams will be doing showcases there. Scope them out, see what you think. General tryouts are in two weeks, and I expect to see you there.”

Damian grimaced. “Do you now.”

Freeman nodded. “Sure do.” Then her attention drifted; her nose scrunched, she blew her whistle and screamed across the field, “You two, under the mesh! Keep your hands to yourselves! No one needs to see all that!”

•

The rest of the day passed quickly. He ran the course twice more, for the hell of it, alternating between pausing to help a classmate over a particularly difficult hurdle or shouting at them to hurry the hell up so Damian could finish already. He got used to the rhythm of it, the formula of general teacher attention interspersed with student social-play. By Ancient Rhetorics, he was an old hat at describing his incredibly fun island adventure halfway across the world and not scowling whenever anyone bemoaned their envy at the life of a rich socialite without responsibilities or true problems. He had even managed to hold a few short conversations with two or three of his classmates, though for the life of him he could not remember their names. A day of nothing but introductions had thoroughly fried his brain and prevented him from retaining anything more complicated than Jessica—because there did seem to be an awful lot of Jessicas.

His phone buzzed as the early bell rang and he merged into the streaming crowd of students heading for the auditorium for the back-to-school assembly.

It was a message from his Father:

Dinner tonight.

He frowned and tapped out a quick reply.

“Hey, Damian, over here!”

Damian looked up. Across the auditorium, Colin was surrounded by a group of teenagers and waving him over. Damian approached, pocketing his phone as he went. Then he paused and groaned when he recognized the small girl with yellow hair ribbons hovering excitedly between Colin and another group of older-looking students.

Fuck it. Damian ducked behind some large boys in jerseys and helmets—not hiding, per se, just utilizing his extensive array of evasive maneuvers to achieve a desired outcome—but it was too late. She had already spotted him.

“Oh my crap! Damian! You’re here?!”

Damian sighed and accepted his fate. With as much dignity as he had left, he emerged from behind the football team.

“Of course you two know each other,” he muttered.

“Huh?” said Colin.

“It is you!” exclaimed Maps Mizoguchi. “Olive, look who it is!”

From the group of older students, a girl with platinum blonde hair glanced over and, seeing Damian, scowled. “Oh,” said Olive Silverlock. “I did hear a Wayne was coming to Gotham Academy. Weren’t you expelled already?”

“You’ll find I’m hard to get rid of, Silverlock,” said Damian.

“Yanez is a softie, of course she let you back in,” continued Olive, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Hammerhead would’ve rather died.”

“You guys know each other?” asked Colin, looking concerned and glancing between them.

“No,” said Damian and Olive, at the same time Maps said, “Heck yeah! We’re all friends!”

“Doth mine ears deceive me? Did I hear Wayne—as in billionaire, more-money-than-I-would-know-what-to-with, bordering-on-unethical-wealth Wayne?” An older boy with sunglasses popped up behind Damian and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Good sir, might I interest you in—”

“Remove yourself from my person at once before I break your arm.”

The boy held up his hands and stepped away. “Got it, got it. No touchy. I can respect that,” he said. “So, Wayne, how do you feel about acquiring some fireworks for your own personal mischief?” He tilted his sunglasses down, conspiratorially. “At a discounted price, of course. Us trouble-makers have to stick together, y’know.”

“Quit it, Colton,” snapped Olive.

“Yeah,” laughed Colin. “That was Damian being nice.”

“You associate with these people?” Damian asked.

Colin shrugged. “I’m a part-time member of the Detectives Club.”

“Pizza club,” corrected Maps.

“The what.”

“Nerd club that solves school mysteries and shit,” said a girl from Colin’s group of younger students. She waved. “Hey, I’m Jess. Nice to meet you.”

Another fucking Jessica.

“Damian,” said Damian, putting up a hand in greeting.

This started another round of introductions and names he immediately deleted from his memory. Who knew Colin was so popular? It was the first day of school; he had not thought it was possible to align yourself with so many friends so quickly unless your name was Dick Grayson.

Slowly, both groups of younger and older students shuffled forward to their seats, helped along by the half-hearted encouragement of manic-looking adults. Somehow, Damian found himself squished between both groups, Colin on one side and Maps on another, as they chatted across him about summer and clubs and the teachers they already hated. Sensing an opportunity Damian told them of his run-in with Headmaster Hammer that morning, which triggered another round of commiserating laughter and louder complaints about what a hardass Hammerhead was—for they called the headmaster Hammerhead. Olive and Maps were the only ones to defend him, citing his one-man defense of the Academy when Joker had tried to take over the city two years ago.

“So?” said Damian. “Joker’s a bitch. He tries to take over the city all the time. That’s not impressive.”

By which a stuffy-looking blond boy in the row behind them became offended, scoffing, and Damian begrudgingly felt his respect grow for Colin’s friends as they immediately dog-piled on the boy for his shit opinion. Then no one could agree who of the Gotham rogues wasn’t a little bitch. And the argument devolved from there until Olive said Batman was a little bitch, too. Everyone laughed.

The lights dimmed. An off-key note rang out as the school band warmed up, and Headmaster Hammer and Principal Yanez stepped on stage.

Slowly in fits and starts, the auditorium quieted, and the assembly began.

next ->

[ahsxual]

Unbreakable Connection

Pairing: L!Joker x reader

Summary: You and J met each other coincidently and now, after a few months, you somehow managed to become really close friends.

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 1,8k

A/N: Soo this is a request from lovely @heavymetalnarwhal where J and the reader have a platonic relationship. They've become close friends after they accidentally met. J has grown and now he trusts her, her home eventually becoming his haven and in return, the reader can finally have someone trustful to talk to, and someone who can understand her and be there when she needs him most. So darling, I hope you enjoy this! <3

(I don't own this gif!)

On a specific day, you were in the mood for a night walk: after all, you weren't having a good day, so you thought that this was the best thing to do to get away from your haunting thoughts;

Your usual way of relaxing is staying at home while watching some movie, reading some book, listening to music... but that particular day you just wanted to do something different, what lead you to something you would never expect to happen...

While you were walking into some empty and narrow street near a port, you heard some uncommon noises... more specifically from people talking and moving heavy objects hurriedly, you supposed;

You were about to return to your home when you heard them, but since you weren't in a hurry, you let your curiosity take the best of you;

Oh, how simple choices like this could origin such a drastical change in your life...

You hide yourself behind a corner, where you could see what seemed like ten people moving huge boxes with a "caution" warning on it into a truck, all of them covered in familiar masks;

When you were about to remember where those masks were from, you suddenly saw the one and only prince of crime of Gotham city: the Joker, jumping outside of the high truck into the ground effortlessly;

You covered your mouth after releasing a loud gasp unintentionally, earning suspicious glances from some masked men... or should you say women?

The Joker has women working for him too?? you thought, surprised by that fact.

After that, you started to run as fast as you could to your house, concluding that you had seen enough;

Little did you know that the psychotic clown saw you from afar, following you discretely after, while his goons continued to work;

When you got home, you went to bed and tried to sleep, thinking on how bad and strange that day was;

Since then, everyday you had the feeling that someone was following you, which obviously made you terrified. You thought about calling the police, but what if all of this was just your mind tricking you? What if you made yourself sound like a fool in front of the authority, wasting your time only to get to see them laughing at you afterwards? Yup, that's how Gotham police worked... and it was completely not worth it;

When you got home and finally managed to calm yourself down, you opened the door and instinctively screamed once you saw the most wanted psychopath in the city, chilling out on your sofa like he was in his own house;

"W-what are you d-doing here??" you asked, trembling, shaking from the inside out of your vulnerable body towards his presence;

"Oh, you arrived! I ah... just couldn't wait to finally meet the ah... little kitten who was picking at what she... shouldn't. But curiosity sometimes it's stronger than our own safety, isn't that right, huh?" he calmly, yet dangerously said, getting up from the couch to approach you slowly. You had nowhere to escape: you knew if you tried, he would kill you right then and there, and you wanted to do whatever was needed to stay alive just for a few more seconds;

"P-please, don't k-kill me...!" those words were the only ones that could came out of your quivering mouth by your frightened mind.

He looked at you disappointed, however he wanted to ask you something that he didn't understand just yet. "How... all of you are so... predictable. <Please, don't kill me!!>... Really? That's all ya have to say in your defense doll, huh?" he tried to imitate a little girl begging for mercy, which would make you laugh if you weren't on the that exact position.

"I-I guess if you were me, you would s-say the same thing. I... I don't k-know what else to say to you..." really? Were you really justifying yourself and trying to have a decent conversation with Joker?? He then stared at you intensely for a few moments, like he was analyzing you.

"Well, I guess I have to ah.. agree with ya on that one." he said. "But I didn't come here to ah... have a chat while drinking hot tea with ya. I actually wanted to ah... ask ya something."

"W-what is it?" even if you tried, you couldn't stop yourself from stuttering every time you spoke.

"Why didn't ya tell anything to the men that eat donuts 24/7 with a pistol in their ass pockets, the so called heroes of this city about ah... what you saw the other night, huh? If ya had reported me, I would probably be in jail right now instead of having this little... shitty chat with ya." even you didn't know the real reason, if you were honest. Maybe you thought this city was already fucked up, so what's the point in trying to arrest him when there’re many killers, thieves, and who knows what out there? You're just trying to live a quiet life... and if you did denounce him, you probably would be his next brutal victim once he lays his eyes on you again;

"I-I don't know... I just... want to live a quiet life. Let's be realistic: you probably would get out of the prison soon, so... it wouldn't make any difference, I guess..." this time you managed to speak without stuttering so much, which impressed you. He seemed thoughtful about your answer: he was good at reading people, and you didn't seem the kind of person that just wants to live their life in the best way possible, only caring about money and fame, not giving a shit about others. You have your own world, your own perspective of life, your own space without bothering anyone, and he admires that;

He could tell you're a shy and introverted person, not having anyone truthful enough to really talk about what happened... and Joker liked that fact.

From that, he already could tell that maybe you were someone to trust... and that's what he was about to find out;

After that, he nodded, telling you there was a chance of him coming back, since he got interested in your way of being. He decided to spare your life since you didn't report him, making you feel utterly relieved for not telling anything to the police or anyone;

Days passed and he wouldn’t show up like he said, and if you were honest, you actually missed him: you didn't have any romantic intentions with him, no no no, yet you thought maybe he could understand you... and accept you, finally valuing your worth and see you for who you are, without judging or offering rude side glances like most people do.That's when once again, he managed to impress you.

"Ta-daa!" he loudly exclaimed, making you jump from your secretary.

"What the hell?!" you exclaimed back, angry ‘cause he scared you by coming out of nowhere... again. "What are you doing here Joker??" calling for his name sounded strange... yet familiar, like you already knew him for a long time;

"Ah... from what I remember, I said I would come back. Soo here I am!" he then laid down caressly on your fresh-made bed. "Ohh this one's good! How much ah... did it cost, huh?" he said happily, finally having a comfortable bed to lay on instead of the rigid ground where he uses to sleep... when he can sleep.

You were speechless, him being completely at ease, but you decided to respond him. "Uh... it cost around 600 dollars. I saved a lot of money to buy it, so please be careful." suddenly, he started to laugh at you, like you said the funniest joke he ever heard.

"600 dollars?? Are ya kidding? Ya could just have stole it! And there would be so much fun and adrenaline on it as an extra!" he admitted excitedly, sounding like a kid who had the greatest idea about something random.

"Well, I'm not an expert thief like you. And I prefer to be humble and pay for it, thanks but no thanks." you answered, returning to do whatever you were doing previously before he unexpectedly entered your room.

"Oh... humility. Where does that lead us to, huh? To people getting whatever they want from us? Playing us like their little toys? Thanks, but no thanks." he imitated you casually with his arms resting under his fade green painted hair, which made you laugh this time since, somehow, you didn't feel scared of him anymore.

From that day on, he would visit you almost every day: firstly you felt like he was using you just to get a place to sleep and to properly eat: he has people working and doing anything for him, so why would he need you? Some common girl who's life isn't that interesting? You sadly thought. But with time, you could see he actually enjoys your company;

You would even tell him your problems, when a day went wrong or someone would bother you... and in that case, the next day that same person wouldn't be alive to tell the story. You thought strange at first, not knowing why everytime someone was mean and rude to you, they wouldn't be alive the next day. But then you put all the pieces together... so from that moment you stopped telling him when someone messed with you, unless it was really necessary and serious;

Sometimes you would tell him he was your guardian angel, to which he made a disgusted expression, making you correct yourself to "guardian demon";

"That sounds so much better, sweet cheeks." he said before winking at you. Every time he did that, you would blush furiously and hide your hot face, since you were a very shy and timid person, specially around him for some reason. He loved teasing you just to see you embarrassed, but of course he respected you, so he never crossed the line;

And all of this leads to now, where J is practically considered your weird best friend, the one you tell everything, the one you can truly trust and ironically, feel safe. If you only knew that one simple walk would make all of this happen... how funny life can be, putting two completely opposite people together and create this unbreakable connection between you two... like they always say, it's just destiny doing his work.