#how can i not give that same stance to jason | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sirxaibs · 3 months ago

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Kon-el | Connor Kent X readerbatsis!

⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° Batblood ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ °

uhhh self indulgent bat family stuff

masterlist

This is mostly Batfamily X Batsis. Though I think I had enough Conner Kent X Reader to classify this as a thing.

GUYS I WROTE DAMIENS NAME WRONG THROUGHOUT THIS WAIT

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩ The first thing you learn about your parents is that they are fundamentally incompatible. The second thing you learn is that they will never stop trying anyway.

You don’t remember a time when Bruce and Selina were ever something as simple as together. They exist in contradictions she flirts, he broods; she steals, he stops her; she leaves, he waits. You used to think they would eventually find a middle ground, but you’ve long since given up on that idea.

Bruce and Selina have always been on and off, a constant push and pull. He loves her, but he can’t accept her choices. She loves him, but she refuses to change for him. You grew up watching them dance around their feelings. One moment, she’s draped over his desk in the Batcave, teasing him, and the next, she’s gone without a trace, leaving only a cryptic note behind.

Still, they make sense, in a way that defies logic. And despite all their back and forth, they both love you just in completely different ways. The truth is, Bruce and Selina will never be able to give you the same kind of love.

⸻

“Again.”

You grit your teeth, clenching your fists as Bruce circles you in the Batcave’s training area. You’ve already gone through this drill a dozen times. Your muscles ache, your ribs are sore from earlier blows, but he’s relentless.

You feint left, then pivot sharply, throwing a kick at his side. He blocks it easily. Too easily. His expression remains unreadable, but you can feel his disapproval.

“Sloppy,” he says, stepping back. “You’re letting yourself get tired.”

“That’s because I am tired,” you snap. “We’ve been doing this for over an hour.”

He crosses his arms. “On the field, you don’t get to decide when you’re done.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, but Tim does? Jason does? Even Damian doesn’t get this much micromanaging.”

Bruce’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t about them. It’s about you.”

“No, it’s about me being your daughter.”

His silence confirms it.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You trained all of them, let them fight their own battles. You trusted them to figure it out. But me? You’re scared to let me.”

Bruce’s expression darkens. “I’m not scared.”

“Then what is it?” you challenge, stepping closer. “You push me harder than you ever pushed them, but you still won’t let me prove myself. What’s the point of all this if you’re just going to hold me back?”

His voice is quiet when he finally answers. “Because I can’t lose you.”

The weight of those words presses against your chest. You want to be angry, to keep fighting him on this, but the raw emotion in his voice makes it impossible.

You don’t know what to say, so you settle for the only truth you have.

“You won’t,” you murmur. “But you have to let me go.”

Bruce doesn’t answer. He just exhales slowly, tension still radiating from his stance. You don’t expect him to change overnight, but at the very least, he doesn’t call for another round. That’s something.

⸻

Selina finds you hours later, sprawled out on the balcony of her penthouse. You weren’t planning on coming here tonight, but after your fight with Bruce, you needed air. And if there’s one thing Selina understands, it’s the need to escape.

She slides the glass door open, stepping onto the rooftop with effortless grace. “I thought I’d find you here.”

You don’t turn to face her. “Bruce is being impossible.”

She chuckles, settling beside you. “He’s still your dad don’t call him bruce, though when isn’t he?”

You sigh, tilting your head back against the cool metal railing. “I just… I don’t know how to make him see me as more than just his kid. He acts like I��ll break if I take one wrong step.”

Selina hums thoughtfully. “That’s what he does. He builds walls around the things he loves, convinces himself it’s the only way to keep them safe.”

You glance at her. “And you?”

She smirks. “Oh, I’d never keep a bird in a cage. I’d teach her to fly.”

There’s something appealing about that. With Selina, there are no rules, no suffocating restrictions. Just a quiet, unwavering confidence in your abilities. Even if you don’t approve of the way she lives, you can’t deny that she makes you feel free.

She pulls a small velvet pouch from her pocket and tosses it into your lap.

You raise a brow. “Do I want to know?”

She grins. “Just a little something I picked up.”

You groan, shoving it back at her. “I told you to stop giving me stolen jewelry.”

Selina only laughs. “It’s not stolen technically. I swapped it for something better.”

“That’s still stealing.”

“Details, darling.”

You can’t help but laugh. She winks, ruffling your hair before standing. “Come on. Let’s get something to eat before you let your father’s brooding ruin your whole night.”

You shake your head but follow her anyway.

For all their differences, Bruce and Selina have one thing in common: they both love you, fiercely.

Your dad will always try to protect you from the world. Your mom will always remind you that it’s yours to take. You exist in the space between them.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

Patrol had been standard until it wasn’t. You and Tim had been watching an arms deal go down from the rooftops of Gotham’s East End. The intel from Oracle suggested this was a simple exchange one that didn’t require much interference. The plan was to observe, gather intel, and report back if things escalated. But you weren’t convinced.

Something felt off. You crouched beside Tim, scanning the warehouse below. The deal was happening inside, but your eyes were locked on a figure slipping through a side entrance, unnoticed by the others.

“Tim, we’ve got movement,” you whispered.

He barely glanced at the figure before shaking his head. “Not our priority. We wait and”

“I’m going after them,” you interrupted, already moving.

Tim grabbed your arm. “That’s not the plan.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” you insisted, shaking him off. “Cover me.”

And before he could protest, you were already gone.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The side entrance led you through a narrow corridor, crates stacked high along the walls. You moved quietly, using the shadows to your advantage.

The man you were following a mercenary by the look of his armor spoke softly into an earpiece. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the urgency in his tone sent a chill down your spine.

You pressed closer, peering around a crate. Then you saw it.

This wasn’t just an arms deal. There were bombs. Crates of them. Military grade explosives, lined up and ready to be moved.

Your stomach dropped.

“Oracle,” you whispered, touching your comm. “We have a problem.”

“I see it,” her voice came through your earpiece. “I’m running facial recognition on the men inside. This isn’t just some street gang these guys are mercenaries.”

“Figures.”

Tim’s voice suddenly crackled through. “You were supposed to wait.”

“I’d say ‘I told you so,’ but I’m a little busy.”

A movement caught your eye. The mercenary was reaching for a detonator.

Shit.

You sprang from cover, knocking him back with a swift kick to the ribs. The detonator clattered across the floor.

“Got company,” you muttered.

“On my way,” Tim responded.

But it was already too late.

The other mercenaries had heard the commotion, and within seconds, you were surrounded.

⸻

Fighting in the Fire

You moved on instinct, blocking the first blow aimed at your head and countering with a knee to the gut. The second merc swung at you with a baton, but you ducked, sweeping his legs out from under him.

The fight was brutal there were too many of them, and you were alone.

A blade sliced across your side, and you hissed, twisting to avoid a deeper wound. Blood soaked into your suit, but you ignored it, focusing on staying alive.

Then the explosion hit.

A grenade thrown from somewhere behind you detonated against one of the stacked crates. The force sent you flying, crashing through a pile of debris. Your ears rang, and your vision blurred.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard Tim’s voice in your earpiece. “Hold on I’m almost there!”

Gritting your teeth, you forced yourself to move.

You weren’t dying here.

When the dust settled, the mercenaries were either unconscious or retreating. The explosives were still intact, and Tim arrived just in time to secure them.

But you were wrecked.

He looked at you, taking in the blood seeping from your side. “You’re an idiot.”

You gave a weak smirk. “Yeah. But at least I was right.”

Tim muttered something under his breath before helping you out of the warehouse.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

The moment you step off the platform, you feel him before you see him.

Bruce is waiting. Arms crossed. Silent.

He’s still in the Batsuit, the cowl pulled back, his expression unreadable but you know better. You’ve seen that look before.

Tim doesn’t say a word. He just gives you one final glance and walks off, leaving you alone with the inevitable.

You brace yourself, but Bruce doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. His disappointment is a physical weight in the air.

“You abandoned your partner,” he says, voice like stone.

“I chased a lead.”

“You disobeyed orders.”

You grit your teeth. “It was the right call.”

He steps forward, and suddenly, you feel small. Not because you’re afraid Bruce would never hurt you but because his presence alone is suffocating.

“The right call?” His tone sharpens. “You were injured. You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t,” you argue, though the sting in your side says otherwise.

Bruce exhales slowly, his jaw tightening. “You’re reckless.”

“You don’t say that when literally anyone else is on a mission,” you snap.

He doesn’t answer immediately, and that silence stings. Because you already know the truth. You’re different. You’re his daughter. And that changes everything. but it doesn’t Damien is younger than you. You don’t get it.

“You’re dismissed,” he finally says, voice cold.

You hesitate, fists clenched, but there’s no point in arguing. Not when his mind is already made up.

You turn and head toward the med bay, fuming the entire way.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

You’re half out of your suit, sitting on the medical table while Alfred patches up your side, when Jason storms into the Batcave like a force of nature.

“The hell happened tonight?”

You groan. Of course he found out.

Bruce, still near the Batcomputer, barely glances up. “Jason”

Jason ignores him, turning straight to you. His eyes flick to the bloodstained bandages, and his expression darkens. “Who did this?”

“Relax,” you sigh. “It’s just a scratch.”

Jason scoffs. “A scratch?” He turns to Bruce, eyes blazing. “What the hell was she doing in a situation where she could end up like this?”

“I made the call,” you interject. “It was my decision.”

Jason looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “That’s not a good thing, dumbass.”

You scowl. “It’s part of the job.”

Jason shakes his head, pacing. “Nah. No. You shouldn’t be out there like this. He shouldn’t be letting you”

“I let her do nothing,” Bruce interrupts, his voice a low warning.

Jason laughs humorless, sharp. “Oh, really? Because it looks to me like you’re putting her through the same damn cycle we all went through. How long before she ends up dead in an alley too?”

“Jason”

“No, screw that,” Jason snaps. “You’re just letting her walk into this life like it’s fine. Like it’s not gonna chew her up and spit her out like the rest of us.”

You push yourself up from the table, ignoring the sharp sting in your side. “I chose this, Jason. No one forced me.”

Jason turns his glare on you. “You don’t get it, do you? You think this is just about being a hero, about doing good?” He scoffs. “It’s a death sentence.”

You clench your jaw. “So what, you expect me to just sit at home and do nothing?”

“I expect you to be smarter than this,” he snaps.

Before you can fire back, his eyes narrow, and suddenly, the conversation takes a sharp turn.

“Speaking of dumb decisions,” Jason mutters, crossing his arms. “You’re still with Superboy, right?”

Your frustration spikes. “Oh my godseriously?”

Jason gives you a deadpan look. “knock off superman? Really? You could do better.”

You throw your hands up. “Why does everyone have a problem with me dating Conner?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Because he’s a walking red flag wrapped in blue spandex.”

You glare. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Jason scowls. “I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

He doesn’t deny it.

You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. “Look, I’m tired, I’m injured, and I don’t have the energy for this right now.”

Jason studies you for a moment, then sighs, running a hand through his hair. His anger hasn’t faded completely, but the sharp edge of it has dulled.

“Fine,” he mutters. “But if he ever screws up, I will break his face.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of something warmer underneath the annoyance. Jason will never say it outright, but you know what this is.

It’s not just anger. It’s fear.

Bruce was right about one thing losing people leaves scars. And Jason? He has more than most. He won’t stop you from fighting your battles. But he’ll sure as hell be there when you fall.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

Dating in the Batfamily was a challenge. Dating Conner Kent? That was practically a declaration of war.

You weren’t an idiot you knew what your family thought of him. Bruce didn’t trust him. Superman’s clone, an unpredictable force of power, a boy with too much strength and too little control. That’s how your father saw him, at least. Jason didn’t respect him. “A knock off in a leather jacket? Come on, you can do so much better.”

Tim was wary. Conner was his best friend, but even he had his doubts when it came to you.

And your mother? Selina raised a delicate brow when she first caught wind of your relationship, a teasing smirk playing at her lips. “Oh, darling,” she had purred. “You know how your father’s going to react, right?”

You had sighed, rubbing your temples. “Yes, Mother, I know.”

She had hummed in amusement. “Well, Im starting to think i’m a bad influence, at least try not to be like me and your dad.”

“Mom.”

She had only laughed.

At first, it was easier to keep it hidden. You and Conner met in the shadows, in places no one else would look.

Abandoned rooftops, dimly lit diners on the outskirts of the city, quiet parks in the dead of night where he could float just above the ground, keeping you wrapped in the warmth of his presence.

He wasn’t like Superman and you weren’t just Batman’s daughter.

That’s what you loved about being with him. When he looked at you, he didn’t see the vigilante, the heir to Gotham’s dark legacy. He didn’t see someone who had to be perfect. He saw you. Your flaws, your fears, your messy, complicated emotions. And he never tried to change them.

“I don’t care about what your dad thinks,” he had told you once, leaning back against the fire escape outside your window. “Or your brothers. Or your mom, even.”

You raised a brow. “Not even a little?”

He grinned. “Okay, maybe a little. But it doesn’t change anything.”

You had smirked. “You are stubborn.”

“Says the girl who won’t admit she likes me.”

You scoffed, but he had been right. Liking him had been the easy part. Accepting that he was yours? That had been harder.

Gotham was a city of ghosts.

Your life had been built on shadows, on silent movements, on always thinking five steps ahead. Mistakes had consequences, emotions were weaknesses, and attachments?

They got you killed.

But Conner… Conner made you feel like you were alive.

He never cared about the weight of your family name. He never expected you to be perfect. He let you be wrong, and he still stood by you.

One night, after a brutal mission, you had been exhausted, bruised, and pissed at your father for another round of overprotection.

Conner had found you on the rooftop of your shared apartment, sitting at the edge, staring out at the skyline.

He had landed softly beside you, his presence warm against the cold night.

“You okay?”

You hadn’t answered right away.

Then, quietly, you had admitted, “Sometimes I think its much more worth it to leave this place”

Conner had been silent for a moment before he shifted closer. “Yeah. I get that.”

And you knew he did. Superman saw him as something broken. A project. An accident to be controlled. Bruce saw you as something fragile. Something not ready.

You had glanced at Conner then, at the way he looked at you not as something to fix, but as someone whole. You had leaned into him, and he had let you.

That was the thing about Conner.

He didn’t just love you. He trusted you to be exactly who you were.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Your father was the last to acknowledge it.

Bruce had spent months pretending you weren’t sneaking out to see Conner, pretending he didn’t know why your patrol routes started conveniently lining up with the edge of the city.

But Bruce noticed everything. eventually, he noticed him. It started with the little things.

Conner was always near you in battle, always the first to shield you from an explosion, always ready to catch you if you fell.

Bruce watched the way Conner would take the hit for you not because he thought you couldn’t handle it, but because he could. Conner was powerful, but he never used that strength to control you. He never underestimated you.

One night, after a particularly nasty fight against a group of assassins, you had ended up battered and bloody, a knife wound deep in your side.

Conner had carried you back to the Cave.

Bruce had been waiting.

The air had been tense as Conner laid you gently on the med bay table, his jaw tight, eyes burning with barely contained fury.

“She shouldn’t have been alone,” Conner had said, voice sharp.

Bruce had met his glare, unreadable. “Yeah she shouldn’t have.”

“Then act right on this and she wouldn’t have been alone,” Conner snapped. “shes strong but I don’t care like assholes like you neither does she.”

Silence.

Then Bruce had simply turned and walked away. It wasn’t approval. But it wasn’t rejection, either. You supposed, in his way, Bruce was starting to understand.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

Looking back now, lying in the med bay once again, you let out a slow breath.

The room was empty.

The cave was silent.

Your body ached, your side still throbbing from the mission gone wrong. You stared at the ceiling, letting exhaustion creep in.

Jason’s words still echoed in your head.

“Tights and a cape? Really?”

You sighed.

They’d never understand.

when Conner held you, when he saw you, when he treated you like something more than just Batman’s daughter… It didn’t matter what anyone else thought.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

Gotham was different when Dick was in town. Maybe it was the way he carried himself loose, easy, like the city didn’t weigh on his shoulders the way it did on everyone else’s. Maybe it was because he didn’t live here anymore, so Gotham’s shadows didn’t cling to him the way they clung to you, to Jason, to Bruce.

Either way, his presence always changed the air. Right now, though? It just made the tension in the Batcave feel even heavier.

Dick had barely been back for a full twenty four hours before he noticed. The way Bruce’s jaw was tighter than usual, how Jason was avoiding both of you, how Tim kept smirking behind his coffee cup like he was enjoying the chaos. And you?

You were just done.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched.

Watched as Bruce checked your gear three times before your patrol. Watched as Jason kept throwing pointed glances your way, muttering curses under his breath like you were the idiot. Watched as Tim leaned back against the Batcomputer with the most entertained expression, like this was his own personal sitcom.

Eventually, Dick just sighed.

“Alright, kid,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Burgers. Let’s go.”

Bruce barely looked up. “She has patrol.”

Dick raised a brow. “No, she has burgers with her favorite brother.”

Jason scoffed from across the room. “Favorite? Yeah, okay, Nightwing.”

Tim sipped his coffee. “I don’t know, Jay. He is also my favourite.”

You didn’t argue. You just grabbed your jacket and followed Dick out before Bruce could protest.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The diner was a little hole in the wall place, tucked between two crumbling buildings. Greasy food, crappy lighting, the kind of place that felt like Gotham to its core. You slumped into the booth, arms crossed as Dick slid in across from you.

He didn’t push. Didn’t prod. Just casually unwrapped his burger and took a bite, waiting. It didn’t take long for you to break.

“He treats me like a soldier,” you said suddenly, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Not even a good one. Just one he doesn’t trust to make their own decisions.”

Dick chewed, nodding. “Bruce?”

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously Bruce.”

You picked at your fries. “he’s such an ass, i know he’s had this tough love thing since Jason but god why cant he let me be? Every move I make, he second guesses. Every mission, he reroutes my patrol to keep me ‘safer.’ He acts like I’m some reckless idiot who’s one bad decision away from getting killed.”

Dick hummed. “Jason probably isn’t helping.”

You huffed. “Oh, he’s worse. At least Bruce lets me fight Jason acts like I’m made of glass. Like I need protecting, like I can’t handle myself.”

Dick smirked. “Well, you did almost get blown up yesterday.”

You scowled. “That’s not the point.”

“Mmhmm.”

You ignored him and kept going.

“And then there’s Tim. Who just smirks. Like he enjoys watching me get lectured by dad and chewed out by Jason. Like this is all some kind of entertainment to him.”

Dick laughed. “It is entertaining.”

You threw a fry at him. He caught it without looking.

“It’s just” You exhaled sharply. “Bruce doesn’t trust me, Jason coddles me, and Tim thinks it’s all a joke. And yet Damian gets to do whatever the hell he wants.”

Dick raised a brow. “Ah. So this is about Damian.”

You stabbed your fork into your fries. “It’s not. It’s about all of it. But also? Yeah. It’s about Damian.”

Dick took another bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully. “Bruce would let him get away with murder?”

“Literally,” you muttered. “Meanwhile, I take one risk one calculated risk and suddenly I’m ‘not ready.’”

Dick sighed, setting his burger down. “Okay. So, what’s the actual problem?”

You frowned. “I just told you”

“No, I mean the real problem. You don’t actually care that Bruce is strict. You expect that. You don’t even care that Jason’s overprotective he does that to everyone he loves.”

You looked away. “…So?”

“So,” he said, smirking, “what you actually hate is that they don’t see you as an equal.”

You frowned.

Dick leaned back, crossing his arms. “They see you as their little sister. Their daughter. They see someone they have to protect, not someone they can trust.”

Your grip on your fork tightened. “And that’s not fair.”

“No,” he agreed easily. “It’s not.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, casually, Dick added, “But hey, at least Conner treats you like an equal.”

You froze mid bite.

Slowly, you looked up at him.

He grinned.

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t.”

He tilted his head. “What?”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” he teased. “You could’ve gone for someone normal, but nooo. You had to pick another dark, broody, overpowered meathead”

“Dick, I swear”

“You surround yourself with annoying guys”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Never speak again.”

“Oh, absolutely not.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting mischievously. “In fact, I think I should speak more. Maybe bring this up at family dinner. Hey, Bruce, did you know your daughter has a thing for emotionally constipated guys in leather?”

You threw another fry at him.

He dodged it effortlessly, laughing.

“Dick. I will kill you.”

“I kinda want to meet this guy.”

You glared.

He just smiled. But despite your annoyance, despite everything Bruce’s overprotection, Jason’s coddling, Tim’s smirking something about the conversation helped. Because at least one of your brothers saw you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

You regretted ever telling your family now. Dick knowing about Conner means you’ve been introduced to hell.

oh satan over there? yeah he’s on the body of your bug brother.

Not because he was mad not even because he was disapproving but because he was Dick.

Which meant relentless teasing.

Which meant grinning at you like he had the world’s juiciest blackmail material. Which meant the exact sentence that had been haunting you ever since your burger night.

“I want to meet my younger sister’s hero.”

It had been two days. Two. And he would not let it go.

You tried to avoid it. Tried to make excuses. But Dick was persistent.

So now here you were on a Gotham rooftop, arms crossed, glaring at him as he sat on the ledge like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m interested,” he corrected. “I mean, c’mon. I’ve only ever heard about this guy from our brothers, and none of them have anything nice to say.” He smirked. “Figured I should form my own opinion.”

You groaned. “Can you not?”

“Oh, I definitely can,” he said. “I just won’t.”

Before you could argue further, a gust of wind swept through the air, and There he was.

Conner landed a few feet away, hands in his jacket pockets, red cape billowing slightly behind him. His gaze flickered between you and Dick, brows furrowed in mild suspicion.

“You okay?” he asked you first, like he always did.

You exhaled. “Yeah. I just ” You shot Dick a look. “Had a situation to handle.”

Conner raised an eyebrow.

Dick, meanwhile, was grinning.

“Well, well, well,” he said, standing up and brushing off his suit. “The infamous Superboy.”

Conner’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And you’re…?”

Dicks mouth dropped glancing to you “Oh, wow. That actually hurt.” Then he extended a hand. “Dick Grayson. Also known as Nightwing. Also known as best older brother. Nice to finally meet you.”

Conner eyed him for a second before shaking his hand. “…Right.”

Dick’s smirk widened. “So. You’re the little guy my little sister’s been sneaking around with, huh?”

You instantly regretted your entire life.

Conner’s gaze flickered to you before he answered, clearly unsure how to respond. “Guess so…?”

“Oh, I like him already,” Dick laughed. “Got that classic ‘brooding hero’ energy. I see the appeal.”

You glared. “Dick”

“I mean, you do have a type,” he continued, grinning at you. “The whole ‘dark, broody, overpowered’ thing? Classic. keep the family values. I respect it.”

Conner glanced at you, fidgeting slightly as if trying to hold back a laugh. “its not a wrong point.”

You smacked his arm. “Not you too.”

Dick just laughed. “So. How’s the Super life treating you?”

Conner shrugged awkwardly, clearly not sure how to navigate the conversation. “Could be worse.”

“Dealing with my family yet?”

“All the time.”

Dick nodded sagely. “Yeah, that’s rough, buddy.”

Conner gave a quiet, awkward chuckle. “It’s not that bad.” His gaze softened slightly when he looked at you. “She makes it easier.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. Then slowly he grinned.

“Oh, man,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re down bad.”

You groaned. “Dick. it’s gross when you say that. Shut up.”

“I love this,” he continued, delighted. “This is so much better than I imagined.”

Conner crossed his arms and tried to lean against the ledge nonchalantly, but there was a slight stiff tension in his posture. “I wont stop her if she starts fighting”

Dick gasped, hand over his heart. “You’d turn her against me?”

“mmmmm i’m in a Y/n wrongs and right are rights morality,” Conner pointed out with a soft, awkward chuckle.

Dick sighed. “ew you sound like me with women.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay. We’re done here.”

But before you could drag Conner away, Dick clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, all jokes aside,” he said, suddenly more serious, “I get why Bruce and Jason are… difficult about this. You’re powerful. You’re dangerous. You’re not one of us.”

Conner tensed slightly, glancing over at you like he didn’t know how to respond.

Dick met his gaze. “But I see how you look at her. And I see how she looks at you.” His expression softened. “So, for what it’s worth? You’ve got my approval.”

Conner blinked, clearly caught off guard. He cleared his throat, trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck. “Wasn’t asking.”

Dick grinned. “Oh, I really like you.”

You groaned. “I hate both of you.”

Conner just took your hand, squeezing lightly, trying to brush off the awkwardness that had started to settle in. “You love me.” he whispered

You muttered something under your breath. Dick slung an arm around your shoulders, still grinning.

“Alright, Superboy. Don’t break her heart. Or I will break you.”

Conner didn’t flinch. “You could try.”

“Ohhh, I really really like him.”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

The gala was everything you dreaded about Gotham’s elite. The high end designers. The glittering chandeliers. The fake smiles and empty conversations about stock markets and charities you knew were just tax write offs. You were dreading it. But you had no choice. Your dad had insisted.

“You’re going with me,” Bruce had said, his tone one you couldn’t argue with. “Damien’s going too.”

Damien.

You rolled your eyes. If there was one silver lining, it was that Damien would make the night more bearable. Sure, he was insufferable, but deep down, he was your favorite… well one of them.

You didn’t know when it started, but you couldn’t deny it. Every time someone made a comment about you, something snide about being Bruce Wayne’s daughter or how you’d grown up in a world of privilege, Damien was right there. He might have been a bratty little boy, but he had a surprisingly soft spot for you.

He’d bark back at anyone who dared talk down to you. And that always made you smile.

Still, you hated the galas. The whole act of pretending to be someone you weren’t, of feigning interest in the people who rubbed elbows with the most corrupt figures in Gotham. It made you feel like you were just another part of Bruce Wayne’s PR machine, just another Wayne for the rich to admire, the perfect daughter.

You weren’t. At least not in the way they thought you were.

⸻

You stood in front of the mirror in your dress, adjusting the neckline slightly. It wasn’t too flashy. Not as tight or revealing as some of the other dresses you’d seen at these events. It wasn’t your style to try and look like you were above everyone else. There was an elegance to it, sure, but it wasn’t over the top.

You sighed, glancing at the clock. You were almost late. You had not been in the mood to get dressed up and pretend you weren’t itching to leave this stupid party as soon as you walked in.

The door to your room creaked open just a bit, and you turned to see Damien standing in the doorway, his usual scowl plastered on his face.

“Are you done yet?” he demanded, crossing his arms.

You blinked at him. “Are you done yet? You look like a little mini Bruce.”

He shot you a glare. “I’ll have you know, I’m a Wayne too, and I’m far superior to Father in many ways.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Mm. Sure, Damien. If that’s what helps you sleep at night.”

Damien’s eyes narrowed in the way they always did when he was being stubborn. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t embarrass the family again.”

“Again?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

You chuckled. “Whatever, Damien. Just don’t get in my way.”

He huffed, but his expression softened for a second. “You know, you don’t have to act like you don’t belong there. It’s your place.”

The rare kindness from Damien caught you off guard. You almost wanted to tease him about it, but something in the way he said it made you pause.

Before you could respond, Bruce’s voice echoed from downstairs. “Damien, [Y/N], let’s go.”

You rolled your eyes. No escape.

⸻

The gala was in full swing when you arrived, the grand ballroom filled with well dressed Gotham’s elite, all laughing, talking, and pretending to be better than they really were. As you walked in behind Bruce and Damien, you couldn’t help but feel like a fish out of water.

Damien, ever the mini Bruce, stepped confidently beside you, his posture straight, eyes sharp. He barely even looked at anyone around him, already ready to shoot down any attempts at conversation. You, on the other hand, put on your best poker face, walking with your head high, but your mind already halfway to escaping.

Bruce was already surrounded by some of the usual suspects, but it didn’t take long for the first person to notice you.

“You know,” a woman with a glass of champagne in hand said, smiling in that way people did when they thought they were better than you. “It’s nice to see the Wayne family so well represented. A fine, upstanding family, despite… well, you know…”

The pause was intentional, like she wanted to see if you’d react to the snide remark. It was a comment about your family’s history, a little jab that no one dared speak out loud but always found a way to slip into their conversations. Isnt being a woman supposed to be about supporting other women? Damien arguably had the same history as you.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Damien beat you to it.

“That’s quite enough.” He said it flatly, stepping forward with a warning glare. “I’m sure if you don’t have anything productive to say, you’d be better off leaving.”

The woman blinked, surprised by the bluntness, but Damien was already walking away, his weird little aura behind him like he was some miniature Dark Knight.

You couldn’t help but smile at him. You were right. He was your favorite.

Bruce glanced at you both, an eyebrow arched. He had seen the whole exchange. You could practically feel him holding back a smirk.

“Damien,” Bruce said, his voice a little too controlled. “You don’t have to go picking fights.”

Damien didn’t back down. “I’m simply defending Y/n. Some of these people need to remember their place.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, but the faintest glimmer of approval passed through his gaze, and it was enough.

⸻

The night dragged on, but you found yourself less uncomfortable with Damien by your side. His quiet protectiveness, the way he always seemed to catch the smallest slight before you did, made it easier to navigate the pretentious conversations. Every time someone made a comment about your family, you could feel Damien’s posture tense and his eyes narrow. And each time, he defended you.

Despite everything, despite how much you complained about his bratty tendencies, Damien was your brat. the weight of the night began to settle. The glittering lights of the gala still flickered in your mind, but the presence of your father and Damien beside you made the ride back almost bearable. Damien, as usual, sat stiffly, his posture perfect even in the backseat of the car, while Bruce remained uncharacteristically quiet, his gaze focused out the window.

You couldn’t help but glance over at Damien, who was looking out his own window, seemingly lost in thought. There had been a moment earlier when Bruce had shared a look with him, something small but meaningful a look you couldn’t quite place. But it was enough to make you feel something unspoken between the two of them. It wasn’t often you saw your father show a soft spot for anyone, let alone his own kids.

The car pulled up to the Manor, and as it came to a stop, you turned to Damien, the words already spilling out before you could stop them.

“You know, you’re not as bad as you pretend to be,” you said, voice teasing but soft. “I might just like you after all.”

Damien scoffed. “You shouldn’t like me. I’m better than you, after all.”

“Pfft, whatever,” you grinned, ignoring his words. The sudden burst of affection you felt in that moment made you throw all your self control out the window. Without thinking, you lunged at him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

Damien let out an exaggerated, dramatic gasp, his body going stiff in shock. “Unhand me, woman,” he hissed, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden outburst of affection.

You ignored his protests, squeezing him tighter. “Nope! Not until you admit that you love me.”

Damien scowled, his face flushing just slightly. “I do not love you, you foolish girl.” But there was no hiding the faint blush creeping onto his cheeks as he tried unsuccessfully to push you away.

Bruce, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, cleared his throat from the front seat, as though reminding you both that you weren’t exactly alone. But it was too late to stop now.

You pulled back just enough to look Damien in the eye, still grinning like a cat. “Come on, admit it. I know you love me.”

Damien tried to glare at you, but there was no hiding the slight curve of his lips. “I tolerate you,” he said begrudgingly.

You held him tighter. “Close enough!”

He growled, finally breaking free from your grip. “This is not over,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting his suit with a dramatic flair.

You leaned back, still grinning like an idiot. “Sure, sure, Damien. You can pretend all you want.”

Bruce finally spoke up, his tone surprisingly light. “Alright, break it up, you two. We’ve still got a whole night to get through.”

Damien shot a glare at Bruce. “I’m not the one causing disruptions here.”

You and Bruce shared a look, and for just a brief second, you saw it, something rare and almost tender between the two of them. Damien wasn’t as bad as you’d thought. he had his own way of showing care.

Damien, still grumbling, marched ahead toward the front door, muttering something about how he was going to “train” and “get away from these ridiculous people.” But you knew better. Underneath the bravado, Damien was just like everyone else in this family he cared.

As you stepped out of the car and onto the front porch of Wayne Manor, the cool night air hit your face, carrying the faint scent of rain. You were exhausted, mentally drained from the fake smiles and shallow conversations of the gala, and the weight of the night hung heavy on your shoulders. You couldn’t wait to retreat to your room, get out of this damn dress, and let your thoughts settle.

But as you walked toward the front door, something or rather someone caught your eye. Standing by the door, just under the archway of the Manor, was a familiar silhouette. The figure straightened when he saw you approach, a soft smile appearing on his face.

Conner.

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected him to be here, but there he was, waiting for you, like he always did.

“Hey,” you said softly, as you run over to him. your exhaustion suddenly lifting at the sight of him.

He tilted his head, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. “You look… very beautiful tonight.”

You let out a small, tired chuckle. “Beautiful? someone is learning how to express his emotions”

Conner’s brow furrowed, his eyes scanning you like he could see the exhaustion beneath your calm exterior. He stepped forward, his large frame nearly blocking the door. “You okay?”

You nodded, but only half heartedly. “Yeah, just… tired of it all. Tired of pretending.”

Conner didn’t say anything at first, but his gaze softened. His next words were simple, but they always meant more than you expected. “you’re done now, don’t have to think about it now.”

You stepped closer to him, letting the tension in your body melt just a little. “Thanks, Conner. It means a lot. I don’t think I could stand much more of these stupid galas if I didn’t know you’d be waiting for me.”

He smiled at that, the kind of smile that made your heart flutter in your chest, as he stepped aside to let you in. “Always. You know I’ve got your back.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “You’re the best.”

Conner chuckled, stepping back as you passed him. “I’m just doing my job, keeping you out of trouble.”

You shot him a playful look over your shoulder. “Really? Keeping me out of trouble?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, you seem to find it even when I’m not around.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, but the moment you passed him, you felt his hand gently grasp your arm, a soft but firm hold that pulled you back toward him.

“What?” you asked, confused.

Conner was staring at you, his blue eyes intense but gentle. “You looked like you needed someone tonight. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

You stared at him for a moment, letting his words settle. But instead of saying anything, you simply let out a long sigh and let your shoulders relax. You didn’t need to talk about it now. Not when Conner was here, offering comfort without the need for words.

Instead, you smiled softly, stepping into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “I think… I think I just need this right now.”

Conner wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as if to shield you from everything outside this moment. “I’ve got you.”

You closed your eyes, letting the familiar warmth of his embrace wrap around you.

The moment of quiet was shattered by the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat.

You tensed slightly, already knowing exactly who it was before you even turned your head.

Bruce stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable but his presence alone was enough to make the warmth in your chest falter just a bit.

“It’s late,” he said, voice even, but carrying that weight of authority only he could manage. “You should be inside now.”

You sighed, pulling back slightly from Conner but keeping your hand locked around his wrist. Of course, Bruce had impeccable timing.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” you muttered, turning toward the door but you didn’t let go of Conner. Instead, you tugged him along with you, acting like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Bruce’s eyes flicked down to your hand still gripping Conner’s, his expression barely changing, but you knew he noticed.

Conner hesitated for half a second, casting a glance between you and your father, as if gauging whether it was a terrible idea to follow you inside. But you weren’t giving him a choice.

Bruce let out the tiniest sigh, stepping aside to let you both in, but not without a warning glance at Conner.

“Don’t make me regret this,” Bruce said evenly.

Conner just glared at him, tight lipped smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

You definitely caught the way Bruce’s brow twitched ever so slightly at the sir, but you didn’t dwell on it. You just smirked to yourself and pulled Conner further into the Manor, past your father, past all the unspoken tension, and straight toward the one place you could finally relax.

Conner leaned in as you walked, voice low and teasing. “You dragged me in here.”

You grinned up at him. “What, scared of my dad?”

Conner huffed. “No. But I am scared of what your brothers are gonna say when they see me here.”

You just laughed. “Oh, you should be.”

As you pulled Conner deeper into the Manor, you moved quickly, knowing full well that the longer you lingered, the higher the chance of getting ambushed by one of your loving brothers.

You practically speed walked through the grand hall, past the dimly lit corridors.

“Ah, welcome home, Miss.”

You skidded to a stop as Alfred appeared seemingly out of nowhere, standing near the bottom of the staircase with his usual composed demeanor.

Conner tensed beside you, standing up straighter like he was about to get scolded. Clearly, even he wasn’t immune to Alfred’s presence.

You shot the butler a quick smile, still keeping a tight grip on Conner’s wrist. “Hey, Alfred. Gala was awful, as expected. Goodnight!”

And before he could reply, you dragged Conner up the stairs.

“Goodnight, Miss. Goodnight, Mister Conner,” Alfred called after you, voice laced with mild amusement.

Conner barely managed to glance over his shoulder to offer a polite, “Uh goodnight, sir,” before he was pulled around the corner and out of sight.

When you finally made it to your room, you threw the door open and all but shoved Conner inside before shutting it behind you with a sigh of relief.

“Okay, safe,” you muttered, leaning against the door.

Conner raised a brow. “You act like we just broke into the White House.”

You pointed a finger at him. “This house probably has better security than the white house.”

Conner snorted, shaking his head as he glanced around your room. He’d been here before, but it was still surreal for him standing in Wayne Manor.

You walked over to your bed, flopping onto it dramatically. “I swear, I love Alfred, but he always pops up at the worst moments. It’s like a sixth sense.”

Conner smirked, stepping closer. “Maybe he was just making sure I wasn’t sneaking in to corrupt his favorite Wayne.”

You peeked up at him through your arms. “Bold of you to assume I’m his favorite.”

He sat down beside you, resting his elbows on his knees. “You definitely are.”

You grinned, nudging him lightly with your foot. “Flatter me more, Superboy.”

Conner just chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t need flattery. You already know how great you are.”

You huffed, rolling onto your side. “Tell that to my dad.”

Conner didn’t say anything right away, just let his hand rest on yours, grounding you. You let out a slow breath, the exhaustion of the day finally settling in.

“Get some sleep,” Conner murmured. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”

You didn’t even think about it before squeezing his hand. “Stay.”

And he did.

Conner sat beside you on the bed, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your wrist. The room was dimly lit, casting shadows across his face, making his blue eyes stand out even more than usual. He was warm, solid, grounding in a way you desperately needed after the night you’d had.

You shifted closer, tilting your head up toward him. He caught the movement instantly, his gaze flicking down to your lips before he leaned in, closing the space between you.

The kiss was gentle at first, unhurried. His lips pressed against yours in a way that made your chest tighten not with nerves, but with something softer, something steady. His hand slid up, fingertips brushing your jaw before cradling your face, pulling you just a little closer.

You sighed against him, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. He kissed you again, deeper this time, as if memorizing the shape of your lips, as if reminding himself that you were here, that you were his.

A loud noise from the window, followed by the distinct sound of fabric rustling, and then.

THUD.

Conner barely had time to pull back before a voice cut through the moment.

“Oh, come on I just ate.”

You both snapped your heads toward the window, where Tim stood, looking absolutely horrified, like he’d just walked in on the worst crime imaginable.

You groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “Jesus Christ, Tim”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose like he was experiencing actual pain. “You know I tolerate this relationship for your sake, right? Doesn’t mean I need to see it.”

“Theres a reason we’re in my room with the door closed. what did you even want anyways”

“Ok miss shitbag, I was gonna see if you brought any food from the gala”

Conner, looking far too smug for someone just caught making out, leaned back on his hands. “You could’ve knocked.”

Tim made a disgusted face. “Knocked? On her window? I didn’t think I needed a warning before coming in.” He gestured wildly between the two of you. “I thought I was safe! But no, I have to live with the trauma of seeing my best friend all over my sister.”

You threw a pillow at him. “We weren’t even doing anything!”

Tim caught it with one hand, unimpressed. “There was face touching. That’s enough.”

Conner just shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, I think she’s a better kisser than you.”

Tim immediately gagged, doubling over like he’d been physically attacked. “WHY WOULD THAT MAKE ME FEEL BETTER?!”

You burst out laughing, while Conner grinned like he’d won something.

Tim groaned dramatically, shaking his head as he turned toward the window. “I hate this. I hate both of you. I’m leaving.”

“Goodnight, Tim,” you called sweetly.

“I hope you both stub your toes,” he shot back before disappearing out the window.

As soon as he was gone, you turned to Conner, still grinning. “You did that on purpose.”

Conner smirked. “Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes before pulling him back down into another kiss because if Tim was gonna be dramatic about it, you might as well make it worth it.

#kon el #kon el kent #kon el superboy #kon el x reader #conner kent #conner kent x reader #young justice #young justice x reader #batfam #batfam x reader #batfam x batsis #dc comics #dc universe #dc #dc comics x reader

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lazy-ahh · 2 months ago

Text

THE CROWBAR WASN'T THE WORST OF IT (WATCHING YOU FORGET HOW TO SMILE IS)

pairing arkham knight! jason todd x (vigilante) male reader

you'd recognize him anywhere—even through the armor, even through the years. the arkham knight moves like a ghost, but you know the weight of his footsteps, the hitch in his breath when he lies. and when he saves you from a bat to the skull, you do the one thing that might break you both: you pretend not to know him, the boy under the armor who still wears your old hoodie beneath his kevlar.

the night is thick with the scent of rain and blood, the alleyway slick under your boots as you drive another fist into a henchman’s jaw. his head snaps back with a wet crack, teeth scattering across the pavement like broken glass. you don’t stop—can’t stop. not when every punch is another scream silenced, another debt paid in the name of the boy you lost.

there are too many of them. twelve, maybe fifteen, all armed, all desperate. one swings a knife at your ribs—you twist, catching his wrist and snapping it backward until the bone juts white through skin. he howls, but the sound is cut short when you slam his face into the brick wall. another charges, crowbar raised; you duck, driving your elbow into his gut before kneeing him in the chin. blood sprays from his mouth as he crumples.

you’re faster, angrier, but exhaustion claws at your muscles, your breaths ragged. your knuckles are split, your ribs scream with every movement, but you don’t care. pain is just another reminder that you’re still alive when he isn’t.

a fist clips your temple—stars burst behind your eyes. you stagger, tasting copper, but lash out blindly. your fingers find a throat, squeeze until the man gurgles, his face purpling. you drop him like trash.

you don’t see the one behind you.

the glint of a bat swings toward your skull—

a gunshot rings out.

the henchman drops before the bat can connect, his body slumping like a puppet with its strings cut. your head whips toward the rooftop where the shot came from—just in time to see a shadow detach itself from the darkness. the figure moves with lethal grace, dropping down in front of you with a heavy thud that sends cracks spiderwebbing through the pavement. the dim glow of the streetlight catches on his armor, painting the edges of his helmet in flickering blue.

the arkham knight.

your body screams at you to move, to fight, but exhaustion weighs your limbs down like lead. instead, you shift into a defensive stance—not aggressive, but wary. this man just saved you, after all. you’ve heard the whispers about him. a ghost in armor. a mercenary with no master. but the way he stands, the tilt of his head, the way his weight shifts ever so slightly to the left—just like he used to.

and then he speaks.

“you’re reckless.”

his voice is distorted by the modulator, mechanical and cold, but beneath it—beneath it—there’s a cadence you’d recognize in your sleep. the way the words curl at the edges, the faintest hint of a growl that used to tease you, scold you, laugh with you.

your heart stutters.

no. no, it can’t be. god, please don't give me hope. i don't think i'll be able to recover if this isn't him-

but then he shifts again, and the scent of gunpowder and leather hits you—buried under the sharp tang of metal and sweat, but there. it’s the same smell that used to cling to his jacket when he’d sling it over your shoulders after patrol. the same smell that lingered in your apartment long after he’d left.

and his breathing—even through the helmet, you can hear it. steady. controlled. the same rhythm you used to match when you’d lie beside him under the stars, counting each inhale like a prayer.

your throat tightens.

it’s him.

you know it’s him.

the lump in your throat feels like a stone, heavy and suffocating, but you force your voice steady anyway. “thanks for the save.” the words come out quieter than you meant, almost lost in the ringing silence after the gunfire.

he doesn’t answer. just turns smoothly—too smoothly, the way only someone trained by the bat could move—and fires two more shots. the bullets hit their marks with brutal precision, dropping the last fleeing henchmen before they even make it three steps. the alley falls deathly still, the only sound the distant scream of sirens and the drip of blood from your split knuckles onto the pavement.

“you should leave,” he says, still refusing to look at you. his voice is flat, controlled, but you hear the tension underneath. like he’s holding himself back. “cops’ll be here soon.”

you don’t move. can’t. your fingers twitch at your sides, itching to grab the edge of that helmet, to rip it off and see for yourself if his eyes are still the same stormy green that used to roll at your bad jokes. but you don’t. you play the game—just like old times, when one of you was being dramatic and the other had to pretend not to notice. back when things were easy. back when he was alive.

“you’re not sticking around?” you ask, tilting your head the way you know would’ve made him smirk.

he hesitates. just a fraction of a second, but you catch it. “...not my style.”

“then why help me?”

this time, the pause stretches longer. you can practically hear him weighing his words, calculating how much to give away. when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, the modulator struggling to hide the roughness underneath. “...you fight like you’ve got something to prove.”

you almost laugh. you have no idea.

instead, you shrug, flexing your aching fingers. “maybe i do.”

he watches you—you can feel the weight of his gaze even through the mask, familiar and intense—before jerking his chin toward the fire escape. “come on. unless you wanna explain this to gordon.”

you follow. like you always would have. like you should have. like part of you never stopped.

(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

the rooftops hold their breath between you, the city sprawled beneath like a bleeding masterpiece—neon smears of violet and gold reflected in rain puddles, shadows stretching like fresh bruises across alleyways. he stands apart, but not far enough that you can't see how the armor clings to him, how it sculpts the familiar breadth of his shoulders, the stubborn set of his jaw even beneath the helmet. his arms are crossed, but you remember how they felt wrapped around you once, all lean muscle and warmth, and now they're corded with new strength, thicker with the weight of whatever hell he's survived. his fingers press into his own biceps hard enough to dent flesh, like he's physically holding himself back from reaching for you.

you pretend not to notice the way his chest rises just a little too fast under the plating. pretend not to trace the lines of him with your eyes, relearning what time and pain have reshaped. he's taller now, broader, a weapon honed sharp where he used to be all reckless angles and grinning bravado. but he still carries himself the same—like the world is something to be challenged, like he's bracing for impact.

"so," you begin, letting your legs swing over the drop like you're dangling over the edge of everything you've lost and everything that's just been given back. the wind claws at your clothes, impatient. "you just make a habit of saving random vigilantes?"

"you're not random." the words tear free like they've been ripped from him, raw at the edges, and his whole body goes rigid after, shoulders hiking like he can choke them back down.

your lips twist into something that might pass for a smile if it didn't feel like your chest was cracking open. "oh? you know me?"

"i know of you." each syllable is measured, careful, like he's walking a tightrope over an abyss. "you've been... active."

active. such a small word for the carnage you've carved into gotham's bones. you've painted the streets in the language of your grief—knuckles split on teeth that will never say his name, ribs bruised against pavement as you chased the ghost of a laugh you'll never hear. every fracture you've dealt, every scream you've pulled from the dark—love letters written in violence to a ghost who was never really dead.

"someone's gotta clean up the trash," you mutter, watching a distant police siren bleed red across the skyline. your fingers skim the rough edge of the rooftop, where concrete crumbles into nothing. just like the edge you've been balancing on since they handed you a closed casket and a lie.

now you know.

now you see.

the silence stretches between you, thick enough to choke on. the city's distant hum fades into nothing, until all you can hear is the ragged rhythm of your own breathing and the quiet creak of his armored gloves tightening into fists. then, barely louder than the wind—

"what made you start?"

the question lands like a punch to the ribs. you stare down at your hands, at the blood crusted in the grooves of your knuckles, at the fresh crimson welling up from split skin. each scar, each bruise—a confession written in violence.

"lost someone," you murmur, and the words taste like rotten milk.

"...who?"

you close your eyes. the image comes unbidden—wild dark hair, that stupid half-smirk, green eyes bright with mischief. you. i lost you. i lost you and it broke me.

"a friend," you force out instead, swallowing around the lump in your throat. "he was... good. too good for this fucked-up city. better than any of us deserved."

the arkham knight goes statue-still. even the subtle whir of his armor seems to freeze.

"what happened to him?"

"joker happened." the name sears your tongue, venomous and vile. your hands shake. you clench them. "he was robin. the second one. jason todd." his name—his real name—shatters between you like glass.

you hear it—the sharp, aborted inhale. see the way his fists clench so tight the armor groans in protest.

you can't stop now. the words are clawing their way up your throat like they've been waiting years to be free. "he was brave in that stupid way that made your heart stop. reckless like he had something to prove to the whole damn world." your breath hitches, the night air suddenly too thick. "stubborn as hell—once he got an idea in his head, nothing could shake it loose." the ghost of his grin flickers behind your eyelids, that infuriating, beautiful smirk that always meant trouble. a wet, broken laugh escapes you, tasting like salt and regret. "god, he pissed off all the right people. had a mouth on him that could start fights in an empty room and a laugh that could make you forgive him for it instantly."

your voice cracks like thin ice under the weight of memory. "he was my best friend. my—" the truth burns behind your teeth, everything. he was my sunrise and my last good night's sleep. the reason i breathed easier and the reason my hands won't stop shaking now. "and i didn't save him." the admission carves through you, fresh as the day they told you. "i should've been there. should've ignored the rules, should've followed him that night, should've—" your fists clench, blood welling in crescent moons where your nails meet flesh. "i should've died with him if i couldn't save him. anything would've been better than this." the words hang between you, raw and bleeding, all the things you've never said aloud finally given voice in the shadow of the boy they belong to.

the air between you shatters like thin ice underfoot, the pieces glinting dangerously in the dim light. the arkham knight jerks away as if burned, his armored shoulders curling inward like he's trying to fold himself into nothing. the weight of his name—his real name—and your confession hangs between you like a noose, and for a breathless moment, you swear you can hear his heart pounding through the armor.

"you cared about him." his voice is scraped raw, the modulator struggling to contain the tremor beneath. it's not a question—it's an accusation, a plea, a prayer.

"more than anything," you whisper, and the words taste like blood in your mouth. like the last confession of a dying man.

he doesn't move. doesn't breathe. for one terrifying second, you think he might actually crumble under the weight of it all. then, with a shuddering exhale, his hand lifts—slow, hesitant—fingers grazing the edge of his helmet like he's testing the temperature of a flame.

your lungs seize. please. please—

but he stops. his hand falls back to his side like a dead weight, fingers twitching once before curling into a fist. the silence that follows is deafening.

"he'd hate what you're doing," he grinds out, voice cracking under the strain. "the way you're—" a sharp inhale. "throwing yourself into fights like you've got nothing left to lose. he wouldn't—" the modulator glitches, betraying him. "he wouldn't want you to get hurt."

you smile, but it's a brittle thing, all sharp edges and broken promises. "yeah," you agree softly, your thumb brushing absently over a fresh cut on your knuckles. "he was always like that. protective to a fault." your eyes flick up to where his visor gleams in the low light. "guess some things never change."

the arkham knight goes statue-still. not even the subtle whir of his armor dares to break the silence. you can feel the war raging inside him—the desperate need to reach for you battling against the fear of what comes after. the distance between you has never felt so vast, even though you could reach out and touch him if you tried.

(you don't try.)

the moment stretches between you, trembling like a bowstring pulled too tight. you watch the way his armored fingers twitch—reaching, hesitating, pulling back—a dance of want and fear played out in micro-movements.

"he'd want you to be safe," he says finally, voice so low the modulator nearly swallows the words whole. the way he says it—like he's pleading, like he's begging you to understand something—makes your chest ache.

you huff a laugh, kicking a loose pebble off the roof's edge. "he'd want a lot of things." the pebble disappears into the darkness below. "world peace. better pizza. for me to stop stealing his hoodies." you don't miss the way his breath catches at that. "but we don't always get what we want, do we?"

his helmet tilts just slightly, that familiar considering angle you'd know anywhere. "you kept them." it's not a question. "his things."

"like a damn shrine," you admit, rubbing your thumb over a fresh cut on your knuckles. "his favorite mug still sits by my coffee maker. his stupid dinosaur-print socks are in my top drawer." your voice drops to a whisper. "i couldn't let go. not of any of it."

the armor creaks as he shifts his weight, that old nervous habit he never shook. "that's... fucked up." but there's no heat in it—just something painfully close to wonder.

"tell me about it." you lean back on your hands, staring up at the smog-choked stars. "you ever love someone so much it ruins you?"

the silence that follows is answer enough. when he finally speaks, his voice is raw. "he'd hate seeing you like this. all... broken."

"maybe." you turn to look at him, at the way the city lights reflect off that damned helmet. "but he's not here to see it, is he?"

the sharp intake of breath tells you that landed exactly where you meant it to. you watch his chest rise and fall too fast, watch the way his hands flex like he wants to strangle something—maybe you, maybe himself.

"you're an asshole," he grinds out, but there's no real anger behind it. just pain. just longing.

you smile, soft and sad. "yeah. he used to say that too."

the space between your hands feels charged, like the quiet before a lightning strike. you watch his gloved fingers twitch—once, twice—before they finally move. his touch is featherlight, just the barest brush of his knuckles against yours, but it sends a shockwave through your entire body. it’s him. that same hesitant, half-awkward way he’d always reached for you, like he was never quite sure he was allowed to.

your breath catches.

he pulls back like he’s been burned, the armor plating of his forearm scraping against yours as he jerks away. but the ghost of his touch lingers, burning brighter than any wound you’ve ever earned in battle.

"stay," you murmur, still staring at the space where his hand had been. the word comes out cracked, desperate in a way you haven’t let yourself sound in years.

he goes utterly still. you can hear the ragged hitch of his breath through the modulator, can see the way his shoulders tense like he’s fighting against himself.

"you don't even know who i am," he grinds out, voice scraping through the modulator like gravel over glass. it's meant to sound mocking, but the way it fractures halfway through betrays him—there's something shattered beneath that armored exterior, something raw and wounded that no amount of mechanical distortion can hide.

you smile, slow and aching, the expression pulling at the split in your lip. "you're the arkham knight," you murmur, tipping your head back to stare at the smog-choked sky. your voice is calm, too calm, like the eerie stillness before a storm. as if that title explains why his gloved fingers linger near yours, why the space between you feels charged with something electric and ancient. as if you haven't memorized the exact way he holds himself, haven't spent years dreaming of that familiar silhouette against gotham's skyline.

the silence that follows is thick enough to drown in. the city pulses below like a living thing—car horns blaring in the distance, a siren wailing its mournful song, the ever-present hum of neon signs flickering against the darkness. all of it indifferent to the way your heart pounds against your ribs, to the way your pulse jumps when his armored knee brushes against yours. accidental, maybe, but he doesn't pull away. doesn't even pretend to.

you don't either. you can't. not when this is the closest you've been to him in years, not when every fiber of your being screams to reach out and—

the night stretches on around you, heavy with unsaid words and half-remembered promises. the air tastes like rain and gunpowder and something bittersweet you can't name. not yet. but soon.

(soon.)

3k words worth of angst and AHHH MY POOR BOY JASON I'M SORRYYYYY

#lazy-ahh #dc comics #arkham knight #jason todd #male reader #arkham knight x male reader #jason todd x male reader #i literally feel so sad and heartbroken #and I WROTE THIS #what have i done #there's this tiktok edit of arkham knight jason that's just been stuck in my head #ngl that tiktok inspired me to make this #AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #JASONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 4 months ago

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okay, to add onto my little pilates princess blurb- i can just imagine gym bro dick grayson and jason todd finally trying reformer pilates. obviously in a world where they don’t have super strength, etc. but theyre your roommates, and they always tease you a little for doing pilates- not because they think it’s bad or stupid, they just don’t understand how it works. so when they tease you while you make a smoothie before your class in your little pink outfit, you cross your arms and face them both, matching their cross armed stance, challenging them to come to a class with you next week. “challenge accepted princess” theyd smirk, before going off to lift weights or whatever the hell they did. of course, they only teased you because they both had a crush on you- of course, because who wouldn’t have a crush on you (yes, im talking to you reader).

so the day finally rolls around, you hop out of bed, the sun is shining, the birds chirping and you are so excited. for them to feel pain and to see how much they can suffer. “what’s got you so chipper?” dick would ask as he’d pack his bag, watching you make your smoothie, like he did every morning. “oh nothing. just excited is all. i hear it’s gonna be a rewarding class today.” you had talked to your instructor ahead of time and it actually worked out, because it was only you three today (and you both obviously schemed to make them work and put their money where their mouths were).

and you were oh so happy when they first walked in. “how the hell do you even use this thing?” jason asked, standing by the machine and examining all the levels. “easy.” you said, going right up to your spot, eager for class to start. and oh boy, did it start. within the first ten minutes you heard huffs and grunts. “what the actual fuck is this shit?” dick groaned, limbs starting to shake. you just laughed, doing the routined exercises with ease. “pilates! i thought you said it was easy?” “god no, please. have mercy. i take it all back.”

you couldn’t help but giggle a little as your instructor fixed dicks posture, making him hiss as his leg started to shake even more. same with jason. it was too fun, watching them realize how difficult it actually was, and how much strength it took. different from just lifting dumbbells, though you were sure that was important too. “this is some hard core military shit.” jason groaned, and you just nodded along, giving them each a look of pity before staring up at the ceiling, trying to hold back from laughing. it had only been the first twenty minutes of class.

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planetwaynez · 1 year ago

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bad ideia right?

Jason x Roy x Fem!Reader

Notes: I've been cooking this JayRoy x Fem!Reader for some time now, the only thing is... I got excited and ended up writing waaaay too much so this will be separeted in two parts. This is part one, if you guys like it lemme know if you want part two, pls!!!

PART 2!!!!

WARNINGS: Talks about stalking, nearly death experince, violence, murderer, being socialy secluded, a lot of complicated feelings. This is part 1!

Words: 4,7k

Synopsis: It never crossed Roy's mind that his cute civilian ex would be knocking at his apartmant door asking for help. Jason never tought that he would've to help his boyfriend with his ex, but he is, especially because she might die if they don't help her out.

Things are not so great at the moment. And she knows it, that's why she stands in front of her ex boyfriend's apartment door, picking at her nails and looking everywhere but the door. She knows she shouldn't be looking for him, but in the situation that she finds herself, Roy may be the only person that can help her out. Rationality, she knows it's no biggie, showing up and asking for her ex boyfriend, who is a very known vigilante, to save her skin. However, emotionally, she knows it's fucked up.

Taking a deep breath, she knows it's a bad idea, but she reaches for the door and knocks. Taking a step back, y/n can feel her muscles starting to shake in a nervous fit.

It's been two years since she saw Roy for the last time, and she wonders how much has changed since then.

The door is open and y/n looks up, to find a tall brunette looking at her with an arched eyebrow. She smiles, trying to be polite. He doesn't smile back.

“Hi! Is this Roy Harper's apartment?” She asks, still picking at her nails and the man in front of her notices.

“Yes” he answers, his voice deep and intimidating and for the first time she knows for a fact that this is more than a bad idea, it's a terrible one. But then again, it's better than dying.

“Is he home?” The man crosses his big arms over his chest, taking in a more intimidating stance than before.

“Yes”

He is not the most polite ever, and it's starting to make y/n panic turn into frustration very quickly.

“Can I talk to him?” the man clicks his tongue, obviously not liking her request. Well, what can she do, a girl needs to try her shot.

“Who is at the door, love?” a familiar voice asks and now she understands. The huge guy in front of her is acting up in a jealous fit. Does he know who she is? Probably.

“Your ex” he says, and yeah, he knows who she is.

They can hear steps coming in the direction of the door and a very confused Roy shows up, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants and his hair is longer, long enough to be put up in a man bun. Cute.

“Y/n?” He is pale and it seems like he just saw a ghost in front of him. She smiles and gives a tiny wave, not knowing how to act. When she decided to ask Roy for help, she knew that there was the chance for this to happen. A chance to find out about his new partner, a chance that he would look terrified, a chance that he would say no and let her die. Simple stuff.

“Hi, Roy” things are awkward, the three of them looking at each other like idiots.

“What are you doing here?” Roy seems offended that she ever had the guts to show up like this and honestly, she understands him and would deal with this situation in a more aggressive way if it was her in his place.

“I need your help” she can feel her cheeks burning and her heart rate increase, she feels the sting of a broken nail and her palms are sweating.

“With what?” Who asks the question is the brunette man, and y/n finally looks at him. He is wearing the same attire as Roy, paired up with a long sleeve black compression shirt, and she realizes how big he actually is. If he wanted to, he could throw her through the stairs of the building with ease. He is scary.

Instead of actually answering the brunette, she started rambling all of her thoughts to them, feeling her chest tight.

“I know you told me not to go, I know you said my brain would put me in danger one day and that my smart mouth would kill me and honestly I never believed you, but I fucked up. I fucked up real bad, Roy.” Desperation seeps through her voice, making her look ridiculous but the amount of panic in the woman in front of Roy only sparks his worry.

“What the fuck did you do?” He asks, taking her wrist and pulling her inside the apartment, practically throwing her in their living room.

“I stumbled across files I should have not stumbled across.” Roy Harper is not a man to worry, unless it's his daughter, Jason or Dinah. Or Y/n.

She was always one to worry about. Always too smart for her own good, always too clever to her own safety, always too curious. She found out way too easily his identity as Arsenal when they were dating. He knew that one day she would have a price over her head.

“What does that mean, y/n?” He is basically yelling at her now, frustrated that she doesn't give him the information he needs. She pouts, hating the fact that Roy is yelling at her.

“It means you were right, ok? I am too curious for my own good and now some rich people want me dead.”

Fuck it.

Jason didn't see this one coming, not even a thousand miles away. When he woke up this morning, sore from their last mission, he wouldn't have guessed that Roy's most recent ex and only civilian ex, would show up at their doorstep asking for Roy to save her skin from rich people.

Jason sighs, drawing the attention to him. He closes his eyes, hoping this is some weird dream, but when he opens them again, two pairs of eyes are staring at him. He thanks the gods that Lian is with Alfred.

“And how could Roy help you?” Jason asks, wondering what is going through this stranger woman's head.

“As Arsenal, obviously” she says, as if Jason is one dumb fucker, and he can't believe that this is happening.

“She knows?” Roy shrugs, as if saying ‘I have no control over that’.

“She found out when we were three months into the relationship” Jason looks at her again, shocked with this new piece of information. He knew they dated for over a year, and also knew how heartbroken Roy was when she left to live in Ireland because of a job opportunity. He didn't know she knew about Arsenal, though.

“It was actually quite easy to figure it out” she says, her eyes roaming over him, not in a ‘I am attracted to you’ way but in ‘who are you?’ type of way, and that made an uneasy feeling set in Jason's stomach.

“How?” He needs to know how she found out, how her brain works. Jason knows a lot of people, for fucks sake, he knows Tim and Tim found out Robin's identity at the age of nine, not many things shook him, but it's eight in the morning and this woman is definitely weird.

“I noticed they have the same scar on the left arm”

Jason's eyes bulge just a little and he looks at his boyfriend, who is looking at the floor, probably embarrassed with how easily a civilian found out his identity.

“I know” the read head says, clicking his tongue “she is a freak with that brain of hers”

It's y/n's turn to sigh, rolling her eyes. She looks at Jason again and says, very calmly.

“I knew I could say Roy is Arsenal near you because I firmly believe you already knew. Not because he told you, but because you are like him” the nervous and anxious girl from before is gone and she looks more confident and comfortable, and that uneasy feeling of having someone with a bigger brain than yours in the room comes back to Jason's stomach.

“And why's that?” Roy chuckles, and Jason looks at him with a quizzical look but the redhead says nothing, just smiles.

“You keep analyzing me, noticing every single move I make. For a guy your size you are very quiet and silent” she point out, numbering everything she says in her manicured fingers “Also, you keep reaching for your thigh, as if you keep looking for a gun in a holster” Y/n points to his hand, resting in his left thigh, and he wants to curse himself.

“I will make an educated guess and say you are Red Hood, the guy that is always with Arsenal” She says and smiles, tilting her head to the side, exposing her neck that has a hand imprint on it. “You are him, aren't you?”

Jason nods, not verbally answering her, but he knows there is no use lying since she knows about Roy's identity. What actually sparks his interest is the marks in her neck. She notices him looking and she once again hides her skin from them. Jason looks at Roy, to see if he saw the same as him, and his boyfriend's gaze is focused on y/n neck as well. There is more to this story than she is truly telling, and they know.

“She found out about Dinah in forty minutes in the same room as her.” Roy says, instead of saying something about the purple marks, walking to the kitchen to get a water bottle for himself.

Jason looks at her, doing exactly what she said he was doing before, but now he takes his time. Analyzing her. Meanwhile, she keeps an eye on Roy, who is not caring at all about the exchange behind him.

Roy turns around, holding his water bottle and looks at the two of them. He drinks all the water with a few gulps, feeling the cold water calm him down to the conversation he will soon have. He really wants to know who is the fucker that tried to choke her to death and left those marks on her smooth skin.

“Come with me” he says, pointing at a very shocked Jason and a very smug y/n to follow him.

The three of them get in a room decorated to be a study, Roy sits on a couch in the corner of the room and Jason sits next to him, his big arm going around Roy's shoulders.

“Explain yourself, pookie” Roy says and y/n takes a deep breath, collecting her thoughts to start explaining herself to the two vigilantes in front of her.

“It all started a few months ago when Campbell Enterprises, the place I worked at, developed a new project. One that was secretive and only a few would participate, the HR did a whole campaign to encourage us to participate in the selective process to choose the ones that would be a part of this new project. I was hoping I was not chosen, honestly, I was fine with the workload I already had at my lab at the time, but it was mandatory to participate” she pauses, taking a deep breath and looking at the window, watching the sun come through.

“They chose me and a few others to be a part of it, but it was all too secretive, even for us that were working on it. It was tiring, since my regular workload kept coming” she clicks her tongue and blinks, as if she was transported back to the moment that she is telling them about. “One night I stayed later than usual, it was just me in the laboratory, I was tired and annoyed with a few things so I started digging around, just so see if I could see the development of the others that I worked with.”

She blinks again, swallowing tears and looks at them. Roy and Jason are looking at her very attentively, waiting patiently for her to continue. There is no pressure, no tension in the room, just two men looking at her as if she was made of glass and that, for some reason, soothed the pain inside. Y/N is too used to not allowing herself to be fragile, but right now, with Jason and Roy, she feels that she can allow herself to be a little bit vulnerable.

“That's how I ended up coming across the real motivation of the project. They told us that we were developing a new medicine for kids with cancer, when in fact, we were developing a new drug so they could kidnap children and teenagers with more ease.” There is silence in the room and inevitably, they all thought about Lian, that is safely with Alfred, but she could not be, like many others are not.

“And they found out you came across those files and that's how you got five fingers in your neck?” Roy asks, arms crossed and a frown between his eyebrows, looking irritated.

“Not exactly” she says, her right hand going instinctively to her neck, gulping just to remember the touch of that man on her skin. “They found out I knew, but they didn't make it obvious. I knew they would find out eventually and come after me, but until then I thought I could keep living my life.”

Silence reigns the room, the three of them knowing she was just living an illusion until reality came knocking on her door.

“I went out on a date” she says, and that sparks even more their interest. Jason scoffs, not believing what he just heard.

“You knew you had a target on your back and you went on a date?” He asks sarcasm in every word that he says. She nods and Roy looks at her with disbelief in his green eyes.

“I was needy” she simply states, shrugging as if it was not a big of a deal, except it was. “He was a hitman”

Jason and Roy look at each other, not knowing how to actually react to her words. It all seems so out of this world, especially with the way she tells things, so calmly.

“We were kissing, he grabbed my neck and said that I was too curious, he had a good grip but I had a pocket knife” she is smiling and Jason knows for a fact now that she is crazy.

“So you stabbed him” Roy says, a smirk forming in the corner of his red lips. She nods.

“Didn't kill though, just enough to run away” she looks again at the window and takes a deep breath, “that's how I ended up in an airplane to Gotham. I called Dinah and asked where you lived, she told me you moved to Gotham, gave me your address and that's how I ended up here.”

She looks at them again and they can see in her eyes that she is lost. Desperate. In panic and disbelief of herself. What Jason can't see but Roy can is that Y/n truly believes she is going to die if they don't help her out.

Roy is not happy to have his ex, who broke his heart even if their break up was mutual and mature, standing in front of him. Roy is not happy that Dinah just gave information on him so easily. But he is less happy with the idea of y/n dying. No, he gets angry just with the idea of her not existing anymore.

And Jason may not know y/n, but he knows his boyfriend. He knows Roy just as well he knows himself and Jason can see it in the redhead's eyes that they will help her out, even if it fails, they will try their best. Jason can also see the care and admiration in Roy's eyes every time he looks at her, it's the same way Roy looks at him.

Jason will have to swallow his pride and jealousy, because he is going to help his boyfriend's ex to not die.

“We will help you” Roy says, looking at Jason for support and he finds everything he needs in his lover's eyes.

“But with a few conditions” Jason says, now looking at the younger woman. He knows she is younger than them, but now she truly looks like it. The sun is bathing her from her side, making her eyes shine and seem bigger, her lips are painted a glossy red and her cheekbones are chubby and pink. He can't deny, she is adorable and pretty.

“Anything” she says, her lips quivering just slightly. Jason smirks, he knows he is an asshole, but he also gets the job done.

“You will be staying at one of your monitored safe houses, and you won't leave the house, unless one of us is with you.” Roy nods, his gaze focused on her. The redhead forgot how beautiful she looks with her hair down and a turtleneck and he can't stop staring at her now that he noticed.

“We will make the groceries for you, just give a list. Also only burner phones and not social media” Roy says, and y/n was expecting nothing less than that. She is asking for them to keep her alive and she knows they will do it, even if it means keeping her away from society for a while.

“And we need all the information that you have” Jason finishes, reclining himself against the couch, relaxing his muscles.

Y/n stares. She was always curious and when she thinks something - or someone - is pretty, she stares. She didn't look at Jason until she did, and now that she sees what Roy sees, she can't stop looking.

They are both attractive men, she can't decide which she will take a look at longer, her brain working faster than normal to keep up with everything that she is thinking, from the information that they need to Jason's muscles and Roy's pretty lips.

She knows it's going to be a long ride with those two around her.

4 MONTHS LATER

It was comfortable to stay hidden from society while Roy and Jason were dealing with the issue she put herself in. It is comfortable to stay in and watch movies, read books and cook whatever she feels like cooking. It is comfortable not having to go out to do her own grocery shopping, since Jason did that for her in the last four months, and he never forgot anything from the list. It is comfortable to have them around all the time, it is comfortable to have Lian over on the weekends to play with dolls and paint ceramics with her.

However she knows it's not going to last any longer. Actually, all this comfortable scenario is over as she stares at Roy and listens to him talk.

“It’s all over, we fixed everything up, you can go back to living your life, pookie” he says, his green eyes shining with something she can’t quite comprehend, but she knows the feeling that is attached to her chest. He is sitting in a chair in front of her, only a table stopping Y/N to reach out and hug him until her heart stops growing with pain.

She got comfortable, she created an illusion for herself once again. They were there almost everyday, talking, making jokes and eating homemade food made by her, she even got to befriend Jason in the first month, just to develop feelings for him in the third. In the second month she already knew she still loved Roy with her whole soul, and seeing him so dedicated to see her safe again only intensified that.

She can’t explain, really, how she feels. She just knows its different but she loves them both. Roy is like a ray of sunshine that comes through the window, always warm and welcoming, always making her feel important and cared about. He was always good at making her feel like she is the only girl in the world, like she is actually important and easy to love. It's hard to let those feelings for him go, since she can’t get enough of his smile, his green eyes and his stupid jokes. She thinks that deep down, she never stopped loving him. It was like coming home from a long trip, the feeling of having Roy around again was that. His hugs became frequent again and she thinks she can’t let him go, the warmth and the intimacy are just too good and keeps her sane in the difficult days.

Jason was a surprise. Y/N never thought it was possible to love two people at the same time and in the same intensity, but so differently from each other. At first, she thought she was going crazy with guilt because she still loves Roy, and Jason is his boyfriend. But then, slowly, she realized she fell for him just as hard as she had fallen for Roy. Jason is attentive, caring and even though he is more introverted, he understands her on a deep level. He knows when she is upset before she even acknowledges herself, he always has a good book recommendation and he always helped her in the kitchen when he could. Lian loves him and he is good with kids just as much as Roy is. He is calm and collected and somehow, he soothes her mind.

She loves them.

But she is sure they don’t love her back.

“Really?” she questions it, not believing that she can once again live in society without risking herself.

“Yes” Jason says, he is behind Roy, his arms crossed and he doesn't look at her for longer than what's enough.

“Everything is clean, then?” She questions it once again, fear creeping inside her head, telling that they couldn’t do anything and that she will die if she leaves their embrace.

“Yes, pookie, everything is clean” Y/N nods, pressing her lips together and looking away from them, not knowing how to actually feel. She is happy that she is once again safe, that she can walk around without risking being murdered, that she can talk longer to her parents. But she can feel that pain in her chest, the one telling her this is the last time she will ever talk to them, see them and feel their presence. She is free to go anywhere, but the only place that she wants is not available for her.

While she sits in sorrow, she doesn’t realize that both men are devastated as well as she is. Roy knew it was possible to love two people at the same time, to want to be romantically with two people at the same time, but it never crossed his mind that he would be living this feeling so intensely. He loves Jason with his soul, he would die for his boyfriend and kill just anyone Jason asked him to kill. But he can’t deny that he also loves Y/N, she is everything he could possibly want and not deserving to have. Her smile, her scent, her eyes, her lips, her body, her hair, everything in her was an invitation to his heart. Roy loves her with his heart, he would do anything for her too, he just did. He killed for her last night just to be sure she would be fine. He doesn’t want to let go, but if that's what she wants, he will do it.

Jason was always skeptical about feelings until he fell for Roy, and he fell hard. He loves Roy more than he could ever be possible, he would take Roy in his worst days just as much as he would take Roy in his good days, and he would go against the world to see his boyfriend happy and calm. Jason stopped drug dealing because he thought it was disrespectful with Roy since he is clean and healthy after a long period of darkness. He takes care of all the things Roy doesn’t want to and he is nice to people that once hurt him because he wants to be good for his boyfriend and to Lian. It never occurred to him that he could possibly fall for Y/N during this time working for her safety. But he did. And it was embarrassing. He could not look at her longer than a few minutes or his mind would drift to scenarios they would never live, and then he would feel guilt eating him up. Jason was going crazy over his feelings for this woman, she was diabolical with the way she made him feel. The way she would make him blush with a brush of fingers while cooking, the way she would make his chest warm with happiness when she smiled at him and the way she would make him feel euphoric when she complimented something about him. She was diabolical, and that's why in the last month he told Roy about his feelings.

Jason remembers how long the talk was, and he was not shocked to know that Roy still loves her and he truly understands the readhad, it's easy to love Y/N. Her ramblings about things she likes, the way she walks on the tip of her toes when happy, the way her hair falls over her eyes when she is focused. Jason feels like he is not some monster around her, she makes him feel light and makes him forget about all the vigilante stuff, he feels normal around her and good, he feels good. She makes it seem it's easy to be around him.

They agreed to let her go if it was truly what she wanted, but if she decided to stay, they already talked about asking her out on a date, with both of them. If she didn’t want them both, they agreed that they would move on. It was the three of them together or nothing.

“What are you going to do now?” Roy asks, voice hoarse trying to keep the tears away. The young woman shrugs, her gaze on the wall next to her, deep in thoughts Roy couldn’t imagine what is about.

“A penny for your thoughts, sweets” Jason says, once again looking at her, he can feel the dread polling at his stomach and he just wants to hold her until she gets tired of him and Roy.

“Thinking about my mom and my dad” she says, finally looking at them with tears stuck in her bottom lashes, making her look like a crying angel in the dim light of the kitchen.

“Are you going to stay with them until you find another job?” the redhead questions, his fingers tapping lightly at the table, a clear sign of anxiety.

“Yeah, I think I will,” she says softly, her shoulders drooping and her head falling, somehow hiding her face from the vigilantes in front of her.

“Nice” Jason says, his voice thick with something not even him can say what it is, but he knows it’s not a good feeling. He feels like he is losing her without trying to actually have her in the first place. “They must miss you”

“They do,” she answers Jason quickly, trying to stop the conversation in its tracks, but it looks like he won’t bite the bullet.

“Where do they live, again?” the brunette asks, not wanting to stop because if they stop talking he won’t be listening to her voice.

“New York City”

Jason clicks his tongue not knowing what to say anymore so he looks at Roy, expecting to see the redhead formulating a plan to keep her around longer, but there is only acceptance in this eyes and Jason knows he lost the battle, he knows she would be leaving soon to NYC and if he tries to stop her, Roy wouldn’t help. Not because he doesn’t love her, but because he isn’t the type to hold people where they don’t want to be.

Roy gets up and smiles fondly at Y/N, hiding his true feelings behind a mask. “If you need anything, just call us.”

She smiles, a tiny one, and nods again understanding that she is not wanted around when in fact what they wanted more is for her to stay with them.

“See you around, boys” she says, leaving for the bedroom that will no longer be hers in the morning.

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urfavnewgirl · 1 month ago

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waitwzitwzit i'm obsessed with the way you write jason and i saw you wanted more jason requests SOOOOO what about a fic of some nighttime kitchen activity and there's some slow jazz playing somewhere, maybe the window's open and the music from a club is drifting in and reader starts dancing and jason's like okkkk ily i will dance too and they dance togzther and it's ugghhhhh

this is kinda short im SO sorry but here u go bb! thanks for giving me an excuse to listen to strangers in the night on loop... also nawt proofread im afraid.

it's seven pm on a friday. normally, he'd be out on patrol by now, embraced by the night sky and the eerie air of gotham. normally. except nothing was normal anymore, not since he met you. breaking his usual routine, he's sitting in your cramped, tiny apartment kitchen, eyes fixated on your form. you had insisted he take the day off. it took a lot of convincing, but he had complied, partly because of the ever present fatigue plaguing his mind, partly because he could not deny you, not when you were looking at him all pouty and doe-eyed.

the room smells like herbs, tomato sauce, and you. if someone asked him to describe the latter, he would not be able to. what he knew, however, what he was certain of with every fibre of his body, was that you, present in three out of his five senses, was the most comforting feeling he'd had felt in a while. you, effortlessly moving from the sink to the stove, to the cabinet and all the way back. you, taking care of him. you, in general.

“you do know i'm capable of stirring, right?”

you squint your eyes at him in response, waving the sauce-coated wooden spoon in front of his face. “nope. not happening. i am cooking for you tonight, end of discussion. besides, i'm almost done, anyway.”

“are you ever not stubborn?”

“are you ever not incapable of letting people do things for you?”

he sighs, shaking his head. “you do too much for me.”

rolling your eyes, you simply ignore his statement and continue working. the noodles are bubbling away on the stove, the sauce is simmering, and you're in the middle of it all, walking over to the kitchen window to allow some fresh air in. eight minutes pass in silence, and you drain the pasta water, carefully slipping the spaghetti into the pan to finish cooking in the red liquid.

that's when you hear it. the music, coming from the small bar situated in the building next door. it starts simple, your spoon following the movements of the song. he notices, of course, but he does not react immediately. it's only when your body sways as well, when you lift up the wooden instrument, use it as an impromptu microphone, that his eyebrows heighten in amusement. you turn to face him with an overdramatically serious expression.

“what? never heard of the man, the myth, the legend, frank sinatra? or are his ties to the mafia too problematic for you?”

he shakes his head in disbelief, tries to resist it, but ends up grinning. stupidly. when you notice his reaction, your dancing exaggerates even more.

“you're an idiot.”

“yeah. i am,” you walk to his side of the counter, slyly pausing in front of him, “but you love me, so,” your hand grasps his, and you pull him off the chair with no difficulty (because he's putty when it comes to you. basically play dough. kinetic sand.), “you're dancing with me.”

he rolls his eyes, but at the same time, he wraps both arms around your waist with no hesitation, leans his forehead against yours, and as always, you cannot tell whether you're suddenly running a fever, or if the warmth embracing your every cell stems solely from his soft touch.

the song changes, and you nearly stumble from excitement. he catches you before you fall.

“sweetheart,” he mumbles, voice low, “you don't even know how to waltz, do you?”

you break away from his face to meet his eyes. “you can waltz to jazz music?”

that gets a laugh out of him. a real one, one you can't scowl at, even if you momentarily want to.

he pulls you closer, adjusts your stance. one hand on his shoulder, another resting in his grasp. “just let me lead.” he does exactly that, and he does it with surprising smoothness. his grip is just firm enough to guide you, but it is gentle enough to still be reminiscent of a lover's touch. somehow, he always manages to find that balance with you.

when the music quiets down, you pull back to ask him a million questions, but you stop at the sight in front of you. the kitchen is dimly lit, the sky has given way to complete darkness, and your beautiful boyfriend is staring at you as if you are the finest work of art exhibited in the louvre, his pupils wide enough to reflect the moon through the window.

“jay?”

“about what you said earlier, uh...”

“what? you mean frank sinatra and the mafia? you know i don't condone all that, but chicago is a really good-”

he huffs out yet another laugh. “no, baby, not that. you,” he clears his throat, eyes briefly flickering to the floor before finding yours once more, “you said i loved you, and-” he sighs.

“i do. love you, i mean. yeah.”

once you register his words, your entire face softens. you reach forward, cupping his face the way he likes it, and kiss him. its soft, slow, and he returns it just the same way.

“i love you too.”

he smiles, leans in once more, but you pull back, nose scrunched in discomfort.

“FUCK. the food. it's burnt.”

he sighs. “...we're getting pizza.”

#STRANGERS IN THE NIIIIIGHT EXCHANGING GLANCES #jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd one shot #jason todd fluff #jason todd imagine #jason todd headcanon #dcu fluff #dcu x reader #dividers by elleisdesigning

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batslair · 5 months ago

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Serenity of the Rain

Jason Todd x GN

Hiii guys, two things: 1st, this is my first time writing a story, and 2nd, I’m open to any suggestions or even if you guys want more :)

AN: Reader is a student at the University of Gotham who is trying to become a nurse and has known Jason since her childhood.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　

Pit pat, pit pat. The sound of rain in Gotham is something that you have grown very much accustomed to hearing for as long as you can remember. That still doesn’t mean you aren’t annoyed with it, especially when you have an upcoming test in three days that you’re studying for.

A grunt leaves your lips as you find yourself distracted by every little sound your ears start picking up on: the sirens, the raindrops, the thunder—and your window being lifted up.

Your window being lifted up??

You drop your pen and slowly take the spiked bat Jason gave you as a joke (not really) as a late birthday gift and tiptoe your way to the living room. You see a tall figure entering your living room, and your arm winds up with all the strength you have to swing.

“Drop it. You should know by now it’s me,” Jason says with a hint of amusement.

“Yeah, well, in a city where people go around in makeup or masks with leotards either committing crimes or stopping them, you don’t want to take the gamble, do you?” you snap back, a bit annoyed. It’s not like you don’t want him here. To be honest, as much as you’d hate to say it out loud, having him around always gives you a sense of security and peace of mind. “What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be in space or something?”

“That was last week,” Jason says with an eyebrow raised. “C’mon, gorgeous. Don’t act like you aren’t happy to see me,” he adds with a smirk.

The minute you’re about to retaliate, you notice something: his hand is holding onto his left side, his stance isn’t as straight, and the little wave of arrogance is replaced with a small, sharp inhale.

“Hey, what’s going on?” You rush to his side without hesitation, and all the annoyance you had leaves your mind, replaced by a blanket of concern.

“During a drug bust on Penguin’s goons, I got a tiny injury—nothing serious,” Jason replies as he slowly removes his hand from the delicate spot.

The minute his hand stops shielding the spot, you’re torn between yelling at him and punching him in the exact same place.

“Jason, a tiny injury is not a bullet wound!” you yell at him. “What’s going to happen if one day I’m not here and I can’t treat you? Who would you go to then? What would you do?” You feel bad, but you can’t help expressing your genuine concern and a bit of anger toward him. You and Jason have known each other since you were kids in Crime Alley. You’ve lost him before and can’t bear the thought of losing him again—or even not being there for him one day. The thought isn’t far-fetched; you live in Gotham, and you’re already proud you’ve made it this far without a freak-show incident happening to you.

And it’s like he can read your mind. His gloved hand reaches out to you. “Hey, look at me,” he says, holding your chin to make you look up at him. “Don’t you ever say that. I would never let anyone even touch a single hair on you, Y/N.” Jason’s voice, now serious and stern, somehow makes you even angrier.

You bite your tongue and guide him to the bathroom where you keep your first aid kit.

And you feel like you’re back to square one trying to concentrate on your work, this time on the needle you’re using to stitch up his wound. Your hands are shaky, and the room holds the noise of your uneven breath as you try to find a normal pattern. All you can think about is what if. What if you can’t be there for him one day? What if you lose him again? What if you never get the chance to say how you felt the minute his green eyes met yours in Crime Alley? It sometimes feels like you’re racing against time, but you’re losing. And, come on, you don’t even have any real combat knowledge—just some experience from street fights as a kid.

“Ouch.”

Your hand halts as you make eye contact with Jason.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Jay.” Great, you’ve caused the guy even more collateral damage.

“I’m joking. Just wanted to calm that little mind of yours. What’s going on in there, huh?” Jason’s eyes are filled with concern.

How do you even respond to that? Oh, nothing. You know, just thinking about how I might lose my best friend again without telling him I’m deeply in love with him. Totally normal. Yeah, no. Instead, you go with your go-to answer in these scenarios:

“Nothing’s going on. I’m just tired, Jay,” you say in the most neutral tone you can muster.

“Now you know, Y/N, I can tell when you’re lying,” Jason replies, his voice soft and delicate.

As you start putting your equipment away, you can’t help the annoying feeling of your chest becoming heavier and your eyes stinging as you fight tears. And it’s like he senses the shift in your emotions. Two strong arms wrap around you.

Silence takes over the room as your tears seep into Jason’s t-shirt. Not that you cry often, but when you do, you’ve always preferred silent comfort over being bombarded with questions. Jason knows that by now, and that’s what he gives you—a comforting silence, his actions showing you that he’s there.

You and Jason stand there for about five minutes. The tears start to dry, and your breathing returns to normal. You feel his rough thumb wipe your eyes.

“I’m not going to rush you to tell me what’s wrong, Y/N. I just want to know if I’m making it worse by being here right now,” Jason says.

“Don’t even think about leaving, Todd,” you reply, trying to lighten the mood by using his last name. Key word: try, but Jason knows you too well. He catches the hint of sadness in your voice.

A yawn escapes your mouth, the exhaustion of studying, overthinking, and crying draining you completely.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Jason says, scooping you up so suddenly you don’t have time to argue.

As your shoulders slump and he carries you to your room, your eyes grow heavy. You feel his arms dip, replaced by the softness of your comforter.

Just as Jason starts to leave, your hand shoots up, grabbing his.

“Stay,” you murmur before you can process what you’re asking for.

There’s a pause, then the bed dips as Jason lies down beside you. You don’t know if you imagine it, but you could swear you hear him say, “Always.”

The rhythm of his heartbeat mixes with the rain outside—a sound that, earlier, annoyed you but now brings a peace you haven’t felt in a long time. As sleep claims you, the fleeting thought crosses your mind: maybe he already knows how you feel.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #fanfic #dc comics #comics #red hood #red hood x reader #light angst #angst #imagine #gotham #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #gn reader #jason todd x fluff

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frownyalfred · 1 year ago

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Hey Res! Please ignore this ask if it's too troublesome or bothersome

I saw you had an guide for non-drikers writers that wanted to write about a character who drink. I was wondering if you could the same about guns?

I read synchronicity and I loved it how you used Jason's knowledge with guns to control the narrative and pacing. I don't know if you have actual technical knowledge on handguns (I think it's a no? But maybe you do?) But any tip is nice

Thank you a lot 🩷

Hi anon! This is such a fascinating question and I hope I can provide a somewhat plausible answer. I am familiar with some guns and have shot a few in my lifetime, but I am far from an expert.

Some things I think writers need to keep in mind while writing their firearm-related scenes. For clarity, I'm just going to call them guns below.

Are you thinking of a specific gun? Make sure you know its full name but ALSO make sure you know its nickname. Your character might think of it as "the Berretta" instead of its full name, etc.

What does your gun fire? Does it take shells, bullets, cartridges, etc? Shotguns, for example, don't fire bullets. That's a common mistake I see.

How do you reload said gun? Is it easy? What parts of the gun do you have to touch? Reloading a shotgun is MUCH different from reloading a handgun, for example.

Most guns get hot and release gunpowder residue when shot. They're LOUD. You can have several cascading things happen to a character who fires a gun or is near a gun when it fires: ringing ears, the smell of gunpowder, the hot feeling of the gun's muzzle, etc.

Even the best sharpshooters miss shots. IRL shooting is HARD, especially when moving. Different guns have different benefits to shooting style, stance, targets. Firing a handgun willy-nilly will rarely result in accurate shots, even if you dual wield (which is silly, this is SO hard).

Stance MATTERS. If you've ever seen Hannibal, there's a scene where Will talks about his choice of shooting stance with Beverly. They bicker over Isosceles and Weaver, which are two standard stances. One uses a triangle between your arms and the gun to brace for the kickback of the shot, while the other moves that brace to one side with a different grip. Will eventually chooses the latter stance because of a past shoulder injury. (GIF of Will struggling with his original isosceles stance)

If a gun isn't properly braced when fired, it will kick back and hit you. Sometimes in the face. Yes this has happened with me and a rifle. My first day shooting cans, I had a huge bruise on my face AND on my chest where the rifle butt kicked back.

If your gun uses bullets, there are different calibers. If you've ever watched Mythbusters, you can see why caliber matters -- it depends what or who you're shooting. Are you trying to penetrate armor? Are you sacrificing accuracy for power? Different guns use different calibers for numerous reasons, and guns can be altered to use other ammo as well.

With respect to discussing caliber while writing: It's all VERY complicated if you don't know guns, so make sure you're not giving too much detail if you can avoid it. That's a very easy way to spot a lack of experience with guns, in my experience. Your reader doesn't need to know the caliber just because the character is shooting a gun -- but in an autopsy, sure, the caliber is relevant.

You will lose your hearing eventually if you fire guns close to your ears unprotected. It's not sexy, and it also causes something called tinnitus. The real pros wear ear protection.

In terms of realism for writing, here's a couple rapid fire busted myths: You can't dodge bullets unless you're superhuman. Bullet wounds to the legs/arms/shoulders can absolutely still be fatal. Cardiac arrest caused by being shot is usually fatal, and CPR doesn't really help on its own. "Running out of shots" depends on the gun AND the modifications someone has made to it. You can't always tell just by looking at a gun what it will do. Silencers are rarely "silent" and are heavily regulated.

Injuries: Some bullets tear through bodies. Some aren't high enough caliber to do more than go in and lodge in some tissue. Some fragment and bounce around in weird ways. Depending on how gruesome you want to get, there's a lot of different ways to describe gunshot injuries. I've always been the kind of person to google images for better understanding, but I understand that's not for everyone. I think NYT or WaPo did a good piece on traumatic gun injuries a few years back, complete with an interview with an ER doc from Chicago (?). One thing I learned there -- sometimes people lose their legs, or both legs, after being shot in their leg.

In terms of describing how someone uses/fights with guns, I know the John Wick movies are a little cheesy, but they are staged by people who REALLY know their guns. They talk about what he's using usually before the scene starts, and there's very few frills when it comes to stance, firing, etc. John does a cool trick in the first or second movie where he ejects a casing one-handed away from his face, a notoriously hard maneuver that most people usually do with two hands to avoid getting burned. I highly recommend watching the John Wick movies for blocking ideas.

Which reminds me -- holding a gun sideways is a terrible idea. For many reasons. Stance, casing ejection, stability, etc. Someone can use it against you.

Never point a gun at something you're not willing to shoot. Well-trained characters should follow this rule religiously. If they were soldiers, agents, etc, they will know this rule.

Similarly, multiple people with guns will "clear" a room before entering. They will be trained for something called crossfire, which is when someone is downrange of their gun and could potentially be shot. A group of characters bursting into a room without clearing their shot is a nightmare. This is how people shoot their friends or random civilians.

I hope someone more knowledgeable can add onto this! These are just some big things that stick out to me when reading. I highly recommend checking out Mythbusters, John Wick, and even Hannibal for some semi-realistic shooting references. Good luck!

#asks #anon #fic writing #tw guns #tw firearms #tw discussion of guns #myfic #theresurrectionist #writing #fic background #writing references #writing reference #writing research

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disniq · 2 years ago

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heyyy it's the tropes jason anon again back at it with a new question! what quotes from the comic books would you say describe jason & his philosophy well? thank you so, so much for helping me out ❤

Hi again Anon!

Full disclosure here; I don't think Jason has been written consistently enough over the years to necessarily have one set, inarguable philosophy. But I do think there are certain themes that carry through.

So;

Red Hood: Lost Days #3

This is, notably, the first time Jason kills. (I'm not including Garzonas, which is debatable, or the Cheer incident, which is a retcon) He finds out his hand-to-hand teacher has a barn full of drugged children about to be sex trafficked. The cops and politicians are in on it, making lawful justice extremely unlikely, but taking out one man takes out the system. Jason crosses that line for the first time because nobody else is there to stop it, and this is the most practical route.

He does not see it as "murder" because he feels it was deserved.

Red Hood: Lost Days #4

After that line has been crossed - as Talia points out here - a pattern emerges. It's notable that Jason does not kill all his dubiously skilled teachers, only the ones he deems the worst of the worst - people deliberately and repeatedly harming everyday people, especially children.

Jason reiterates this in his famous utrh speech. He's not talking about killing every rogue, every criminal. He's talking about killing the worst of the worst, the people who can finagle their way out of the system, the people the system fails to catch.

Under the Red Hood

It would be remiss of me not to include that one time Jason killed a nazi. Good for her dot gif.

To Jason, these people are beyond the regular means of justice, so he provides his own. He stops them from hurting anybody else.

This is not an exclusively post-resurrection opinion of his, either. Jason expressed similar thoughts during his Robin run.

Batman #422 (thank you @benbamboozled 😘)

This woman, Judy, baited her sister's murderer into attacking her too and then slits his throat. She's unrepentant, and Jason agrees with her decision. (Bruce, for the record, gives a speech on how "nobody is above the law" which is. An interesting stance for an illegally operating vigilante to take lmao)

It makes sense to me that Jason, as someone who has seen the system fail repeatedly (both as a civilian and as a hero), would have those kinds of doubts. The system doesn't always work. The system often fails the most vulnerable people.

When Bruce was failed by the Gotham justice system, he became his own extra-judicial system. When Jason is failed by both the justice system *and* Bruce's own vigilante system? Why wouldn't he do the same.

Unfortunately, this thread is mostly dropped for a while with the wave of writers who either actively hate Jason and try to make him capital E Evil or who are playing shameless self insert with him, but there are two more recent panels that I want to include too;

Task Force Z #12

So, in TFZ, Jason pushes who he thinks is Bane off a roof for killing Alfred. It... is not actually Bane, but instead the brainwashed former corpse of Gotham re-reanimated via comicbook science and. You know what, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that Jason regrets killing Gotham because he didn't deserve it, but reiterates that he will kill the real Bane if he gets a chance.

Jason sees killing as something he can do that others can't, that others maybe *shouldn't* have to do.

The Joker: The Man Who Stopped Laughing #8

And finally, I adore this little beat in JTMWSL. This is something Jason thinks about. He's not just some brute that doesn't understand that "killing is bad". He thinks about it, reads theory about it. He sees that between the black and white, there are many, many shades of gray.

He understands that people who don't kill with their own hands aren't necessarily good people - like these cops here, gleefully waiting for him to be killed in prison. And that the people who *do* get their hands dirty aren't necessarily the bad guys - like poor Judy.

And I think he probably varies where he places himself on that scale at any given moment.

#I'm sorry anon none of these are strictly speaking quotes but this is what I've got lol #jason todd #asked and answered #long post #my meta

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harpersdragons · 5 months ago

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New Fic! (again)

It's Fine if We Know We Won't Change

Words: 2,033

Description: Jason realizes just how rough it was for Tim when he was training to be Robin

not canon-compliant, idk enough about canon for it to be.

Jason spins, dodging the incoming strike. He ducks under and slashes with the wooden sword. Tim blocks, ducking low and trying to sweep Jason’s leg.

“C’mon, pretender, that all you got?” Jason taunts, jumping over Tim’s leg.

They trade blows for a long time, dancing back and forth with each other. Eventually, Jason disarms Tim and tosses the bo staff across the cave. Tim jumps out of the way of his next strike, setting his jaw and considering Jason’s stance. Jason lets him take his time, tossing his sword in the same direction as Tim’s staff. In a real battle, Tim would need to be prepared to be unarmed and facing a weapon, but this isn’t a real fight. Besides, not many criminals on the streets are fighting with swords.

Tim smirks as he launches himself at Jason again. Jason dodges again, knocking Tim’s arm out of the way, then spinning around and sweeping his legs. He locks Tim into an arm bar.

Tim groans and thrashes his legs, trying to loosen the tension on his arm and shoulder, but Jason’s grip is iron. One leg is keeping Tim’s body pinned to the floor, the other bracing his arm as Jason bends it back. His thigh digs into Tim’s bicep, Tim’s breath is coming in short pants.

“You gonna yield anytime soon?” Jason questions, increasing the tension. The rule is generally to keep increasing tension until they tap out, but he might have to call it soon if Tim doesn’t tap out himself.

Tim just groans in response and struggles more. His upper body twists, and a sickening snap sounds through the cave. Tim yelps, and Jason releases him immediately, scrambling back. Tim rolls over, cradling the injured arm against his torso.

“The fuck? Why didn’t you yield?”

“I knew how to get out, I just needed a few more minutes.” Tim pants, pushing himself up slowly.

“Jesus christ, tap out if you need to. This isn’t a real fight.”

“If it was, I could have died. I need to know how to get out of that.”

“Yes, but this is training. We’re going on patrol in a bit, this wasn’t meant to be that serious.” Jason stares in shock as Tim walks to the back wall. “Where are you going? The medbay’s the other way. We need to call Alfred.”

“Calm down, will you? I can set it myself, it’s just a dislocated shoulder.” Tim doesn’t look at him, sets his back against the wall and bunches up his shirt, then tucks the end into his mouth. He grabs the wrist of his injured shoulder and guides it out in front of him.

Jason jumps into motion before he can do anything else. He gently stops Tim from popping his own shoulder back into place, and guides Tim back to the medbay.

“Sit.” He points at the cot, then moves around and gathers lidocaine, syringes, and a sling.

“You don’t need to do all that. If you insist on helping, give me something to bite down on and do it. I don’t want to go on patrol with a numb shoulder.”

That stops Jason in his tracks. “You’re not patrolling tonight.” He doesn’t glance at TIm, he just goes back to gathering his supplies. “Either I’m doing this, or Alfred or Bruce is. Your choice.” He sets the supplies on the cot next to Tim and then gently starts feeling around his shoulder. Tim’s scoff turns into a groan and he grits his teeth.

“Please, Bruce isn’t going to take care of my injuries. I doubt he’d let Alfred do it, either. So get it over with, or I’m going back to doing it myself. And I am patrolling tonight, so no local.”

Jason stares at him, taking in the way he’s braced for it, jaw set and staring straight ahead at the wall in across from them. He sighs, “Look, if you really don’t want the local, I won’t do it without your consent. But if your only reason for not wanting it is because you have some deluded idea about going on patrol an hour after dislocating your shoulder, I can promise you Bruce isn’t letting you out of this house tonight.”

Tim finally looks at him, an exasperated look on his face. “Bruce has never once stopped from going on patrol after being injured. Just get this over with before it swells too much.”

Jason huffs, then presses the call button on the cot. “The fuck you mean Bruce never stopped you from going on patrol injured?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. I’d get injured in sparring, we’d go patrol that same night. I’ve never been benched for an injury.”

The way he says it, so deadpan, like it’s expected and normal for Bruce to not go full mother hen when one of them is injured.

“How is that even possible? You’ve seen how he gets when one of us is injured.” Jason takes a step back, so he and Tim can be face to face for this.

“That’s different.” Tim shrugs, then winces when it reminds him of his shoulder. “You’re his kids. I’m just some random kid who forced his way in.”

“Tim—” The word sounds punched out of Bruce. “What? You really think that?”

Jason glances over, to see Bruce entering the med bay with Alfred right behind him.

Tim scoffs, pushing himself off the cot. “It’s always been true, hasn’t it?” He stalks past them, going back to the wall. Bruce gently grabs his good arm to stop him from leaving.

“It seems I’ve messed up with you. Let me start fixing it?” Bruce stares down at Tim, waiting while Tim considers it.

“Don’t worry, B, I’ll be fine by patrol. Just gotta deal with this.” Tim tries to pull out of Bruce’s grip.

“That’s not what I asked. I’m not worried about patrol, I’m worried about why you think I want you to patrol after being injured. Go sit down, and please let Alfred or I take care of you this time.”

“I don’t need the help! I’ve been patching myself up since I started this vigilante business, I’m fine!”

Jason frowns, if he or Dick refused medical help like this, or even Damian, Bruce would force them into the medbay and keep them there until someone else has seen to their injuries. Jason used to hate it, but he’s come to realize it’s one way how Bruce shows he cares. But Bruce doesn’t push. He doesn’t scoop Tim up and place him on the cot. He just…waits. He waits while Tim glares up at him, body stiff and unyielding. He waits as the younger man considers what he’s saying, considers his options, and then ultimately decides to go back to the cot.

Bruce follows, making sure TIm is comfortable where he’s sitting as Alfred checks Tim’s shoulder.

“Jason?” Bruce calls over his shoulder. “What happened.” It’s not a question, not even a statement. It’s an order.

Jason winces, Bruce is already pissed and he doesn’t even know what happened yet. Jason doubts that’s going to get better when he finds out Jason’s part in this.

“We were sparring, he didn’t tap out.”

“Why didn’t you stop before this happened?” Bruce’s voice is barely more than a growl, more reminiscent of Batman’s voice than Bruce’s.

“How was I supposed to know he was that close to being hurt! He didn’t tap out!”

“Use your intuition. We don’t take sparring that far.”

“Clearly you did, if the kid has that much of an aversion to tapping out. Where do you think he learned it?”

Bruce turns, getting in Jason’s space. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea.” Jason crosses his arms, drawing himself up to his full height. Bruce is slightly taller, but they have pretty much the same build.

“Guys, stop.” Tim calls out. Bruce visibly deflates immediately, stepping back to Tim’s side.

“Why the fuck does Tim think he can’t tap out?” Jason scoffs.

“Knock it off, Jason, it’s not a big deal.” Tim winces as Alfred finally guides his shoulder back into place.

“Bullshit!” Jason snaps, “Sparring isn’t that serious. Injuries are supposed to be bruises! Not fuckin’ dislocated shoulders!”

“Drop it! You don’t know what it was like after you died! I had to fight every second to prove I deserved to be here. Bruce didn’t want me, if I missed a patrol, someone could die. I was weighing someone’s life against my own injuries every goddamn night. If I tapped out, I was admitting defeat. I didn’t tap out. I learned to escape, or suffer the consequences.” Tim is glaring now, he’s hopped off the cot and stalked close to Jason. “You think when I was searching for Bruce I was allowed to ‘tap out’ of a fight? You think I had someone patch up my injuries? It’s great, that Bruce cares enough about you guys to be worried about you, or keep you from making your injuries worse. But you don’t get it. Bruce changed. You had him before. You have him now, when he’s slightly more well adjusted. When he’s trying. I had him when he was broken. When I had to stop him from drowning himself in alcohol, or crossing a line he can’t come back from.”

Jason stares, speechless, at his little brother. Tim doesn’t talk much about what’s going on in his head, or what he’s been through. And honestly, Jason didn’t think Bruce was that affected when he died. He knows now that Bruce loves him, and it’s been a long ass road to get here, but he didn’t think Bruce had gotten to that point after he’d died.

Bruce looks heartbroken, and he steps forward, reaching for Tim, but Tim sidesteps and turns to leave.

“Tim, wait—” Bruce calls.

“It’s fine, B, you don’t have to worry about me.”

Before Tim can take another step, Bruce grabs his good arm again. “Tim, can we talk before you leave, please?”

“Why bother? I know where I stand, Bruce. I’m not your son, I never have been. Don’t sweat it.” Tim doesn’t even seem bothered by the words coming out of his mouth. Like it’s just common sense.

“No, see, that’s why we have to talk. You are my son.” Bruce speaks in a rush, as if he’s trying to get all the words out before Tim leaves. Maybe he is, maybe if Tim leaves after this, he won’t come back. “I didn’t see you that way at first, I’m not going to lie to either of us by saying that. It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize it. But you are my son, Tim, and I will do everything in my power to help you see that.”

“Why now?” Tim’s voice is rough, his head tilted downwards, as if to hide how close to tears he is.

“Because I only just realized you didn’t see it. I was stupid to believe you’d just know how I felt. That’s on me, son, and I’m so incredibly sorry.”

Tim sobs, and Bruce tugs him into a hug.

“I know it won’t change overnight. I know there will be good days and bad. But please, give me a chance to fix this.”

Tim grips at Bruce’s shirt, nodding slightly against his chest. Jason winces as he sees Tim’s injured arm pinned awkwardly, that has to hurt.

“I’m gonna—” Jason points at the door and starts to head out, before Bruce grabs him.

“We’re going to talk about you not realizing how much pressure you were putting on his arm.” Bruce narrows his eyes over Jason’s head.

“Yeah, yeah. Hug your kid, B, I’m gonna go patrol.” He tugs his arm out of Bruce’s grasp, and makes his way quickly to his gear.

He can hear murmuring in the med bay, probably Bruce and Tim talking more, but that’s not his problem now. They’ll work it out. It won’t be easy, but they will.

After all, if Bruce could convince Jason to come back home, that he loved him, that he is , then he can convince Tim.

#jason todd #batfam #batman #my fics #bruce wayne #fic writing #tim drake #tim drake has issues #hurt/comfort #tim drake needs a hug #and he gets one

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isthiscoinsidenceorasign · 2 months ago

Text

She's Theirs: Secret Love Song

Title: Secret Love Song

Summary: Nick meets Phoenix for the first time and is invited to the Hard Deck to have drinks with the dagger squad.

Word Count: 12,409

Warnings: flirting, cuddling, light drinking, oral m!receiving, p in v, double penetration, praise kink, sir kink, dirty talk, slight dom Jake, slight dom Bradley

Tags: smut

Author Notes: Hey y'all! Here's chapter five. The smut part of the chapter is an 11 out of 10 on the hot scale so you have been warned! I feel like I might need a hot meter going forward so y'all know just how raunchy a chapter is! Also if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters let me know!

"Captain Mitchell, do you have a moment?"

Nick paused as she noticed her father speaking with a woman about her age, her dark brown hair pulled into a tight bun.

He smiled brightly. "Hey, kiddo, what’s up?"

"I can come back if you want—"

"No, it’s okay. Stay. I’d like you to meet someone." Pete gestured toward the woman. "This is Natasha. Natasha, this is my daughter, Nick."

"Nichole," Nick said, extending her hand while studying Natasha with casual intensity. "But everyone calls me Nick."

Natasha shook her hand firmly, her brown eyes widening slightly in recognition. "Mitchell’s daughter. I should have made the connection." Her tone carried the crisp precision of someone accustomed to briefing rooms. "Natasha Trace—but most people call me Phoenix. Your father speaks highly of your engineering work."

"Does he now?" Nick smirked, casting a glance at Pete. "That’s new."

Pete crossed his arms, his flight jacket creaking slightly. "I always give credit where it’s due."

"Phoenix is one of our top instructors," he continued, using her callsign with a level of respect Nick rarely heard him extend to others. "Just set a new course record on the canyon run."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Impressive."

Phoenix shrugged with practiced modesty. "Your father’s course is designed to push limits. I just found the edge."

Nick took a moment to assess Phoenix further—not with admiration, but rather with analytical curiosity. She stood balanced, grounded, every movement economical and intentional. It was the stance of someone who thrived under pressure.

"The edge is where things get interesting," Nick mused, leaning against Pete’s desk. "Though I usually find myself a little past it."

Pete snorted. "Like father, like daughter."

"God help us all," Nick quipped.

An awkward silence settled for a brief moment before Phoenix turned her attention back to Nick.

"A bunch of us are heading to the Hard Deck for drinks. You’re welcome to join."

"I don’t think—" Pete began, but Nick cut him off.

"Actually, that sounds perfect. I could use a drink after the day I’ve had." She flashed a signature Mitchell smile—the one that always seemed to get her what she wanted.

Phoenix remained neutral, but something flickered in her expression. "Nineteen hundred hours. Don’t be late."

"I’m never late for a good time," Nick replied, the challenge evident in her tone.

Phoenix smiled slightly. "I like you. I think you’ll fit right in with the rest of the team."

"Can’t wait."

As Phoenix excused herself with a crisp nod, Nick couldn’t help but track the way she left—controlled, precise, completely self-assured. There was an effortless confidence in the way she carried herself, like someone who knew exactly how much space she took up and how to use it. It reminded Nick of the way seasoned pilots walked onto the tarmac—focused, intentional, always in command. She wondered if people studied her the same way when she left a room.

Pete cleared his throat. "So what brings you by, kiddo?"

"Finally got around to calling Mom back—so she’ll stop bugging you now. My boxes should arrive tomorrow."

"Took you long enough," Pete muttered, sliding a folder across his desk. "She called me twice this week."

"I was busy setting up some new lab equipment," Nick protested, leaning against the desk’s edge. "Besides, since when do you two talk more than once a year?"

"Since our daughter took a contract job at my base without telling either of us until the last minute," Pete said, his tone measured but his jaw tight.

Nick exhaled. "I told you both as soon as it was confirmed. And it’s not like I’m some teenager. I’m thirty-two with my own career."

"A career that’s now intertwined with mine," Pete pointed out. "You know how things can get around here."

Nick rolled her eyes. "Dad, I’m a civilian contractor working on propulsion systems. I’m not exactly a rogue pilot stirring up drama."

"And I’m one of the commanding officers responsible for maintaining the integrity of this program." Pete’s voice carried that familiar edge—the one that intimidated cadets and several of her past boyfriends but had never quite worked on her. "The last thing I need is people thinking my daughter is getting special treatment."

"Or for your daughter to embarrass the great Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell?" Nick shot back, her green eyes flashing. "Relax. I’ll be on my best behavior."

Pete’s stance softened slightly. "That’s what worries me. Your ‘best behavior’ usually involves breaking something expensive."

Nick grinned despite herself. "Only when it leads to making something better." She pushed off the desk. "Anyway, I’m here for the engines, not to crash your planes."

"Just try not to set anything on fire this time." Pete smirked.

"That was one time, and it was already broken when I got there."

Pete chuckled. "Well, don’t let me keep you from making new friends at the Hard Deck."

Nick nodded. "I’ll let you know what Mom ended up sending me."

She gave him a parting glance before heading out to change for the night.

The Hard Deck was already humming with energy when Nick pushed through the door at precisely 1905 hours—early enough to seem eager, late enough to make an entrance.

Most of the people she'd be meeting tonight knew her dad, and she wanted to make a good impression. She wanted them to like her for her, not because they felt obligated to.

As she rounded the bar, she spotted Phoenix heading toward her.

"Hey, you made it! I'd love for you to meet the gang—we're in the back playing pool."

"Okay. Lead the way."

She followed Phoenix to the pool table, where a man in a pale green Hawaiian shirt stood, looking familiar.

"Nick, I'd like you to meet my good friend Rooster."

Time seemed to falter as he turned, his eyes locking onto hers the instant he moved. The laughter and music of the bar faded into a distant hum, the motion of others reduced to a blur at the edges of her vision.

Her breath caught in her chest, pulse quickening as the world tilted slightly off-axis. The air between them felt heavier, charged with an unspoken tension only they could understand. In that moment, it was just the two of them—an invisible thread tightening, pulling them into a silent reckoning.

Bradley, Jake, and her had agreed to keep what they were doing hidden. But not once had they discussed what they would do if faced with something like this.

Rooster's eyes widened in recognition, his pool cue freezing mid-chalk. For a split second, Nick saw panic flicker across his face before he masked it with a casual smile.

"Bradley Bradshaw," he said, extending his hand as if they were meeting for the first time. His palm was warm against hers, fingers squeezing slightly—a silent message. "Heard a lot about you."

"All bad, I hope," Nick replied smoothly, falling into the charade with practiced ease. The whole exchange lasted seconds but felt like minutes, her mind racing through implications.

Phoenix glanced between them. "You two know each other?"

"I only know her by reputation," Rooster said quickly. "She was mentioned in one of my briefings."

"Just by reputation," Nick echoed, picking up the cue from Bradley seamlessly. Her heart hammered, but her voice remained steady. "Though I'm starting to think my reputation precedes me a little too much around here."

Phoenix's gaze lingered between them, sharp and assessing. For a moment, Nick worried she'd picked up on the tension crackling in the air.

"Well, Maverick's daughter working on base is big news," Phoenix finally said with a shrug. "Hard to keep secrets in a place like this."

Nick nearly choked on the irony. If only Phoenix knew about the secrets she was keeping—with the man standing right in front of her.

"Let me introduce you to everyone else," Phoenix continued, leading Nick toward the pool table where four other pilots were gathered. "This is Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy, and Payback."

Jake’s eyes locked onto hers, his pool cue pausing mid-stroke. The cocky smile that seemed permanently etched on his face faltered for just a fraction of a second before shifting into something more deliberate, more calculated.

He hadn't expected her to be here. And judging by her expression, she hadn’t expected him either.

"Well, well," he drawled, straightening to his full height. "The Mitchell legacy continues." He extended his hand with theatrical flourish. "Jake Seresin. They call me Hangman."

Nick took his hand, feeling the slight pressure of his fingers—another silent signal passing between them. "Charmed, I'm sure," she replied, matching his tone perfectly. "Though I have to ask about the callsign. Something to do with your execution style?"

The group laughed, and Jake’s eyes flashed with appreciation for her quick recovery.

"Something like that," he replied, twirling his pool cue. "I leave 'em hanging."

Coyote, Fanboy, and Payback introduced themselves in a blur of handshakes and call sign explanations that Nick barely registered. Her mind was too busy calculating angles, like she was in one of the flight simulators her father always wanted her to try—except this time, the danger was crashing into a social disaster rather than a mountainside.

"So, Mitchell's daughter," Hangman said, leaning against the pool table with studied nonchalance. "You're the engineering genius I keep hearing about. Here to fix our birds or clip our wings?"

"Depends on how good you are at flying," Nick shot back, accepting a beer from Phoenix. She took a long sip, grateful for the distraction. "I’m just here to make sure your engines can keep up with your egos—whether or not *you* can is another story."

The group erupted in laughter and a chorus of amused reactions, Coyote slapping Hangman on the shoulder.

"She got you there, Hangman," Coyote chortled.

Jake's smile remained fixed, but Nick could see the heat in his eyes—that familiar intensity that usually preceded him pinning her against the nearest wall when they were alone. The thought sent a flush of warmth across her skin, completely unrelated to the crowded bar.

"I assure you," Jake said, voice dropping just slightly, "my equipment has never had any performance issues."

Rooster coughed into his beer, and Nick bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

"Let's play," Phoenix announced, racking the balls. "Nick, you want in on this game? Girls against boys?"

"Absolutely," Nick replied, relieved for the shift in focus. "Fair warning, though—I grew up in bars like this."

"Perfect," Phoenix said with a wink, handing her a cue.

"Then I guess it's Rooster and me against you two," Jake said, surprising everyone.

"Hangman and Rooster teaming up?" Phoenix raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Fanboy. "That's a first."

"What can I say?" Jake shrugged, his eyes never leaving Nick's face. "I'm feeling... cooperative tonight."

Nick took the pool cue from Phoenix, testing its weight with practiced ease. "Don't worry, we'll still crush them."

As Phoenix racked the balls, Nick felt the unmistakable weight of both Jake and Bradley's gazes on her. This was dangerous territory—all three of them together in public, pretending they were strangers while carrying the heat of shared secrets. One wrong move, one lingering glance held too long, and everything they'd carefully hidden could unravel.

"Ladies break," Phoenix announced, stepping back from the table.

Nick leaned over to line up her shot, acutely aware of both men watching her. She positioned herself over the cue ball, exhaling slowly to steady her hands.

As she bent forward, she caught Jake’s eyes tracking the curve of her body, his familiar hungry look making her grip tighten on the cue. Across the table, Bradley was focused on his beer bottle, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him.

She struck the ball with perfect precision, sending the rack exploding across the table. Two striped balls dropped neatly into corner pockets.

"Beginner’s luck," Jake drawled, but his eyes were dark with something that had nothing to do with pool.

"Oh, honey," Nick smiled sweetly, circling the table to line up her next shot. "There’s nothing beginner about me."

Phoenix laughed, raising her beer in appreciation. "I think I'm going to like having you around, Mitchell."

When Jake thought no one was looking, he walked over to Bradley and casually turned to him, speaking in a low voice only he could hear.

"Did she tell you she was coming here tonight?"

Bradley kept his eyes locked on the game, his voice barely audible. "No. Did she tell you?"

"Obviously not," Jake muttered, taking a swig of his beer. "This complicates things."

Nick sank another ball, high-fiving Phoenix as she circled back around the table. She passed close enough to the men that her shoulder brushed Bradley's arm—a touch that could be dismissed as accidental but sent electricity through all three of them.

"Your shot, gentlemen," she announced, stepping back with a satisfied smirk.

Jake moved forward, his swagger more pronounced than usual. "Watch and learn, ladies." He lined up his shot, muscles flexing beneath his fitted t-shirt as he leaned over the table.

Nick found herself staring at the familiar curve of his back, remembering how those muscles felt under her fingers just two nights ago. When she glanced up, she caught Phoenix watching her with sharp, curious eyes.

"Impressive form, isn't it?" Phoenix commented, her tone casual but her gaze piercing.

Nick took another sip of her beer to hide her flush. "I've seen better."

Jake sank his shot with effortless precision, then straightened with that infuriating smirk. "Have you now?"

"Don't encourage him," Phoenix groaned. "His ego barely fits in the cockpit as it is."

The game continued, tension building with each exchange. Nick found herself performing a delicate balancing act—acting just friendly enough with Jake and Bradley to seem normal, but not so familiar that anyone would suspect. Every casual brush of hands as they passed pool cues, every loaded glance when others weren't looking, felt like playing with fire.

"So, Nick," Phoenix said as she lined up her shot, "what made you decide to take a contract at your dad's base? If you're anything like him, it seems like having two Mitchells on base is asking for trouble."

Nick shrugged, leaning against the wall. "The project was too good to pass up. Besides," she added with a wry smile, "trouble has never been something I've tried to avoid."

"I'll drink to that," Jake said, raising his glass in her direction. Their eyes met for a fraction too long before Nick deliberately looked away.

Bradley cleared his throat. "Your dad must be thrilled to have you around."

She smiled. "I wouldn't say thrilled," Nick replied, circling the table to line up her next shot. "More like cautiously optimistic that I won't blow up his base."

"You make a habit of blowing things up?" Phoenix asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nick bent over the table, focusing on the cue ball. "Only when necessary." She struck with precision, sinking another striped ball. "I prefer to think of it as aggressive problem-solving."

Jake snorted. "That sounds familiar. Isn't that what they wrote in your file after the Taiwan exercise, Rooster?"

Bradley shot him a warning look, which Nick caught from the corner of her eye. The tension between them was palpable—a silent conversation happening beneath the banter.

"Corner pocket," Nick called, deliberately changing the subject. She missed the shot by millimeters and straightened with a grimace. "Damn," she muttered, stepping back from the table.

"My turn," Bradley said, moving forward with measured steps. As he passed Nick, his arm brushed against hers—a touch that sent a jolt through her system.

"Careful," she said, voice pitched low. "Don't scratch."

His eyes met hers briefly. "I never do."

The double meaning hung between them like smoke—unspoken but suffocating in its intensity. Bradley leaned over the table, his form precise and controlled as he lined up his shot. Nick found herself watching the way his fingers gripped the cue—the same fingers that had mapped every inch of her body just days ago.

When he sank two balls in one shot, Phoenix whistled appreciatively. "Nice one, Rooster."

Jake clapped him on the shoulder, his hand lingering just a second too long for two men who barely tolerated each other.

"Look at you two, actually working together," Phoenix remarked, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Hell must be freezing over."

"We have our moments," Jake replied, his trademark smirk firmly in place. He leaned against the wall, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. "Right, Bradshaw?"

Bradley nodded curtly, already focusing on his next shot. "I hate to admit it, but we do."

Nick bit her lip to suppress a laugh. She knew exactly how well these two could work together when properly motivated. The memory of them moving in perfect synchronicity around her apartment last weekend flashed through her mind—Jake's commanding presence balanced by Bradley's meticulous attention to detail, both focused entirely on her.

"Your shot, Hangman," Bradley said, stepping back from the table after sinking another ball.

As Jake moved forward, he lowered his voice so only Nick could hear him. "We need to talk, darlin’."

"Later," Nick murmured, pretending to study the table as Jake lined up his shot.

The muscles in his forearms flexed as he drew back the cue, and Nick found herself transfixed by the familiar sight. When Jake glanced up and caught her staring, the corner of his mouth twitched in that knowing way that always made her pulse quicken.

"Eight ball, corner pocket," he called, executing the shot with flawless precision. The black ball rolled smoothly into the designated pocket, and Jake straightened with a triumphant grin. "Game."

Phoenix groaned. "Dammit. I hate losing to Hangman. His victory laps last for days."

"Weeks, actually," Jake corrected, setting his cue against the wall. "But I'll try to be humble about it."

"That'll be a first," Bradley muttered, though there was no malice in his words.

Nick found herself in a surreal situation—playing pool with two men she'd been intimately involved with for weeks, pretending they were strangers, while simultaneously trying to build a genuine connection with Phoenix, who seemed incredibly perceptive.

Fanboy, leaning against a beam, cleared his throat. "I need another beer and some food. Anyone else?"

Payback nodded. "I could eat."

Coyote agreed.

"Beer and wings it is. Nick, you want anything?" Phoenix asked.

"Another beer would be great, thanks."

"I'll be back with your drink then," Phoenix offered, following Fanboy toward the bar.

The moment they were out of earshot, Nick stepped closer to Jake and Bradley, her voice barely above a whisper. "What the hell are we doing?"

"Playing it cool," Jake replied, his casual posture at odds with the intensity in his eyes. "Like three people who definitely aren't sleeping together."

Bradley ran a hand through his short hair, his expression tense. "This is exactly why we need to keep things quiet. If anyone starts putting pieces together…" His gaze flickered toward Phoenix, lingering slightly. "She’s sharp. I caught her watching us earlier—maybe nothing, but we can’t afford slip-ups."

Nick’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t noticed Phoenix watching them, but Bradley was more observant than most.

"She doesn’t know anything," Nick insisted, though she wasn’t entirely convinced. "But we need a plan. We can't just avoid each other on base or anytime we're out in public."

"We don’t," Jake said, leaning against the pool table with his arms crossed. "We establish a baseline now. Three people who just met, maybe become friends. Nothing suspicious about that."

"I really wish you told us you were coming here tonight," Bradley admitted.

"I could say the same thing. Jake’s text said you had plans with 'the boys' tonight."

"Yeah, the boys—as in our squadron. Who you're now drinking with." Jake ran a hand through his hair, a rare tell of his agitation. "This is exactly what we agreed to avoid."

Nick didn’t like the tension radiating from them. It wasn’t fair. Her being here wasn’t planned—if Phoenix hadn’t invited her, they wouldn’t be dealing with this.

"You're mad at me, and I don’t want either of you mad at me. I didn’t plan this. Honest."

Bradley's expression softened instantly. "We're not mad," he said, voice dropping lower. "Just caught off guard."

"Speak for yourself," Jake muttered, though the tension in his shoulders eased when he met Nick's eyes. "Fine. Not mad. But this is complicated enough without surprise public appearances."

"I know," Nick sighed, glancing toward the bar to make sure Phoenix wasn’t returning yet. "She invited me when she was in my dad’s office. How was I supposed to know this was your regular hangout?"

"It’s the only bar within twenty miles of the base," Jake pointed out, his lips curving into a reluctant smirk. "Where did you think we spent our nights when we weren’t with you?"

Nick rolled her eyes. "I don’t know. Figured you had secret pilot things to do. Ironing your flight suits or polishing your ego."

Bradley laughed. "We save that for Sunday nights."

"We just need to communicate better in the future," Jake said. "And if we stick to my plan, we should be fine."

"I feel bad putting you both in this position," Nick admitted. "But my dad would lose it if he found out. And I don’t think it would go over well with everyone else. What we’re doing isn’t exactly socially acceptable. They wouldn’t understand."

Jake’s expression darkened as he moved imperceptibly closer. "I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks is acceptable," he whispered, his voice carrying that dangerous edge that always sent shivers down her spine. "But I do care about your position at the base—and Rooster's career."

Bradley nodded, his eyes scanning the room to ensure they weren’t being watched. "We all agreed to these terms. It’s just... uncharted territory having you here tonight."

Nick had seen commercials for a TV show about a polyamorous family—the husband had four wives, living openly on national television. If he could do that, why couldn't she be the same way with Bradley and Jake?

"I just wish we didn’t have to keep this a secret."

"California may be progressive, darlin’, but it’s not that progressive. Neither is the Navy," Jake said.

"I know," Nick sighed, looking between them. Her voice dropped even lower. "It’s just... I hate pretending I don’t know how your voice sounds first thing in the morning, or the way Bradley hums when he makes coffee."

Jake’s eyes darkened, his gaze possessive. "Trust me, I’m not thrilled about watching other men check you out and not being able to do a damn thing about it."

"Heads up," Bradley muttered suddenly, his posture shifting into casual indifference as Phoenix approached with drinks.

"One beer," Phoenix announced, handing the bottle to Nick. "The guys are ordering food if you're hungry."

"Thanks," Nick smiled, taking a deliberate step away from both men. "So what’s the next game? I want a chance to redeem myself."

Phoenix glanced between them, her expression unreadable. "Actually, Fanboy suggested we switch to darts. Apparently, he's sick of watching Hangman gloat."

"Darts it is," Nick agreed quickly, grateful for the change. She needed physical distance from both men before she did something reckless—like reach for Bradley’s hand or brush against Jake’s chest the way she would if they were alone.

As they moved toward the dartboard, Phoenix fell into step beside Nick.

"So," Phoenix said casually, "how are you finding Top Gun so far? Must be strange working where your dad is basically a legend."

Nick smiled, taking a sip of her beer. "It's definitely... interesting. The shadow's pretty big, but I'm used to carving my own path."

"I can respect that," Phoenix nodded. "Though between us, your dad's one of the more likable superior officers on base."

"I'll be sure to tell him you said that," Nick teased, watching as Jake set up the dartboard with Bradley hovering nearby. "Though I doubt he'd believe anyone described him as 'likable.'"

Phoenix laughed, the sound genuine and warm. "Fair point. 'Terrifying but fair' might be more accurate."

As they approached the dartboard, Jake twirled a dart between his fingers with casual precision. "Ladies first?" he offered, his eyes lingering on Nick just a second too long.

"Such a gentleman," Nick remarked dryly, accepting a set of darts from Bradley. Their fingers brushed during the exchange, and that familiar spark of electricity raced up her arm.

"Don't let the manners fool you," Bradley said, his voice carrying the dry tone she'd come to adore. "He's only offering because he thinks you'll lose."

"I'll take my chances," Nick replied, stepping up to the line. She weighed the dart in her hand, feeling the familiar balance of it. With a fluid motion, she sent it sailing straight into the bullseye.

Phoenix let out a low whistle. "Damn, Mitchell. You've been holding out on us."

"My dad taught me to throw darts when I was eight," Nick shrugged, twirling her second dart between her fingers. "He said it was about precision under pressure—and a little bit of 'don’t think, just do.'"

"Sounds like Maverick," Bradley commented, his eyes watching her with that quiet intensity that always made her feel exposed.

Jake leaned against the wall, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. "Let's see if you can do it again, darlin'."

The endearment slipped out so naturally that Nick almost didn't catch it. But Bradley's slight stiffening and Phoenix's quick glance between them made Nick's heart skip a beat.

"Watch me," she replied smoothly, turning back to the board. She threw her second dart, landing it right next to the first. "And don’t call me 'darlin.' We just met, remember?"

The last part was delivered with a pointed look that Jake answered with a lazy smile.

"My mistake," he drawled. "I call all pretty women 'darlin.' Bad habit."

Phoenix rolled her eyes. "Hangman flirts with anything that moves. Don't take it personally."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Nick said, throwing her final dart. It struck just outside the bullseye. "Damn."

"Still impressive," Bradley offered, stepping up to take his turn.

As the game progressed, Nick found herself settling into an unexpected rhythm. With each round of darts, each drink, the initial panic of their collision of worlds began to ease. They'd established a believable dynamic—Nick the newcomer, Bradley the reserved professional, Jake the shameless flirt. To anyone watching, they were just squadron mates showing the boss's daughter a good time.

"Another round?" Phoenix asked as she collected the darts after soundly beating Fanboy.

"I should probably call it a night," Nick said, checking her watch. "Early meeting tomorrow with the propulsion team."

Jake stretched casually. "Yeah, I should head out too. Early test flight."

Bradley's eyes flicked between them, a flash of understanding in his gaze. "Same here."

Phoenix cocked her head slightly. "We finally get rid of Hangman, and you two want to go?"

Nick laughed. "Well, when you put it like that... but seriously, I do have to go. I promise we can do this again sometime."

"Alright, alright," Phoenix conceded, holding up her hands. "I know when I'm beaten. But I'm holding you to that promise, Mitchell. Next time, we're doing tequila shots."

Nick grinned. "You're on."

The group dispersed with casual goodbyes, each of them careful to maintain appropriate distance. Nick shrugged into her leather jacket, deliberately taking her time as Bradley and Jake headed for separate exits.

"It was nice meeting you all," she called out, waving to the remaining pilots. "See you around base."

The cool night air hit her face as she stepped outside, a welcome relief from the stuffy bar. She walked toward her Jeep Wrangler parked at the far end of the lot, keys jingling in her hand. Footsteps behind her made her slow down.

"Nice performance in there," Jake's voice came low and smooth from behind. "You almost had me believing we were strangers."

Nick turned to find both Jake and Bradley approaching, maintaining careful distance between them as they crossed the dimly lit parking lot. Her pulse quickened at the sight of them—Jake with his confident swagger, Bradley with his measured stride.

"I could say the same for you two," she replied, leaning against her Jeep. "Though 'darlin'' was pushing it, Hangman."

Jake's smile was unapologetic as he stopped just close enough to be teasing, but far enough to look casual to any onlookers. "Slipped out. You know what you do to me."

Bradley glanced around the parking lot, ensuring they were alone. "We need to be more careful. Phoenix was watching you both."

"Phoenix watches everyone," Jake dismissed.

Nick shifted her weight, exhaling. "Now that the night's over—where to next? My place or…?"

"My place," Jake said decisively, his voice dropping to that commanding tone that always sent heat pooling in Nick's belly. "It's furthest from base. Less chance of anyone spotting us."

Bradley nodded in agreement. "I'll follow in my car. We should take separate routes."

Nick sighed. "You two are being paranoid," though she knew they were right. "But fine—separate cars, staggered departures."

Jake stepped closer, his eyes dark with intent. "Twenty minutes. And Nick?" His voice lowered to a whisper. "Make sure to wear that leather jacket. I want to see you in that tonight... and nothing else."

A shiver ran down her spine. "Demanding tonight, aren't we?"

"You have no idea," he murmured, then stepped back to a respectable distance as a group of pilots exited the bar.

Bradley's eyes met hers, that steady intensity in his gaze speaking volumes. "Twenty minutes," he repeated, softer than Jake but no less commanding. "Drive safe."

Nick nodded, sliding into her Jeep. As she started the engine, she watched through her rearview mirror as both men returned to their respective vehicles, maintaining the careful charade they'd established.

The drive to Jake's place felt interminable. Nick kept checking her mirrors—partly from the paranoia Bradley had instilled, partly from the mounting anticipation. By the time she pulled up to Jake’s apartment on the outskirts of town, her knuckles were white against the steering wheel.

She parked in her usual spot and walked up the darkened path toward Jake’s building, noticing Bradley’s car already parked a few spaces away.

Pressing the elevator button, she barely had time to register the hum of machinery before the doors slid open. The ride to the second floor was brief, and when she reached Jake’s apartment, she didn’t bother knocking—just let herself in.

The apartment was dimly lit, music playing softly from hidden speakers. Nick shrugged off her jacket, then remembered Jake’s command and slipped it back on.

"Twenty-two minutes," Jake’s voice came from the kitchen doorway. He leaned against the frame, shirt unbuttoned, glass of whiskey in hand. "You’re late."

"Traffic," she lied, knowing full well he’d see through it. She enjoyed pushing his buttons almost as much as she enjoyed what happened afterward.

Bradley emerged from the living room, his expression more measured than Jake’s but no less intense. He’d already removed his shoes and rolled up his sleeves—the small rituals that signaled his transition from Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw to simply Bradley, hers and Jake’s.

"You almost blew our cover tonight."

"Rooster’s right, darlin'. I wish we could’ve gotten a warning."

Nick tossed her keys onto the side table with a sigh. "I already explained—I didn’t know you’d be there. Phoenix invited me right in front of my dad. What was I supposed to say? 'Sorry, can’t come because I’m secretly sleeping with two of your pilots?'"

Jake set his whiskey down and crossed the room in three long strides, his fingers tracing the edge of her leather jacket, sending shivers across her skin.

"I’m not mad that you came," he said, voice dropping to that dangerous register that made her knees weak. "I’m mad that I had to sit there for two hours watching you without being able to touch you."

Bradley approached from the other side, his movements more deliberate than Jake’s predatory stalking. "We need a better system," he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Nick’s ear.

Jake ignored Bradley’s comment and circled her slowly, every step deliberate. "You’re wearing the jacket. Good girl."

The praise sent a familiar shiver down her spine. "I follow orders when they’re worth following."

"And mine are?" Jake asked, coming to a stop behind her. His breath hot against her neck. One hand came to rest possessively on her hip while the other pushed her hair aside, exposing the sensitive skin below her ear.

"Sometimes," Nick whispered, her pulse quickening as his lips brushed against her pulse point. "When you ask nicely."

Bradley moved closer, his steady presence a counterpoint to Jake's barely restrained intensity. "And when he doesn't ask nicely?" His voice was quiet but carried that underlying authority that always made her breath catch.

"Then I make him work for it," she replied.

Jake's laugh was low and dangerous against her skin. "Is that what you think happens, darlin'?" His grip tightened slightly on her hip. "You were the one squirming in that bar, trying not to look at me every time I bent over the pool table. If anyone will be working for it, it will be you.”

Nick leaned back against Jake’s chest, her eyes locked with Bradley’s. "Maybe I just enjoy keeping you both on your toes," she murmured, savoring the way Jake’s breath hitched against her neck. "Having two Top Gun pilots at my command has its perks."

"Is that what you think this is?" Jake whispered, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "You in command?"

Bradley stepped closer, his hand coming up to trace the line of her jaw. The tenderness in his touch contrasted with the intensity in his eyes.”

"Is that what you think this is?" Jake whispered, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "You in command?"

Bradley stepped closer, his hand coming up to trace the line of her jaw. The tenderness in his touch contrasted with the intensity in his eyes. "I think we need to remind her who's really in charge here."

Nick's pulse quickened. This was the dance they'd perfected over weeks—Bradley's methodical approach balancing Jake's raw intensity, both of them working in perfect harmony despite their differences.

Jakes hand slid beneath her jacket, disappointed to find cotton fabric over her skin at her waist. "I thought I told you I wanted you in nothing but this jacket?"

Bradleys’s eyes darkened as he watched Jake's hands on her. That was something Nick had discovered early in their arrangement—Bradley enjoyed watching almost as much as participating. The thought of being caught between them, the focus of both their attention after hours of pretending indifference, made her dizzy with anticipation.

"You did," Nick admitted, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "But I figured I'd make you work for it. After all, you both left me hanging at the bar with nothing but meaningful glances and 'accidental' touches."

Jake's hand tightened on her waist, his other hand coming up to grip her chin, turning her face toward him. "Defiant as always," he murmured, his lips hovering just above hers. "That's going to cost you."

“Oh no.” She feigned concern. “Whatever will the big bad Lieutenant Seresin do to me?”

Jake's eyes narrowed, that predatory gleam intensifying. "Bradley, what do you think? Should we show her exactly what happens when she decides to be difficult?"

Bradley moved closer, his steady presence now radiating heat as he stood before her. "I think," he said deliberately, each word measured, "that someone needs to learn the consequences of teasing two pilots all night."

Nick felt her breath catch. This was the Bradley few people ever saw—the one who shed his careful control in private, revealing the intensity he kept leashed during daylight hours.

"And if I don't want to learn?" she challenged, even as her body betrayed her with a slight shiver.

Jake's laugh was low and dangerous against her ear. "That's not how this works, darlin'. Not tonight."

In one fluid motion, he spun her around, so she was facing him.

“Undress. Now.”

Nick's heart raced at Jake's command, his tone leaving no room for argument. The air between them practically crackled with tension.

"Yes, sir," she replied with the honorific, her voice deliberately provocative as she held his gaze. She reached for the hem of her shirt with deliberate slowness, dragging it upward inch by inch, revealing her flat stomach and the black lace of her bra.

Bradley moved to Jake's side, their shoulders almost touching as they watched her.

"Faster," Bradley said quietly, the command all the more powerful for its softness.

Nick complied, shedding her jacket and pulling her shirt over her head and letting it drop to the floor. Her jeans followed, sliding down her long legs until she stood before them in nothing but black lingerie and her black boots.

Jake walked over to where his flight jacket was and picked it up. “Put this on. I want to see how you look in it.”

Nick raised an eyebrow but took the flight jacket from Jake's outstretched hand. The leather was warm and heavy, smelling of aviation fuel and Jake's cologne. She slipped it on, the oversized jacket hanging off her shoulders, sleeves extending past her fingertips.

"How do I look Sir?" she asked, striking a mock pose.

Jake's eyes darkened as he circled her, drinking in the sight of her nearly naked body draped in his squadron jacket. "Like you belong to us," he murmured.

Bradley stepped closer, his fingers tracing the squadron patch on the sleeve. "Like our secret," he added, voice low and intimate.

Nick felt a thrilling shiver at their possessive tones. "Is that what I am? Your secret?"

"Our everything," Bradley corrected, his hand sliding beneath the jacket to trace her spine.

Jake moved in front of her, eyes blazing with barely contained desire. "And right now, our everything is going to do exactly what she's told." His voice dropped to that commanding tone that never failed to make her pulse race. "On your knees."

Nick held his gaze for a moment, that familiar battle of wills that always heightened the tension between them. Then, slowly, deliberately, she sank to her knees, the oversized flight jacket pooling around her.

Bradley moved behind her, his hands gentle but firm as they gathered her hair away from her face. "Good girl," he murmured, the praise sending warmth through her veins.

Jake unbuckled his belt, the sound of leather sliding through loops impossibly loud in the quiet apartment. "You've been thinking about this all night, haven't you?" he asked, his voice rough with desire. "Us taking you home and having our way with you?”

She nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

"Open," Jake commanded, his thumb brushing her bottom lip.

Nick obeyed, her eyes locked on his as Jake slid his thumb into her mouth. She sucked gently, a preview of what was to come. Behind her, Bradley's hands slid under the flight jacket, unclasping her bra with practiced ease.

"I've been thinking about this since you walked into that bar," Jake murmured, withdrawing his thumb and replacing it with two fingers. "Watching you pretend you didn't know exactly how I taste."

Bradley pressed against her back, his lips finding the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. "How we both taste," he corrected, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her.

Nick moaned around Jake's fingers, the dual sensation of Bradley's mouth on her neck and Jake's fingers between her lips sending heat coursing through her body. She felt owned.

Jake withdrew his fingers slowly, trailing wetness across her bottom lip. "Look at you," he murmured, voice thick with desire. "So eager for us already."

Behind her, Bradley's hands slid around to cup her breasts, now freed from her bra. His touch was methodical but gentle, thumbs circling her nipples with practiced precision. "Tell us what you want, Nick," he whispered against her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

"Both of you," she answered without hesitation, her voice husky with need. "I want both of you."

Jake unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers. "More specific, darlin'. Tell us exactly what you want."

Nick's eyes darkened as she looked up at him. "I want to taste you while Bradley watches. I want him to see exactly what I can do to you."

A low growl escaped Jake's throat as his hand tangled in her hair. "Then show him," he commanded, guiding her forward.

Nick didn't hesitate, wrapping her lips around him with practiced skill. She heard Bradley's sharp intake of breath behind her, felt his hands tighten on her breasts. This was the dynamic they'd perfected—Jake commanding, Bradley observing, both of them worshipping her body in their own distinct ways.

Jake's head fell back, eyes closing briefly as Nick took him deeper. "Fuck," he breathed, his grip tightening in her hair. "She's so good at this, Rooster."

Bradley's hands slid down her body, tracing the curve of her spine beneath the oversized flight jacket. "I know," he murmured, voice thick with desire. His fingers dipped beneath the lace of her panties, finding her already wet and wanting. "So responsive."

Nick moaned around Jake, the vibration making him curse under his breath. The sensation of Bradley's fingers exploring her while she pleasured Jake was overwhelming—the perfect balance of giving and receiving that characterized their relationship.

"That's it, darlin'," Jake encouraged, his voice strained as he watched her take him deeper. "Show Bradley exactly what that pretty mouth can do."

Bradley slid one finger inside her, then another, his movements languidly slow. "I need to feel that pretty mouth on me." He whispered against her ear, his free hand working open his belt. "Need you to share that mouth of yours."

Nick pulled back from Jake, her lips glistening and swollen. "Yes sir," she breathed, turning her head toward Bradley while continuing to stroke Jake with her hand.

Bradley had unbuckled his belt and freed himself, his eyes dark with desire as he guided himself to her waiting mouth. Nick took him eagerly, moaning as Bradley's fingers continued their rhythmic exploration between her legs.

"Fuck," Bradley groaned, his usual restraint slipping as Nick worked her magic. "The way she looks right now, Jake..."

"I know," Jake replied, his voice rough as he watched Nick pleasuring Bradley. "Wearing my jacket, on her knees for us both." He moved to kneel beside her, his hand replacing Bradley's between her legs. "Our beautiful little secret," he whispered against her ear.

Nick was lost in sensation—Bradley's steady rhythm, Jake's skilled fingers, the weight of the flight jacket against her body. She paused her ministrations on Bradley, focusing on the pleasure she was receiving from Jake.

Bradley tutted, his hand gently but firmly guiding her mouth back to him. "Did I say you could stop?" His voice carried that quiet authority that always made her shiver.

Nick resumed her attention to Bradley, her eyes fluttering closed as Jake's fingers worked their magic. The dual sensation was overwhelming—giving pleasure while receiving it, caught between two men who knew her body as well as they knew their own aircraft.

"Look at me," Bradley commanded softly.

Nick's eyes opened, locking with his intense gaze. The connection was electric, intimate in a way that transcended the physical act.

"That's it," he murmured, his free hand caressing her face with surprising tenderness. "Perfect."

Jake's fingers increased their pace, and Nick moaned around Bradley, the vibration making him curse under his breath. This was what they'd been craving all night—this connection, this intimacy.

Without warning, Jake withdrew his touch from her aching core and rose to stand beside Bradley. The two pilots towered over her, their bodies silhouetted against the dim light of the apartment. Nick whimpered at the loss of contact, her body thrumming with need.

“I'm feeling left out darling and you don't want me to feel left out do you you?”

Nick released Bradley with a wet pop, turning her attention back to Jake. "Never," she purred, reaching for him. "I want you both to feel... appreciated."

Jake's smirk was predatory as he tangled his fingers in her hair, guiding her back to him. "Then show me."

She took him eagerly, hollowing her cheeks as her hand continued to stroke Bradley. The taste of both men mingled on her tongue, a heady reminder of the unique arrangement they shared. No one at that bar tonight could imagine this—the boss's daughter on her knees wearing a flight jacket, pleasuring two of Top Gun's finest pilots.

Bradley's controlled façade began to crack as he watched Jake receiving the same attention he'd just enjoyed. His breathing grew heavier, muscles tensing beneath his skin. "Enough," he finally said, voice strained. "I want more."

He pulled Nichole’s head up by her hair and positioned his cock in front of her mouth. She eyed both men's hard cocks unable to decide if she could continue giving Jake pleasure with her mouth or Bradley.

Nick's eyes darted between them, a wicked smile playing at her lips despite her compromised position. "I can't decide," she teased, her voice husky with desire. "You're both so... demanding."

Jake's hand tightened in her hair, his eyes darkening with that dangerous intensity she craved. "Who said you get to decide?" His voice dropped to that commanding tone that always made her pulse quicken. "Open wider."

She complied, parting her lips as both men moved closer. Bradley's hand joined Jake's in her hair, steadying her as they positioned themselves at either corner of her mouth.

"Take us both," Bradley commanded quietly, the rare directive from him making her core clench with anticipation.

Nick opened as wide as she could, accepting both their tips into her mouth simultaneously. The sensation was overwhelming—stretching her lips to their limit, the taste of both men mingling on her tongue as she softly gagged. The sound turning both men on.

Jake groaned at the sight of her, so thoroughly possessed. "Look at you," he breathed, voice thick with desire. "Taking both of us like you were made for it."

Bradley's usual restraint was slipping, his breath coming in short pants as Nick's tongue worked between them. "So perfect," he murmured, his fingers gentle against her scalp despite the intensity of the moment.

Nick hummed in satisfaction, the vibration making both men curse simultaneously. She loved this—being the center of their attention, the focal point where their usual competition transformed into cooperation. Her hands reached up to stroke what her mouth couldn't accommodate, working in tandem to pleasure them both.

Her own arousal dripped from her folds. She couldn't help herself and brought her fingers to her clit, applying small circles to her sensitive bud.

“Did Bradley or I say you could touch yourself?”

Nick immediately withdrew her hand, a small whimper escaping her as she looked up at Jake with pleading eyes.

"No, sir," she managed to say as they pulled back slightly, allowing her to speak.

"That's what I thought," Jake said, his voice rough with desire and authority. "You don't come until we say so. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered, her body aching with need.

Bradley's hand traced along her jaw, his touch gentler than Jake's but no less commanding. "You'll get what you need," he promised, his voice low and steady. "But first, you'll take care of us."

Nick nodded eagerly, leaning forward to take them both again. The flight jacket slipped off one shoulder as she worked, the leather cool against her overheated skin. The sight of her—on her knees, wearing nothing but Jake's flight jacket and her black panties—was almost too much for both men.

"Fuck," Jake groaned, his control slipping. "I can't—"

"Me neither," Bradley admitted, his usually measured voice strained.

Jake pulled back first, his hand replacing Nick's as he stroked himself. "Stand up," he commanded, his voice rough with need.

Nick rose to her feet on shaky legs, the oversized flight jacket hanging off her frame. Before she could catch her breath, Jake picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She let out an involuntary giggle at the way he easily handled her.

Jake carried her to the bedroom with Bradley following close behind, his eyes never leaving the curve of her body beneath the jacket. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

"Put me down, Hangman," Nick demanded, though there was laughter in her voice as she playfully smacked his back.

"Not a chance, darlin'," Jake replied, depositing her on the bed with surprising gentleness. He stood over her, eyes dark with desire as he took in the sight of her sprawled across his sheets, flight jacket open to reveal her nearly naked body. "Look at her, Rooster. Wearing my jacket, in my bed." He cooed. "But these need to go," Jake growled, hooking his fingers into her black lace panties and sliding them down her legs in one smooth motion. He tossed them aside, leaving her in nothing but his flight jacket.

Bradley approached the bed more slowly, removing his shirt as he moved. The planes of his chest were illuminated by the dim bedroom light, highlighting the taut muscles that Nick had traced with her fingertips countless times.

"How do you want her?" Bradley asked Jake, his voice low and thick with desire as he shed the last of his clothing.

Jake's eyes never left Nick's body as he unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. "On her back first," he decided, kneeling on the bed beside her. "I want to watch her face when you make her come."

Nick's breath caught at his words, her body already responding to the command in his voice. Jake slid behind her on the bed, propping himself against the headboard and pulling her back against his chest. The flight jacket still open completely, leaving her exposed to Bradley's hungry gaze.

"Spread your legs for him," Jake whispered against her ear, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts. "Show him how much you want him."

Nick complied without hesitation, parting her thighs as Bradley moved between them.

Bradley moved between her parted thighs with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving hers. Unlike Jake's predatory intensity, Bradley's approach was almost reverent—each touch calculated for maximum effect.

"You've been so good for us," he murmured, his hands sliding up her inner thighs. "Taking everything we've given you."

Behind her, Jake's fingers teased her nipples to stiff peaks, his lips tracing a hot path along her neck. "But you haven't been entirely good, have you?" he whispered, teeth grazing her earlobe. "Teasing us at the bar, touching yourself without permission..."

Nick's head fell back against Jake's shoulder, a soft moan escaping her lips as Bradley's thumbs traced circles dangerously close to where she needed him most. "I'm sorry, sir," she breathed, though the smile playing on her lips said otherwise.

Bradley's lips quirked into a rare smile as his eyes met Jake's over her shoulder. "I don't think she's sorry at all," he observed, his fingers finally—finally—brushing against her slick folds.

"Not even a little bit," Jake agreed, one hand leaving her breast to tangle in her hair, turning her face toward his. "Are you, darlin'?"

"No," Nick admitted breathlessly, her hips instinctively arching toward Bradley's teasing touch. "But I can pretend if that's what you want."

Jake laughed, the sound vibrating through her back. "Always so defiant." He captured her mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing her gasp as Bradley chose that moment to slide two fingers inside her.

The dual sensation—Jake's demanding kiss and Bradley's precise ministrations—was overwhelming. Nick moaned into Jake's mouth, her body arching between them as Bradley's fingers curled inside her, finding that perfect spot with practiced ease.

"She's so wet," Bradley murmured, his voice thick with desire as he watched her respond to his touch. "Has been since we got here."

Jake broke the kiss, his hand still tangled in her hair as he held her gaze. "Were you this wet at the bar, thinking about what we'd do to you later?" His free hand returned to her breast, pinching her nipple just hard enough to make her gasp.

"Yes Sir," Nick admitted, her voice catching as Bradley's thumb found her clit, circling it with deliberate pressure. "Every time you bent over the pool table... every time Bradley's arm brushed against mine..."

"I knew it," Jake growled, his grip tightening possessively in her hair. "Standing there in that bar, pretending to be strangers while you were soaked for us both."

Bradley's pace increased, his fingers working her with ruthless precision as his thumb continued its relentless circles against her clit. Nick's breath came in short gasps, her body caught between them—Jake's solid warmth at her back, Bradley's intense focus between her thighs. The flight jacket clung to her sweat-dampened skin, the leather creaking softly with each movement.

"Please," she whispered, her hips rocking against Bradley's hand. "I need—"

"What do you need?" Bradley asked, his voice deceptively calm despite the heat in his eyes. "Tell us."

"I need to come," Nick begged, all pretense of defiance gone now, replaced by raw need. "Please let me come."

Jake's lips curved against her neck. "What did we say about addressing us?”

"I need to come, sir," Nick corrected herself immediately, her voice breaking as Bradley curled his fingers inside her. "Please, sirs. Please let me come."

Jake's eyes met Bradley's over her shoulder, a silent communication passing between them. Bradley nodded almost imperceptibly, his fingers maintaining their relentless rhythm.

"Since you asked so nicely," Jake murmured against her ear. "Come for us, darlin'. Show us how good we make you feel."

The permission was all she needed. Nick's body tensed between them, her back arching off Jake's chest as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Bradley maintained his perfect rhythm, drawing out her orgasm as Jake held her firmly against him, whispering praise against her skin.

"That's it, so beautiful," Jake murmured, his free hand splayed across her stomach to feel the tremors running through her. "Let go for us."

Nick cried out, her body shuddering between them as Bradley worked her through her release. Her fingers clutched at Jake's thigh behind her, nails digging into his skin as she rode out the intense pleasure.

As her breathing began to steady, Bradley withdrew his fingers slowly, his eyes locked on her flushed face. "Good girl," he praised, his voice thick with need. "But we're not done with you yet."

Jake shifted beneath her, his arousal evident against her back. "Not even close," he growled, his hands sliding beneath the flight jacket to grip her waist. "Turn around. I want you on top."

Nick complied on shaky legs, the jacket sliding completely off both shoulders this time as she straddled Jake. He quickly shed his T-shirt, the last remnant of clothing he had on.

His hands immediately gripped her hips, positioning her over him with possessive certainty.

"Take me," he commanded, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at her.

Nick sank down onto him slowly, a gasping moan escaping her lips as she took him fully inside. The flight jacket hung open around her, framing her body as she began to move.

"That's it," Jake encouraged, his fingers digging into her hips. "Show Rooster how well you ride."

Bradley moved behind her, his hands sliding beneath the jacket to caress her back. She felt him press against her, his chest warm against her spine as his lips found her shoulder.

"So beautiful," he murmured, one hand reaching around to cup her breast as she rode Jake with increasing intensity. “Bet you want both of us to fill you up, don't you?”

Nick whimpered at Bradley's words, her pace faltering slightly as Jake thrust up to meet her. "Yes," she breathed, her head falling back against Bradley's shoulder. "God, yes. Both of you."

Bradley's hand slid from her breast, down her stomach, finding where she and Jake were joined. His fingers circled her sensitive bud, making her gasp and clench around Jake.

"Fuck," Jake groaned, his grip tightening on her hips. "She gets so tight when you touch her like that."

Bradley continued his ministrations, his other hand reaching for the bedside drawer where they kept supplies. Nick heard the familiar sound of a cap opening, then felt Bradley's slick fingers tracing patterns down her spine, circling lower with deliberate intent.

"Relax for me," Bradley murmured against her ear as one finger pressed gently against her entrance to prepare her for his cock.

Nick moaned as Bradley's finger breached her, the dual sensation of being filled by Jake while Bradley prepared her setting her nerve endings on fire. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on Jake's chest.

"That's it," Bradley encouraged, adding a second finger as Jake slowed his thrusts to allow her to adjust. "Just breathe."

"I need you both," Nick gasped, her body trembling with anticipation. The forbidden nature of their arrangement, the secrecy they maintained, the taboo of what they were doing—it all heightened every sensation, made every touch electric.

Jake reached up, pushing the jacket off her shoulders completely so he could see all of her. His eyes were dark with possession as he watched her face.

"You're going to get us both, Darlin', don't worry," Jake murmured, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Just like you want."

Bradley withdrew his fingers slowly, positioning himself behind her. Nick felt the blunt pressure of him against her prepared entrance, her breath catching in anticipation. He entered her with exquisite care, each inch a deliberate conquest as Jake remained perfectly still beneath her.

"Breathe," Bradley reminded her, his voice a soothing counterpoint to the intense stretch of accommodating them both. His hands splayed across her lower back, steadying her as she adjusted to the overwhelming fullness.

"Oh god," Nick gasped, her body trembling between them. The sensation of both men inside her, filling her completely, was overwhelming in the best possible way. Nothing in her life had ever felt as intense, as consuming as these moments when they claimed her simultaneously.

"You okay?" Jake asked, his voice strained but concerned as he studied her face.

Nick nodded, unable to form words as her body adjusted to the dual invasion. The fullness was exquisite—Jake's thickness stretching her from below while Bradley's careful entry from behind completed her in ways she'd never imagined possible before these two men had entered her life.

"Our girl," Bradley murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder blade.

"Your girl," she happily hummed.

Slowly, Bradley began to move, setting a careful rhythm that Jake matched from below. The synchronization between them was flawless—like their flying formations, Nick thought hazily, each man responding to the other's cues without a word spoken between them.

"Look at you," Jake growled, his eyes locked on her face as pleasure overtook her features. "Taking both of us so perfectly."

Nick could only moan in response, her body trembling between them as they established a rhythm that drove her steadily toward another peak. Bradley's hands gripped her hips with careful strength, while Jake's fingers dug into her thighs, both men anchoring her between them.

"Does anyone at that bar have any idea what you're really like?" Jake continued, his voice rough with exertion. "What the boss's daughter really does in her spare time?"

The forbidden nature of their arrangement sent another wave of pleasure coursing through Nick's body. "No," she gasped, her head falling forward as Bradley hit a particularly sensitive spot. "Only you two know... only you..."

"And that's how it's going to stay," Bradley growled, the rare display of possessiveness making her clench around both men. "Our beautiful secret."

Their pace increased, the careful rhythm giving way to more urgent thrusts as all three of them approached the edge. Nick's second orgasm was building rapidly, her nerves singing with each perfectly synchronized movement.

"I'm close," she warned, her voice breaking as Jake's thumb found her clit, circling with practiced precision.

"Not yet," Jake commanded, his thumb stilling against her clit. "Together. We come together."

Nick whimpered, hovering on the edge as both men controlled their pace with military precision. Bradley's chest pressed against her back, his breath hot against her neck as he whispered encouragements in her ear.

"Just a little longer," he murmured, his voice strained but steady. "You're doing so well."

Jake's eyes never left her face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure that crossed her features. His hand tangled in her hair, pulling her down for a bruising kiss that Bradley used as an opportunity to increase his pace.

"Now," Jake finally growled against her lips, his control fracturing as he felt Bradley's rhythm falter. "Come for us now, darlin'."

His thumb resumed its circles against her sensitive bud, and Nick shattered between them, her cry deafening.

Her cry was muffled against Jake's mouth as her body convulsed with pleasure. The intensity of her orgasm triggered both men simultaneously—Jake cursing against her lips while Bradley's forehead pressed between her shoulder blades, his usual restraint completely abandoned as he pulsed inside her.

For several moments, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing as they remained locked together, bodies slick with sweat and trembling with aftershocks.

Bradley was the first to move, carefully withdrawing and pressing a tender kiss to her spine before disappearing into the bathroom. Jake's arms wrapped around Nick, cradling her against his chest as she collapsed onto him, completely spent.

"You okay?" he murmured, brushing damp hair from her forehead with uncharacteristic gentleness.

Nick nodded against his chest, too exhausted for words. The intensity of being with both of them always left her in this state—utterly satisfied yet somehow vulnerable, stripped of her usual defenses.

Bradley returned with a warm washcloth, his movements gentle as he cleaned her. This was their ritual—Jake holding her while Bradley took care of the practical aftermath, each man expressing his care in ways that suited his nature.

"That was..." Nick finally managed, her voice hoarse.

"Incredible," Bradley supplied, climbing back onto the bed beside them.

"Worth almost blowing our cover," Jake added with a smirk, his hand lazily tracing patterns along her spine.

Nick laughed softly, the sound muffled against Jake's chest. "I still can't believe Phoenix invited me to your hangout spot. What are the odds?"

"Pretty high, considering it’s the only bar for miles," Bradley pointed out, stretching beside her. His hand found hers, fingers interlacing with casual intimacy. "We’ll need to be more careful moving forward."

Nick sighed, shifting to lie between them. "I know. But part of me wonders if we could just... tell people. Not everyone, but maybe—"

"No," Jake interrupted, his tone unusually serious. "Your dad would try to have us grounded faster than you can say 'career-ending mistake.'"

"He’s right," Bradley agreed, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. "The Navy isn’t exactly built for this kind of relationship dynamic. And your father..."

"Would lose his mind," Jake finished. "Probably file a transfer request so fast our heads would spin."

Nick groaned, burying her face against Jake’s chest. "I know. I just hate sneaking around. I’m really happy with you both, and I just want to shout it from the rooftops. I want everyone to see how happy I am, how happy you both make me, and how you're both all mine."

Bradley propped himself up on one elbow, studying her face. "This isn’t forever," he said quietly. "It’s just until we figure out where this is going—how serious it really is—and the best way to handle it."

Jake nodded, his fingers tangling in her hair. "Exactly. Once we know, we can decide how to move forward. Together."

Nick bit her lip, guilt flashing across her features. "I’m sorry. I should’ve found a way to decline when Phoenix invited me."

"No," Bradley said firmly. "You couldn’t have without raising suspicion. We just need to be better prepared for next time."

Jake nodded, his tactical mind already working through scenarios. "We need a system. A heads-up when one of us might run into the other unexpectedly."

Nick sighed, pressing a kiss to Bradley’s chest before turning to face Jake. "I just wish we didn’t have to be so careful. It feels like we’re doing something wrong."

"We’re not," Jake assured her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with surprising tenderness. "But the Navy has rules, and your father has expectations, and none of those account for... this."

Bradley’s hand traced lazy circles on her back. "And when people find out..." He paused, eyes meeting Jake’s over Nick’s head. "There will be talk. About all of us."

Nick closed her eyes, letting herself be enveloped in their warmth. "I can handle talk. I’ve been handling talk my whole life—about my dad, about being a woman in engineering, about everything. What I can’t handle is pretending like you both don’t mean anything to me."

Jake’s usual cockiness softened into something more genuine. "For now, we just need to be smart about this. No more surprises."

Nick looked between them—these two men who couldn’t be more different yet somehow fit seamlessly into her life. "I can do that. For both of you, I can do that."

"Good, because I think I can speak for Bradley when I say we’d like to see if this can one day be more permanent."

Bradley nodded in agreement.

Nick’s heart skipped at the word *permanent.* It wasn’t something they discussed often—the future beyond their current arrangement. Especially since their relationship was only a few weeks old. "You both mean that?"

"I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t," Jake replied, his usual bravado tempered by rare vulnerability. "I don’t share well, darlin’. The fact that I’m willing to share you with Bradley should tell you everything you need to know about how serious I am."

Bradley chuckled. "That might be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard you say, Hangman."

Nick laughed too, snuggling into Jake as she did.

"Oh, so you find that funny?" Jake teased. "How about this—do you find *this* funny?" His fingers darted to her sides.

Nick squealed, squirming between them as Jake found her most ticklish spots. "Stop!" she gasped between laughs, trying unsuccessfully to escape his grasp. "Bradley, help me!"

Bradley’s lips curved into a rare mischievous smile. "I think I’ll help him instead," he decided, his fingers joining Jake’s assault on her ribs.

"Traitor!" Nick shrieked, her laughter filling the bedroom as she writhed helplessly between them.Her naked body vulnerable to their merciless tickling.

Jake pinned her wrists above her head with one hand while continuing his assault with the other. "Still think I'm funny, darlin'?" Jake asked, his eyes dancing with amusement as Nick gasped for breath.

"Yes!" she managed between fits of laughter. "The funniest-looking pilot at Top Gun!"

Jake's eyes widened in mock outrage. "Oh, that's it." He redoubled his efforts, finding the spot beneath her ribs that always made her shriek when tickled.

Bradley laughed, a rare full-throated sound as he watched them wrestle. After enjoying the spectacle for a moment, he caught Jake’s wrist. "Enough—she can't breathe."

Jake relented, though the predatory gleam remained in his eyes as Nick gasped for air, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Lucky for you, Rooster’s feeling merciful," he told her, releasing her wrists.

"My hero," Nick panted, curling into Bradley’s side and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. Her hair was a wild tangle around her flushed face, her eyes bright with laughter.

Jake stretched out beside them, his hand resting possessively on Nick’s hip. "Don’t get too comfortable with him. I’m still mad about that 'funniest-looking pilot' comment."

Nick grinned, peering at him over Bradley’s chest. "What are you going to do about it, Hangman?"

"I’ll think of something," Jake promised, his eyes darkening with playful threat. "When you least expect it."

Bradley’s arm tightened around Nick protectively, though his lips quirked in amusement. "You’ll have to get through me first."

"As if that would be difficult," Jake scoffed, though there was no real heat in his words. His hand slid up from Nick’s hip, tracing lazy patterns along her back. "I’ve shot you down in simulations, what—seventeen times now?"

"Sixteen," Bradley corrected automatically. "And I’ve returned the favor fourteen times."

Nick laughed, the sound muffled against Bradley’s chest. "My heroes, comparing kill counts while lying in bed."

"Occupational hazard," Jake shrugged, leaning over to press a surprisingly gentle kiss to her shoulder. "Dating two fighter pilots."

The casual use of the word 'dating' made something warm unfurl in Nick’s chest. It wasn’t a term they used often—their relationship defied conventional labels. Usually, they spoke in terms of arrangements, agreements, stolen moments. Dating sounded almost... normal.

Bradley must have caught the expression on her face, because his eyes softened as he traced her cheek with his fingertips. "That’s what this is, isn’t it?" he asked quietly. "The three of us dating?"

"Is that what we’re calling it now?" Nick asked, a vulnerability in her voice she rarely allowed herself to show. "Dating?"

Jake propped himself up on one elbow, his usual cocky demeanor giving way to something more serious. "Call it whatever you want, darlin'. Dating, relationship, arrangement—it doesn’t change what it is."

"And what is it?" she pressed, looking between them both.

"It’s us," Bradley said simply, his thumb tracing her lower lip. "The three of us, figuring it out together."

Jake nodded, his hand finding hers and squeezing gently. "What he said. Though I’d add that it’s us dating you, and you dating us."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "That’s your definition? You two aren’t dating each other?"

Jake and Bradley exchanged a look over her head—one of those silent communications they'd perfected both in the cockpit and in life.

"I wouldn’t say that," Bradley said carefully, his fingers still tracing patterns on her skin. "It’s more complicated."

"Complicated how?" Nick pressed, curiosity piqued by their sudden hesitation.

Jake sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "We don’t exactly... function without you as the center," he admitted. "You’re the bridge."

"The catalyst," Bradley added, his analytical mind finding the precise term. "Without you, we’d probably still be at each other’s throats."

Nick considered this, a small smile playing at her lips. "So I’m like the buffer zone between two warring nations?"

Jake laughed. "Kind of. Basically, what we’re saying, darlin', is we’re not romantically interested in each other. We’re only interested in you. And since you don’t want just one of us, you want both—then that’s what you’re getting."

Nick smiled, a warmth spreading through her chest. "So what you’re saying is, I’m stuck with both of you."

"Afraid so," Jake confirmed, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Package deal."

Bradley’s fingers continued their gentle exploration of her skin, tracing invisible patterns across her shoulder. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"No," Nick answered without hesitation, snuggling deeper between them. "It’s perfect, actually. You balance each other out."

Jake snorted. "That’s a diplomatic way of saying he’s boring and I’m—"

"Exhausting," Bradley finished for him, though there was no malice in his tone.

Nick laughed, the sound vibrating through all three of them. "I was going to say that Bradley’s steadiness complements Jake’s intensity. Together, you’re exactly what I need."

Jake’s expression softened in a way few people ever witnessed. "And you’re exactly what we need."

Bradley nodded in agreement, his arm tightening around her waist. "Exactly."

A comfortable silence settled over them, the only sound their synchronized breathing in the dim bedroom. Nick felt herself drifting toward sleep, cocooned between their warm bodies.

"So," Jake murmured after a while, his voice tinged with tenderness. "I know it’s late, but would you like me to run you a hot bath?"

Nick’s eyes fluttered open. "As tempting as that sounds, I’d much rather have you two hold me. But if you’re offering to do things for me, I do have a favor to ask."

"Sure. What is it?" Bradley asked.

"My mom said she was going to ship a bunch of my things to me, and they’re supposed to arrive tomorrow. Would you guys be willing to help me get them into the apartment and unpack everything?"

"Only if you make it worth our while," Jake replied with a playful smirk, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her skin.

Bradley nodded, his hand finding hers and giving a gentle squeeze. "I have a morning flight, but I'm free after 1400."

"Perfect," Nick murmured, settling back between them. "Jake?"

"I'll make it work," he promised, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "Though if your dad finds out and calls asking why two of his pilots are helping his daughter move boxes..."

"I’ll tell him I’m paying you in beer and pizza like a normal person," Nick replied, her eyes already growing heavy with sleep. "Not... other forms of compensation."

Bradley chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Probably for the best. I don’t think your father would appreciate knowing the full terms of our arrangement."

"Definitely not," Jake agreed, his voice growing drowsy. "I like my head attached to my body."

Nick smiled, her exhaustion tugging at her senses. "He’d have to catch you first."

"And I am the best pilot on base," Jake murmured smugly.

"Second best," Bradley corrected automatically.

Nick laughed softly between them. "Here we go again."

Jake opened his mouth to argue but instead pressed a kiss to Nick’s temple. "We can settle this tomorrow. Sleep now."

"Yes, sir," she whispered teasingly, already half-asleep.

As she drifted off, cocooned between their warmth, Nick couldn’t help the smile that slowly appeared on her face.

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pjoxreader · 2 years ago

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can you do something with jason, leo, and percy where they turn on the reader or something and they have to kill their s/o because someone told them that they were evil??

Reader Gets Betrayed by Their SO

TW (Death, Blood, Broken bones)

Jason Grace

-There you stood looking up at your boyfriend in the raging rain storm. Rain was pelting you as if it was hail. Thunder claps above the two of you illuminating his blonde hair and making his blue eyes seemingly glow in the cloudy gray storm clouds as he stares down at you coldly. -”Jason! Please!” You beg him, voice cracking as you plead. You couldn’t believe it, your boyfriend, the person you had trusted the most had turned against you. You wanted to believe he was being controlled, that this was some cruel monster forcing him to do this…

-But it wasn’t. You knew deep down that he wasn’t. Jason lands in front of you, flicking out his coin and summoning his sword. “Jason you don’t understand…” You try. But the look in his eye… He… He was determined to kill you. You never once imagined what it was like to be a monster…

-Yet now you felt bad for them, being forced to stare down these cruel eyes before their death. You force yourself to draw your sword as he charges you, the two of you clashing swords, you’re barely able to keep your defense up as your feet dig into the ground.

-Tears were forming in your eyes as you kicked him back to try and get space. But he kneels getting ready for a lunge. You… You didn’t have time to move. The same move you had spent hours in training to avoid… Would be your downfall? You could only gasp pathetically grabbing at his shirt in a last desperate attempt to get to him as you feel the blade enter your stomach. You barely manage to grab hold of his shirt looking down and seeing the blade impaled you through your stomach blood seeping down his blade.

-You fall to your knees looking up at the sky as the rain pelts you, helping wash away your tears as you could only helplessly look at the one you used to love. “I… Love… You…” you manage to choke out through the blood before you lose all your energy collapsing to the ground. Jason lets out a feral yell of anguish into the storm as thunder roars above him as the lone survivor.

Leo Valdez

-Oh how the fates were cruel. The only thing you wanted in this world was for someone to love you. And they granted you that. For two wonderful years you had dated your boyfriend enjoying every second of it.

-But the fates are restless. You were exhausted, trying to catch your breath as you stared down your boyfriend. “Leo… please… Please at least hear me out.” you beg him between breaths. Leo had his hammer at the ready, a few tears in his eyes as he stayed ready in his fighting stance.

-”I don’t want to hear it, How could you… How could you betray camp…? How… How could you betray me?” his voice cracks at the end as he grips his hammer so tightly his knuckles turn white. With that he moves in closer to you raising the hammer high and bringing it down full force.

-You barely manage to block the attack with your sword, but it breaks in half the rest of Leo’s strike landing fully on your arm with a sick snap. You cry out in anguish falling back as you cling to your surely broken arm. -You try to move but you can't. You were just too tired to… You pant weakly looking up at the sky as you try to catch your breath. At least it was a beautiful day… Leo blocks your sight, tears going down his face as he lifts the hammer blocking the sun from your eyes.

-”I love you...” you say, giving him a last smile before the hammer swings down. You feel an anguished pain, dizziness but… But then the pain starts to fade. You could hear Leo sobbing but it was too far. You try to reach for him despite the fact you couldn’t see but to no avail, your hand goes limp before you could.

Percy Jackson

-The beach had so many fond memories for you. Where you and percy first kissed, where he asked you out and you even had your first date here… But… But now you were trying to stand your ground against your boyfriend.

-You had seen percy lose himself in rage before but nothing like this. “No more… How… How many people are going to betray me!” he roars in anguish water raising to life behind him. You could only try to leap out of the way to avoid a blast of water that takes down a pine tree not far from you.

-”Percy please! I didn’t betray you! I wouldn’t!” you try to reason, barely avoiding another blast. It took everything you had to keep avoiding the strikes, but then your body tenses up as he holds his hand to you. You could feel every vein in your body clench. Was… Was he controlling your blood…?

-”Percy… Percy please…” you choke out feeling yourself fall under his control only barely able to plead him. “No more… No more!” He yells water rushing you in an intense flurry trapping you in a swirling vortex in a bubble.

-You gain control of your body, struggling to get free but you are spiraling inside the bubble unable to even reach out.Tears form in your eyes as you feel your lungs burning desperately clawing at your throat as you attempt to breathe.

-You pathetically reach out to Percy in a last silent plea but he only stares at you, those cold eyes as cruel and dark as the ocean stare into your soul as your vision starts to fade. The last bubbles of air leaving your throat with those eyes being the last sight you ever see.

~Masterlist & Rules~

Like my writing? Please consider sending me a Ko-fi! ☕

#pjo #hoo #pjo x reader #hoo x reader #pjo angst #hoo angst #jason grace x reader #jason grace #percy jackson x reader #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #lots of angst

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darkchemistryfanboy · 4 months ago

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ok so this is my proposal for a Reverse Robins AU that's actually a Reverse Batfamily AU because Duke and the girls deserve some swapping too.

The typical joining the batfam timeline goes like this:

Dick-> Barbara-> Jason-> Tim-> Steph-> Cass-> Damian-> Duke

So let's swap

Duke:

both of his parents are severely incapacitated via rogue attack

since he grew up relatively normal, and has two parents he very much love and are technically still alive, he becomes Bruce's ward

the light to batman's darkness

overall very sunny personality but with some darkness one could explore

you can have his teenage angst phase start due to the awakening of his powers

no metas in Gotham and all that

so he goes to his own city and becomes his own separate vigilante

Damian

ok so this might be a little bit of a stretch but hear me out

he meets batman already trained and capable

and older than the current sidekick

also, his stance of killing may make him a kinda separate thing from batman

like, definitely not his sidekick

especially assuming this Damian is already a teen by the time he meets Bruce

it's not exactly the same, but near enough

his career ending injury could be related to the LoA

and instead of going hacker, he could go doctor

idk, think about it

Cass

ok this one's pretty easy

young child is found feral in the streets and gets adopted

she becomes the second signal or whatever name duke chose

and she is basically a really great child: appreciative of everything, actually goes to school, and so on and so forth

and then lady Shiva shows up

Shiva challenges her to a death match, Cass wins but refuses to kill her, since that's her mother, and gets killed for her troubles

now for her vilain arc it'd be a little different than Jason's

but I think it could happen

first she kills Shiva and steals her title

and when she does she has some epiphany about how some people will never regret the things they do

and she could become an assassin

killing the people who are truly horrendous, who she can clearly see are doing evil and regretting nothing

Steph

ok so while she would probably not grab Cass's/Duke's name, she would definitely be going out

and Batman gets PTSD seeing this small young vigilante going out and putting herself in danger

and tries to stop her

but Steph is too stubborn enough to actually stop

eventually he allows it but only on strict supervision

and maybe this is where she becomes the Signal III or whatever

at some point her father figures out who she is and while she's dealing with that she gives Tim the title

you could play on the fact that she's clue master's daughter and make her develop her detective skills

maybe enough that when Bruce "Dies" and Tim tells her of some suspicions she leaves to investigate

becomes Spoiler again and finds Bruce

Tim

ok so this one is kind of a stretch but just hang on

Tim, like always, is a fanboy

but since there's no Dick, he never figures out who Batman is

but he still loves the bats

and figures with all his money there's definitely something he could do

so he starts heading out to the streets, aiming to help

the others don't take him seriously because they see him as just a batman fanboy

so he has to struggle and try and fail and try again to be considered part of the team

he only becomes a part of the team when he becomes signal in that Steph fiasco

due to not being trusted, he starts a gang war, and Leslie fakes his death

he spends a year around the world, building his sense of identity and acting as a vigilante

and when Bruce disappears, he thinks something's fishy, and tells Steph

however, he also sees how the family is tearing at the seams, and chooses to stay, becoming uhh Damian's name (v3)

and he keeps the name

Jason

this one fits way too well

Jason either never steals the tires or steals them quickly enough to never get caught

he continues living as a street kid, stealing, being a snarky asshole, and helping the alley kids when he can

he could become some sort of informant for the bats, as well as an opportunistic vigilante

as in never actually going out intending to stop crime, but ending up doing it when possible

he brings crucial info on cases, also stopping muggings, and becomes closer and closer to the batfam

eventually, being one of the biggest informants of the city, and an incredibly smart kid, he gets enough info to figure out the Bats identities

he confronts them, telling them to do better (y'know, use their billionaire money wisely)

and Bruce adopts him

he decides to go out and save as many people as possible as Damian's moniker (he's the second one)

he also has a very strong moral code

his father was forced into being a criminal by being excon, so he recognizes that sometimes you don't have a choice

he also is against excessive violence, since breaking bones, while it may not kill, it puts you in excessive medical debt and that's way too shitty

he and Cass argue constantly about this

Barbara

ok so this is the stretchiest one of them all

so try and stay with me

young Barbara, trained my a cop for self defense purposes, decides to go out and use her abilities for other people's defense

the batfam catch her, and snitch on her with her dad

while she is grounded, she manages to hack into their comms and uses this opportunity to try and annoy the batfam into letting her become a vigilante

eventually Bruce "dies" Steph and Tim leave, and Duke becomes batman

left with half his backup gone, and realizing there is no way he can keep Barbara sealed by herself with only Jason for help (Cass is an assassin, Damian can't go out into the field, and the rest are either Bruce or looking for him) he decides to make her the fifth signal

she's snarky at the fact they stopped her from helping people for so long mirroring Damian's attitude

Dick

this one is easy with some changes

the flying graysons get murdered later, with Dick being in his teens

instead of going full vigilante, dick joins the we are signal gang, and eventually becomes part of the batfam in a similar way to Duke

naturally, he names himself Robin

of anyone has some ideas to add or improve on this prompt, feel free to do so (respectfully), also if someone writes a fanfic please tag me, I'd love to read this story

also this was inspired by a post by @too0bsessedformyowngood , so you should definitely read that

#there's a severe lack of cass and duke in #reverse robins #also i think it's funny that basically none of the original robins got to be this version of robin #also almost all of these fit very well #there are so many duke and dick parallels #same with jason and cass #batman #bruce wayne #dc #dick grayson #barbara gordon #jason todd #tim drake #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #damian wayne #duke thomas #batfam #reverse batfam

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galaxymagitech · 5 months ago

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Batman's Daughter

Inspired by Batman #50.

For @casscainweek Day 3: Silence | Music

Summary: When they don’t have the right words, Bruce and Cass reach each other by fighting. It has always worked for them. However, Dick and Barbara take exception to their unorthodox method of communication.

Characters: Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence. A large portion of the fic involves an all-out “sparring” match between Bruce and Cass. They both want to fight, but it's kinda an unhinged parenting method, so...be warned, I guess?

You can read it here or on AO3!

Cass is angry at Bruce. She doesn’t know why.

Bruce is angry at Cass. He knows why, but he doesn’t know how to say it.

They’re like this, sometimes, when all their words have gone away. Most of the time, they communicate with ease. Neither of them requires words to speak. But sometimes—sometimes, there’s this chasm between them, wide and uncrossable and filled with silence.

It’s rare that Cass and Bruce fight. Jason joked that he wasn’t even sure it could happen because Cass and Bruce are “basically the same person.” Cass knows it was half a joke, half not, but all wrong. They ended up in the same place. Vigilantes. No killing. Family. But Bruce functions on lines and rules and patterns, while Cass slips through the world guided by her heart. And yet, there’s an understanding between them that doesn’t need to be voiced. So, yes, this silence between them—not just of voices, but of bodies, of thoughts—is unusual. And because it’s unusual, everyone in the family has noticed.

Jason jokes. Alfred politely suggests that ‘perhaps the pair of you should discuss your grievances, Miss Cassandra.’ That makes Cass bristle, though she doesn’t know why. But most of the family don’t say anything, because they have nothing to say. They don’t know why Cass and Bruce are fighting. Cass doesn’t know why Cass and Bruce are fighting.

Barbara calls Cass to the Clocktower after patrol. “Maybe you should stay with me for a little while,” Barbara suggests. “I think you need some space.”

“No,” Cass says sharply. She does not need space. How is she supposed to fix this if she can’t see Bruce, can’t read him? Cass needs to understand. She can’t understand from the Clocktower. And she does have space at the Manor. Bruce is almost never around anyway.

“Being around Bruce when he’s like this is stressful. I can see you two giving each other death glares. If you stay here, things will calm down and then you can talk about it.” There is a twisting feeling in Cass’s stomach. She hates it. Why would Barbara even suggest this?

Cass clenches her fists. “No!” she shouts with her eyes closed. And then, she leaps out the window.

***

The next night, Cass stands in the cave across from Bruce. She had been assigned to patrol on her own yet again and got back to the cave far later than Bruce, but he waited for her. Their uniforms are off, but neither of them has gone upstairs. They both know what happens next.

Cass steps forwards. She can see the anger radiating off Bruce like a neon sign. Yes. Tonight will be the night. “Tell me,” she says.

Bruce’s jaw clenches tighter. “Let’s spar,” he says.

Cass grins.

The two of them walk past the bench and to the training mats. The label of “Cassandra Cain” on the case with her weapons taunts her. Cass turns away. Neither vigilante takes any of the weapons. Instead, they simply face each other and slide into fighting stances as easily as breathing. And then, they begin.

There are two ways to spar in this family. There’s sparring, where you fight to train. Blows light, stopping before they hit. Gentle. Safe. And then there’s this. It started when Cass and Bruce were drugged, and it worked then. It works when they do it now, too. This is called a spar, but it’s really a fight—and a conversation.

Bruce starts this time. When Cass is the only one angry, she moves first. But she’s still trying to get a read on Bruce, so this time, she waits until Bruce’s kick flies towards her face, hard enough to break her nose. Angry. He’s angry. But Cass already knows that, so she needs more.

She ducks the kick. Easy. Cass leaps into the air with a kick of her own, landing on a hand and springing up to send a second kick flying towards Bruce’s face. He blocks with his arm. No pain shows in his body. Before Cass can flip back onto her feet, Bruce’s knee catches her in the back, sending her sprawling on the training mats, the breath knocked out of her.

Cass stands, just barely dodging out of the way of Bruce’s palm strike on her way up. She sees Bruce’s next punch before it even begins, blocking his punch and redirecting its motion. Cass’s counterstrike hits with a dull thud. Bruce reels back, then works his jaw and spits to the side, his saliva tinged with red. First blood.

Cass is angry at Bruce, but it’s a sick, tired sort of anger. Anger that pools like poison in her gut. Not anger that burns like fire. Cass doesn’t like the pain that she reads in Bruce’s body.

But it’s not just pain there. There’s also satisfaction. Bruce is satisfied. Cass doesn’t understand. But it’s something. It’s more than she knew before the fight began.

Cass lunges towards Bruce, exchanging a flurry of blows with him. She blocks his every strike and he blocks hers. They are getting nowhere with this, so Cass throws a roundhouse kick, leaving herself open. Bruce takes the opening. Cass reads his punch as it chambers and dodges it, only for Bruce’s elbow to strike her just below the neck. She stumbles, and then Bruce’s feet slam into her chest, throwing her back.

She needs to recover. Cass is already falling—she can’t stop it. But she spins as she topples over and launches herself forwards, sliding past Bruce. It gives her enough of a delay to get back to her feet. Her chest aches as she stands.

It’s on. Cass’s next move is a nerve strike. If it hit, it would temporarily paralyze Bruce. It doesn’t hit. She curls her hands into fists.

Bruce lands a punch to her cheek, but she repays it with two blows to his jaw and a two-legged acrobatic kick to his chin. Her bare feet hit with a crack! that echoes through the cave. When Cass springs to her feet, Bruce catches her in an armlock. Her bones creak beneath his hands. Cass pauses a moment, lets him think he’s won. Then she twists, reverses the lock, and flips Bruce over her head. The moment he hits the ground, he’s already springing to his feet and catching Cass with a hard blow to her ribs. On Cass’s next punch, he catches her off guard and topples her to the ground at the edge of the training mats. Stupid. Cass wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings, too focused on Bruce. Her skull bounces off the stone floor, sending a wave of pain through her head.

“Fight harder,” Bruce grunts. His body echoes his words. Please, it says. It screams. It needs. Fight harder.

Cass understands now. She understands what Bruce was trying to say. But she still doesn’t know why she is mad.

“Angry,” Cass says as she lands a palm strike to Bruce’s chin that forces him back and allows Cass room to get up. She stands, dizzy. “Scared. You think I’m reckless.” Bruce kicks. Cass dodges. “I am not.”

Bruce tries a spinning kick, but Cass knows early enough to catch him completely off guard. She could land a nerve strike. She could end this fight. Instead, she shoves him away with all her might.

Cass thinks she is beginning to understand. A smile starts to work its way onto her face as she dodges Bruce’s next punch and gives herself fully into the fight. She strikes again. Bruce parries. Blood drips from her nose. Side kick. Punch. Dodge. Duck. Flip kick. Elbow. Blood stains the mats. Careful not to slip.

This is good. This is working.

And then Cass hears the sound of boots slamming on the cave’s stone floor and, before she can react, Bruce is stumbling away. Not from her, but from Dick.

Dick, who is standing there eyes blazing, knuckles white as his hands clench his escrima sticks. He thinks—he thinks he is protecting, Cass realizes. He doesn’t understand.

But before Cass can find the words to explain, Dick shoots forward, twisting around and hitting Bruce in the neck. And then, Bruce is on the ground, hands raised as Dick stands over him.

“Dick,” Bruce says. “Listen, it’s—”

“Stop talking,” Dick orders. He points an escrima at Bruce. “I don’t want to hear you speak.”

Cass needs to explain. But she’s still in fighting mode. Body mode. Motion mode. Not word mode. She doesn’t know how to tell Dick what she and Bruce were trying to do.

“We were sparring,” Bruce tries.

Cass knows immediately that he has made things worse. “Sparring?” Dick spits. “That’s really where you want to go, Bruce?”

“Stop,” Cass tries to say, but the sound doesn’t cross her lips. She breathes heavily, raising one hand to press against her head and dull the pain.

But Dick turns to Cass anyway. “Go upstairs,” he says. “I’ll deal with this.”

Cass shakes her head. How does she say this? How does she explain? There is blood on her face and on Bruce’s. One of her ribs is bruised. She thinks she may have fractured Bruce’s jaw. But she’s beginning to understand, and that’s worth all of this.

Bruce is scared. Bruce thinks she’s putting herself in danger. Bruce wants to keep her safe. That’s why he’s angry. He didn’t know how to say it with his words until they were fighting, until he told Cass to try harder to protect herself. And Cass was so close to understanding her own anger before Dick stopped the fight.

“We were talking,” Cass says. She gestures to herself and Bruce. “Sparring. To understand.”

Dick looks away from Bruce. The anger remains in his body, but his face grows softer when his gaze falls on Cass. “That’s not sparring. If it was sparring, you wouldn’t be bleeding.”

Bruce starts to get up. Dick’s attention switches to him in an instant. He slams a boot into Bruce’s chest. “Stay down.”

“Stop it!” Cass insists. She rushes at Dick, striking his chest hard enough to send him stumbling away from Bruce. Then, she reaches out a hand to Bruce. Bruce takes it. She pulls Bruce to his feet and reaches to wipe away the spot of blood at the corner of his lips. “Him too. Bleeding.” Dick’s grip on his escrima sticks loosens. Just a little, but to Cass, it’s clear as day. “We didn’t…have any words,” Cass says. “So we spar.”

When Dick speaks, he sounds lost. That gets across to Cass more than the words. “Babs thought you would pull something like this, Bruce. She told me to be here. And she was right. I can’t—I can’t believe you’d do this to Cass.”

“She grew up with no human contact,” Bruce says quietly. But there’s confidence in his voice. Good. Bruce listens to Dick, but he can’t listen here. Cass doesn’t want to lose the only way she knows she can talk to Bruce. “Just violence. Fighting is Cassandra’s language. We needed to fight to understand each other. This—” Bruce gestures to the sparring mats. “It was a conversation, Dick. Nothing more.”

“Babs told me you’d say that.” Dick shakes his head violently. “You don’t talk to your daughter by hitting her.” Dick is—scared. Angry. Protective. He thinks Bruce is hurting Cass. That’s wrong. Cass needs to fix this.

And Dick is still talking to Bruce. Not Cass. Even though she is the one he thinks he is protecting.

“Bruce is right,” Cass says, angling her body so she’s between Dick and Bruce. She hates playing mediator. Especially when she’s still angry and doesn’t fully understand why. But she can’t bring herself to hate Dick for forcing her to do this. Because he cares. He’s trying to help her. Cass is Jason and Tim and Duke and Damian’s big sister, but she is Dick’s little sister, and that matters. “It works. You fight to hurt. I fight to understand.” Cass reaches out, turning her back to Bruce, and places a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “This is good.”

“You can’t work out your issues like this. It’s wrong, and—”

“Then how? I don’t have words. Bruce doesn’t have words.” There’s silence between them. Cass can’t let the silence be between their bodies too.

“Well, I have plenty of words,” Dick says. “Words like, ‘Bruce is a bastard’ and ‘What the hell?’ and ‘Are you freaking crazy?’” He directs the last two at Bruce, anger momentarily flaring in his eyes once again.

Hand still on Dick’s shoulder, Cass turns him gently away from Bruce.

“This isn’t right,” Dick says.

“Silence isn’t right,” Cass counters.

She doesn’t think that’s quite the right word, but Dick seems to understand. He finally replaces his escrima sticks on his back and sits down on the bench a few feet away, burying his head in his hands. “You two can’t resolve your arguments by attacking each other,” Dick says.

“Do you have a better idea?” Bruce challenges.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Dick says. “And yes, I do. If you can’t find the words to talk to each other, then you both talk to me. And I’ll help.” But Cass doesn’t have any words at all. “And if you can’t do that, then you—I don’t know, you dance battle or something. Or you just stay angry. But this? This isn’t okay, Bruce. I think you know that.” And Bruce hangs his head. Guilt. He shouldn’t feel guilty. “If this happens again—” Dick swallows. “If—You can’t do this. Do you understand?”

Dick is the one who doesn’t understand, though. He’s taking the way Cass has learned to talk since birth. He’s stealing her voice. Just because he doesn’t like the idea of— Cass doesn’t even know what’s making Dick so upset. “Why?” She asks. There is anger in her, and grief, and frustration. If she were looking at herself, she would see it. But Dick can’t.

Dick looks Cass in the eyes. “Because he’s your father,” Dick says.

And Cass realizes why she was angry. She turns away from Dick, stepping towards Bruce. Then, she throws both hands out and pushes him, hard. Just like she did in the spar. “You push me away,” she says. “I patrol alone. Too much space.”

“I’m trying to—”

“Stop it,” Cass says. Her voice is calm. Her body is not. She thinks Bruce can see that, at least. “Please.”

“Okay,” Bruce whispers.

Cass closes her eyes. The fight is finally over. She leans forward, wrapping her arms around Bruce’s chest and holding him. She will never stop feeling awe at the fact that she is allowed to do this now. Allowed to hold him close.

When Cass pulls back, she points at the weapons case where her not-name sits. “You changed it,” Cass says. “You said you changed my name. Cassandra Wayne.” Cass sees her older brother watching them from his reflection in the cases. He is still angry and scared and hurt. But less, now.

Bruce’s gaze falls on the case. The guilt returns. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Cass doesn’t want him to be sorry. She just wants to hold him again. Not fighting, just arms and warm and safe. “No sorries,” Cass says. “Just fix it. I am Cassandra Wayne.”

“Yes,” Bruce agrees. “You are.”

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