vampyrezz

[vampyrezz]

Honey, the Red Hood killed my boyfriend! - Jason Todd x Female OC

Chapter One: Honey, the Red Hood killed my boyfriend! Part One:

The store lights flickered again. Or maybe it was her eyes. Fuck. She was on the last hour of her shift and running on energy drinks and hope at this point. The store had been empty since two in the morning and yet she still had to stay. It was one the last 24/7 convenience stores in Gotham for a fucking reason. The only people who came out to play on a Wednesday night were lunatics and bats. The rest of the week was a whole other story, plenty of girls buying rubbers and guys buying liquor. Gotham never slept. Except apparently on Wednesdays.

Time droned on slower and slower, Jordan played with the strap of her white (slightly stained) vest top idly. All Jordan could think of was getting home, maybe Silas would be there for once and he would cuddle up in bed with her, his warm arms biting off the cold chill of the store and he’d lean down (far down, he was fucking tall, thank you very much) and whisper in her ear. Then his hands would search lower down her body, fingers stretching across thighs until they reached just the right place and he would-

A loud ringing cut her thoughts abruptly and she huffed dramatically. Squatting down to her bag she searched for her phone as the ringing droned on and on and was it getting louder? “Alright, alright, al-fucking right!” She spat in her Gotham drawl.

Triumphantly her fingers met glass and she plucked the phone with her long red acrylics to glance at the screen. The bright fluorescents above overpowered the dim light of her cracked screen but she pressed answer anyway, anything else to distract from the electric hum of the lights.

“Jordan, baby!” She rolled her eyes annoyedly, only one person called her baby and it was (unfortunately) not her fucking boyfriend. “Bill. Everything alright?” Her boss called often, telling her if her shifts had changed (rarely) and soliciting her for blowjobs (often). She groaned at the former and hung up on the latter. “Baby, you’re closin’ up early tonight, I’ve got a coupla of friends coming round, so it’s in your best interest to be outta there ASAP.”

She never inquired about his nighttime endeavours, whether for sex or something else she didn’t care, sticking your head where it didn’t belong gets it cut off in Gotham. And she’d certainly never say no to a shorter shift on a Wednesday, but even if it mean her pay getting cut slightly. “Thanks boss, will do.” She hung up abruptly, unwilling to be accosted tonight.

After locking the door, turning the lights off and shutting the window blinds (it didn’t matter Tommy would be back soon, they’d be robbed left right and centre if someone caught sight of the open empty store) she headed out into the night.

Was it risky for a twenty one year old (fairly attractive if she does say so herself) female to be walking alone at night minus male presence to ward off the other men of Gotham? Yes. Did Jordan have many very close encounters of being, A. Raped, B. Trafficked or C. Killed? Also yes. But keyword, ‘almost’.

Now Jordan wouldn’t particularly describe herself as lucky, ergo being born in a shithole in Gotham city with parents who were who the fuck knows where, but she’d survived this long, and that must mean something. And she had a hot new boyfriend who she had been going out with for a month who was (probably not) waiting at home for her.

She lit her cigarette almost spiritually, warding away the ghosts of those alley victims she passed by.

Upon reaching her building (see: dirty, dilapidated, run down, possibly a front for money laundering) she flicked the cigarette out into the street, leaving it lying, dying out on the pavement.

There was no point dawdling at the keypad, it was broken and existed solely for show, so she climbed the stairs to her apartment.

Jordan kicked the door on the left side, grabbed the handle, twisted back, forward, back, then quickly jammed and then turned the key in the door. Stupid fucking broken lock. It swung open with a deafening groan. (Sorry not sorry Ground Floor Pete)

“Silas honey? You come over tonight?” Her voice echoed.

Silence. “Fucking asshole. Wednesday night date night my ass. I knew it.”

She fumbled around blindly for the light switch, one hand trying to jimmy off her shoe at the same time as she hopped.

The light switch clicked. Nothing happened. Jordan paused mid-hop, suddenly remembering the piled electric bill warnings on the table.

“Fuck!” She stomped, shoe flying fuck knows where. “Fucking Gotham… fucking pervert boss, fucking stupid no good asshole boyfriend!”

A whimper.

Jordan froze, what the fuck.

Again, from the adjacent room, more desperate. And immediately followed after…

Thud! Like a rock on a drum.

Silas.

He must’ve gotten pissed again, fallen like a drunken bum in the street. That explains everything. Right?

“Silas?” She hollered “You okay baby?”

No response. Fear strokes itself down her neck cloying and thick, settling in the pit of her stomach. She had to go help him! But, something in her very spirit flared with warning. Don’t move. Danger.

Either one, Silas was drunk and was going to give her THE best make up head tomorrow for pulling his sorry ass up and cleaning up his puke.

Or two, there was someone or thing in this apartment. Hurt? Maybe. Hurting someone else? Gotham wasn’t first in the world for home invasions for nothing.

In both scenarios her no good boyfriend could be hurt and she wasn’t going to just stand and watch.

“Is there someone in my fucking house!?” She spat, venturing into the darkness, phone torch in one hand, shoe in the other. “I swear to god I’ll shove my heel so far up your ass you’ll be speaking Valentino for weeks!” (They weren’t actually Valentino but she’d bet that theoretical home invader wasn’t too big into shoes.)

She scanned the apartment, threadbare cushion, fuck ass lamp, suspiciously brown rug, blood stain on the couch, ugly wallpa-. Oh shit. Last time she checked no one had been bleeding out on the upholstery. “Oh my god. Fuck. Fuck.” Jordan panted, panic setting further in.

The floorboard creaks. Jordan bolts straight out the door and leaves Gotham for all of time and lives happily ever after.

Well. Not quite. See somewhere in that animalistic fight or flight fugue state of hers, Jordan does not run out the door (which admittedly would take a while to open) but straight into her bedroom. Back to the ‘safety’ of the proverbial nest. It is at this moment of flight, as she pulls herself through the door frame that Jordan trips.

The impact shatters through her face. Twice broken nose now thrice broken, she thinks distantly. She scrambles, trying to pick herself up. She lifts her head, ears ringing, only to stare straight into the eyes of her boyfriend.

Her cold, dead, bludgeoned boyfriend.

Jordan screams.

A gloved hand covers her mouth from behind, dragging her up into hard muscular arms. Then a modulated voice rumbles:

”If you know what’s good for ya. You’ll shut the fuck up.”

Jordan bites down as hard as she fucking can.

-

first post hope you likey, find this fic here on ao3 at violentnights