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fortheloveofwonderland · 10 months

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Somewhere to Belong | 3/3 | S.R

Part three of my Family Challenge fic.

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N - I am almost positive this is not how the adoption system works but hey, it’s fanfiction, I make my own rules.

Summary - You reveal your master plan to Spencer and the two of you begin on your journey together. Will you be able to help Spencer bring Wren home where she belongs? And when the time comes, will you have what it takes to walk away?

Pairing - Spencer Reid x BAU Fem! Reader

Warnings - confessed feelings, tears, mostly just domestic fluff, making out, allusions to sex but still SFW, crying child, swearing, happy ending.

WC - 9.4k

Part 3

The wheels of your plan had been slow turning, painfully so. You’d started to think you may never reach the end of this goddamn road.

But finally after months, all the pieces had fallen into place.

When you received the phone call you were already halfway out of the door before the person on the other end had even finished their sentence. It was the phone call you’d been waiting for, holding your breath every time the device rang.

And now it had happened, it was time to go and see him.

You drove out into the suburbs, a manilla folder full of paperwork in the passenger's seat. You parked next to the curb by the house with the canary yellow fence and green front door.

Before you could exit the car you saw the door open and Spencer let someone out the house. The women had a briefcase and wore a smart pants suit. Definitely a social worker.

You watched the woman head to her own car and once she was inside the vehicle and starting the engine you stepped out onto the street, bringing your folder with you.

As you headed for the yellow gate your phone buzzed in your pocket. Slowing your strides you retrieved it and read the text message on the screen.

📱 Spencer Reid: I think it’s over. There’s another couple who have shown interest in adopting Wren and I don’t think I can compete with that. I’m ok, I’m not craving or anything. I just wanted you to know.

You stuffed the device back in your pocket and looked up at the house, a single light coming from the downstairs window.

Since you’d accompanied him to Beltway, the two of you had been in touch more regularly. Spencer texted you nearly every day and you spoke on the phone fairly often.

You’d seen him a handful of times for coffee but you’d never been out to his home in Woodbridge. It was a really nice house, a family home just like the team had described to you. It was a complete one eighty from his old DC apartment.

You unhooked the gate and slid past it, hugging the folder to your chest as you made your way along the front path and up the steps.

Before you could talk yourself out of this, you knocked on the green front door.

Soon you heard it being unlocked and then it tentatively opened. Spencer’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion when he saw you.

“Y/N hi,” he opened the door slightly wider. “I just texted you.”

“I know, I was…in the neighbourhood?” You shrugged. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” He nodded, stepping aside to allow you entrance to his home.

You walked inside while he shut the door behind you and you glanced around the living room.

You recognised his leather couch and armchair from his old apartment as well as his record player and chess set. The coffee table was the same but other than that this was not the home you pictured Spencer Reid living in.

He waited for you to take it in and only spoke again once you looked back at him.

“Can I get you a drink or anything?”

“No, I’m good.” You nodded, feeling oddly nervous.

He motioned for the couch and the two of you crossed the room together and sat side by side. You laid the manilla folder in your lap and ran your fingers over it.

“Whatcha you got there?” He asked, nodding at the file.

“Uh, well you see…” you trailed off, unable to find the words to communicate what you wanted to say. “How about you have a look.”

You handed him the file. For a moment he just stared at it with a frown before he cautiously took it from your hand.

He opened it and started one by one going through the pieces of paper inside.

The first was an application with a large red stamp proclaiming APPROVED in the bottom right corner. There were several sheaths that documented personal information about you, health checks, financial records, questions and answers relating to your childhood.

There was a rental agreement renewal for the address in which you lived which had gone unsigned as though you were hesitant in continuing your lease.

Multiple pages he’d seen before, floor plans of his own home, summaries of home visits at this address.

One sheet was a letter signed off by BAU Unit Chief Emily Prentiss agreeing to a cut in field hours. Two more sighed letters followed, both dictating what an upstanding human being you were, one signed by SSA Luke Alvez and the other Doctor Tara Lewis.

He read through them quickly as you knew he would but it still somehow felt like a lifetime before he was neatly tucking the pages away and closing the file. He looked up at you, eyebrows furrowed heavily.

“I don’t…” he swallowed, his hands starting to shake. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do.” You nodded. “You’re a genius aren’t you?”

“I…is this a joke?” His eyes flooded with unshed tears as he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth.

“It would be a pretty cruel thing to joke about.” You shrugged.

Spencer rubbed his eyes, trying to push away his tears before they could fall.

“Just to confirm,” he swallowed thickly, his eyebrows still knitted together in his confusion. “Because I don’t want to misunderstand what’s happening here…”

“Spencer,” you placed your hand on his knee and he noticed you were shaking too. “I would do anything for you. Anything. If this can help you bring that little girl home, then I’ll do it.”

“You…you’ve gotten approval from the adoption agency.” He croaked.

“Yes.”

“You’ve done the interviews, cut down your hours at the BAU, not renewed your lease and had Alvez and Lewis write you character references.”

“Yes.” You nodded. “I still don’t think I’m ready for a family, Spencer. But I can sign on as Wren’s adoptive mother on paper, just so you can get her home. Once she’s home and the paperwork is finalised they can’t take her away from you. We can figure out all the rest once you’ve got her home, I can terminate my rights or whatever. But by then it won’t matter.”

“W-why would you…” he trailed off again, swallowing. “Why would you do that for me? That’s…crazy. Why would you want to go through all this trouble just so I can have a better chance of adopting Wren?”

You inhaled really deeply, your chest heaving as you did so. Spencer blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear the new batch of tears from his eyes.

“I should have said it back.” You mumbled with a shake of your head. “Months ago, you told me you loved me and I should have said it back. But instead I walked away and let you believe I didn’t feel that way about you. But I do. Just because we aren’t together doesn’t make that any less true. And if I can help you bring Wren home I will. Because I love you.”

The room fell silent while Spencer worked to comprehend everything that was happening. His head spun as though he was drunk, making it harder for him to understand all of this.

This couldn’t have been some idea you’d just come up with, weeks if not months of work had gone into this. You were willing, on paper at least, to be Wren’s adoptive mother when you weren’t ready to have kids.

You’d told Emily, Luke and Tara at the minimum of your plans. You were willing to give up your apartment, cut back your hours at a job you adored to help him. Because you loved him. You loved him so much you were willing to put his happiness before your own.

“It’s too much.” He shook his head. “I can’t ask you to do all of this.”

“Good job you never once asked then.” You smiled at him. “It’s all temporary. Once Wren is home I can pick back up my regular case load, I spoke to my landlord about subletting my apartment for a few months so I can move back in once everything is settled.”

“You plan to live here?” He suddenly made the connection.

“Well I’ve got to live somewhere. And you know, us living in the same house gives the impression of a happy couple who want to adopt a child, don’t you think? It won’t be forever.”

“What am I supposed to say to my social worker? I forgot to tell her that I had a partner?” Of course he’d try and pick holes in this, it was what Spencer Reid did best.

“We say we were together but I didn’t think I was ready for a family. But now I am. We tell them I met Wren and fell in love with her and now we want to adopt her together. It’s pretty much what I wrote in my application.” You’d considered every outcome, every bump in the road.

“But you haven’t met Wren.” He shook his head.

“So I will.” You chuckled. “Spence, stop trying to put blockers in the way when there aren’t any. Let me do this for you, please? Let me help you bring your little girl home.”

Spencer stared at you silently, blinking frantically as he tried to understand what was happening. He didn’t want to get his hopes up only to have them dashed again but you seemed sincere.

He still didn’t understand how you would be willing to go to such lengths for him but he supposed it didn’t matter. What mattered was you were willing to and he could use all the help he could get.

Suddenly he threw himself forward, arms flying up to wrap around you. He pulled you close, holding you tightly as he started to loudly sob.

“T-thank you.” He cried into your shoulder as you returned his hug.

“You’re welcome, Spence. You’re so very welcome.”

You continued to hold him while he sobbed, stroking his back in an attempt to calm him. It was over a half hour later when he finally shed all of his tears, sniffed heavily and sat back to look at you.

“You really are my most favourite person.” He smiled shakily at you.

If you didn’t love him so much there was no way you would have even considered helping him adopt a child even if it was only on paper.

But love makes us do crazy things. And this might just be the craziest.

***

Two days later you anxiously sat in the passenger's seat of Spencer’s Volvo while he drove the two of you to Wren’s halfway home.

You played with your hands in your lap, barely speaking as you tried to comprehend meeting this little girl who had become Spencer’s whole world.

You’d agreed to tell Wren you were Spencer’s friend it was the truth and much less complicated than explaining everything to her. You would test the waters with her first, see how she felt about it before broaching it with the social worker.

Your legs wobbled a little as you got out of the car and Spencer was regarding you curiously.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked softly, his fingers brushing across your knuckles.

“Yeah.” You forced a smile. “She means so much to you, I’m just worried she won’t like me.”

“She’s going to love you. Trust me.”

The look he was giving you made your stomach coil into knots. Your knees buckled and your heart yearned for him.

It was such a cruel world that you could be so in love with someone yet not be destined to each other.

As you started towards the building he slipped his hand in yours and it was so easy to pretend this wasn’t all for show.

He led you inside, saying his hellos to some of the people working in the halfway home, clearly he’d been here a lot. He carried on through to a larger room filled with kids of all ages, your heart bled for them all.

As your eyes cast around the room, you were quickly snapped back around when you heard someone calling Spencer’s name.

“Spencer! Spencer!”

You looked back just in time to see a head of dark curls you remembered from when you’d seen her sleeping on Spencer’s lap at the BAU running right towards the two of you.

He let go of your hand so he could outstretch his arms for the girl who happily fell into them.

“Missed you.” She tucked herself in his arms.

“I missed you too, pumpkin.” He sighed in content as he hugged her.

You watched the way he seemed to light up the moment Wren was nearby, how all the weight he carried on his shoulders slipped away. As he cuddled the five year old, he seemed at peace.

And you knew you were doing the right thing.

Wren stepped back from his embrace and looked up at you, head tilted to the side in a curious fashion and little dark eyebrows furrowed.

“Who are you?” She asked, pouting a little.

“This is my friend, Y/N.” Spencer spoke for you. “Y/N, this is Wren.”

“Why is she here?” Wren looked back at Spencer in concern.

“I thought you’d like to meet her.” Spencer’s tone completely changed when he spoke to her, you’d never heard him like it before.

It was soft and sweet, obviously it relaxed the young girl. Usually. But it was clear by the concerned expression in her face it wasn’t working today.

“But I like spending time with you.” Her lip jutted out.

“I’m still here aren’t I?” Spencer chuckled, tucking a rogue strand of her hair back off of her rosy face.

“Hey Wren,” you crouched down so you were the same height as her, garnering her attention. “I heard you love Halloween?”

She looked between Spencer who was still standing at his full height and back to you before looking back at him again.

“It’s ok,” he encouraged her with a smile.

She looked back at you once more, a hint of scepticism in her bright eyes.

“Yes.” She nodded feverishly.

“And you love books too, right?”

“Yes.” She nodded again.

“Well that’s perfect because I just so happen to have a book all about Halloween!” You grinned at her whilst reaching into your purse.

Spencer frowned a little, you hadn’t mentioned this on the drive over. He watched as you pulled a book out of your bag, a brightly coloured hardback depicting cartoon pictures of ghosts, witches and monsters getting ready for a spooky party.

The title read The Night Before Halloween.

Neither of you could tell what Wren was thinking, for a five year old she was amazing at masking her expression even though she probably didn’t realise she was doing it.

She looked from the book to your eyes then to Spencer and around in the same loop a few times before settling on Spencer.

“Do you want me to read it to you?” He asked her, trying to prompt her to speak.

“No.” Wren shook her head and turned back to you.

You tried to hide your disappointment. This was your only play, your only way in with her and you’d blown it.

But then the little girl smiled at you.

“I want Y/N to read it to me.” She reached out her little hand for you and you pushed yourself back up to your full height and took it.

She led you over to the couch with Spencer following close behind. You glanced at him over your shoulder and he was smiling at you as he mouthed the words, good job.

***

Two more visits with Wren and she had warmed up to you the same way he had with Spencer. By the third visit she even hugged you.

And you saw exactly why Spencer loved her.

By the time September rolled around you’d moved into Spencer’s suburban home - in the spare room - and had multiple visits with Jenny who struggled to grasp what was happening at first.

Understandably she was sceptical about your sudden involvement but after more rigorous interviews she started to warm up the same way Wren had.

As you weren’t travelling with the team so much anymore and mostly working cases out of Quantico, you and Spencer spent a lot of time together.

He was always home before you, his classes at Marlborough never running past four pm. And as much as you hated to admit it, having someone to come home to everyday was delightful in its domesticity.

When you did travel with the team, usually around every one in four cases, Spencer would call you everyday and send you photographs of him and Wren when he visited her.

Spencer was learning to cook for Wren so the poor girl didn’t have to live off of cereal, coffee and ice cream, or as you always referred to it: The Doctor Reid Diet.

He tried out his new recipes on you and at least eighty percent of them were edible.

You’d been allowed to take Wren out on more day trips, with Jenny in tow of course. The two of you took her to museums and book stores and ice cream parlours; to the park, once to a carnival and anywhere else her little imagination could think to go.

It was midway into October when you arrived back from a case in Florida in which you’d been gone for six days. You knew Spencer had waited up for you as he’d called you to tell you he would.

When you let yourself in the green front door of the house that was feeling more like a home by the day, it wasn’t the messy haired genius who met you.

What did meet you certainly had messy hair, but its dopey expression told you it was no genius.

The creature trotted over to you, tongue hanging out of its slightly lopsided mouth and offered you a single bark whilst nuzzling against your shin.

You stared at the scruffy dog using your leg as a scratching post with wide eyes. Somewhere in the house you heard footsteps and you glanced up to see Spencer appearing from the kitchen.

“Hey, how was your day?” He smiled at you, completely ignoring the confusion on your face.

“Uh, it was perfectly normal until I came home and was greeted by this.” You pointed down at the mutt who was staring expectantly at you.

“He. Not this.” Spencer padded over and quickly scooped up the small, messy animal in his arms. “This is Rover.”

Rover licked Spencer’s cheek and much to your confusion, the germaphobe didn’t even bat an eyelid.

“Last I checked Rover was a stuffed animal. This creature seems to be very much alive.”

“Wren decided she wanted a dog. I said we could go to the pound and look, just look. But, uh, she kinda fell in love with this little guy and I can’t say no to her.” He shrugged, scratching Rover behind his ear.

“So you now have a dog.” You hung your bag up by the door.

“We have a dog.”

“Oh no.” You shook your head, walking past him towards the kitchen. “I’m outta here once Wren’s home. The dog is your problem.”

Spencer placed the creature, which you thought more resembled a gremlin than a dog, on the floor and followed you.

“He’ll grow on you.”

“He most certainly won’t. I’m a cat person. And last I checked you weren’t all that keen on dogs either.”

“But Wren is. So I guess I’m a dog person now.” He leant against the counter in the kitchen while you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

You turned back to look at him as you uncapped it. You had a curious smile on your lips.

“What? What’s that look for?” He frowned a little.

“It’s just funny,” you took a sip. “Six months ago I would never have imagined either of us to be here.”

“Me either.” He agreed with a smile.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy before.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before.” He started towards you. “You’re a big part of that, you know? I know this is all for show and we’re just doing this until Wren is home, but, uh…I like having you here.”

“It’s not all for show.” You placed the bottle on the counter behind you as you felt a little dizzy with the way Spencer was looking at you.

“No?” He reached you, stopping a few feet in front of you.

“I like being here too.” You confessed, your legs shaking a little due to the look he was currently giving you.

“I’m glad.” He swallowed and your eyes were drawn to his Adam’s apple and the way it bobbed deliciously beneath his flesh. “I’m, uh, I’m on the verge of doing something very dumb.”

“How do you know it’s dumb until you do it?” You had a pretty good idea of what he was talking about.

“Because I’m a genius and my brain is screaming how dumb it would be.” He chuckled, stepping even closer to you.

“Maybe for once, don’t listen to your brain, Spence.”

To encourage him, you reached for him, placing your hand on his shoulder. He swallowed again as he stepped nearer to you still.

Cautiously he raised his own hands and placed them on the sides of your face, eyes darting back and forth between your eyes and your lips.

“Don’t listen to my brain?” He whispered, wanting confirmation.

“Just this one time.” You offered him a smile and it was all he needed to close the space between you.

When his lips gently brushed against your own, your hand quickly moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck to keep him close.

You parted your lips and he replied in kind by deepening the kiss.

He pushed his body flush against you, pressing you into the counter. He held your face delicately but soon the kiss was growing frantic.

It wasn’t at all long before he was manoeuvring you away from the counter and towards the kitchen door, never tearing his lips from yours. Not at least until his back collided with the door.

He broke the kiss and started to laugh, you did the same. He reached behind him and opened the door, taking your hand pulling you along with him.

The two of you were giggling like a couple of teenagers as you ascended the stairs, neither of you paying much mind to the dog asleep in his bed.

He led you to his room and once inside he pushed you back against the wall and kissed you ardently again.

He rolled his hips against yours so you could feel the bulge in his slacks and you moaned into his mouth.

And then he was leading you to his bed as he helped you out of your clothes.

It was only then as you lay beneath you realised how much you’d missed him. And you knew when or if the time came for Wren to come home and this little domestic bubble popped, it was going to be hard to drag yourself away.

***

You fell asleep wrapped in Spencer’s arm after several hours and multiple orgasms. When you woke in the morning he was already awake, staring at you with a smile on his face.

“Hey,” he stroked your messy hair behind your ear.

“Hey yourself.” You smiled back, inching closer and placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Last night was…” he trailed off searching for the right word but finding none that did it justice.

“Amazing?” You laughed lightly.

“That’s certainly one word for it.” He agreed, hand cupping your cheek. “So I don’t wanna be the kind of person that asks this but, uh…did that mean something? Was it just sex or did it mean something? Because I would…uh…I’d really like it to have meant something.”

His nerves were tangled in his words and you could see in his eyes that he hated asking you this. You smiled and ran your fingertips lightly over his bicep.

“Well I guess that…” you were stopped by the sound of Spencer’s phone ringing and he pulled a face of frustration.

“Shoot,” he let go of your face. “To be continued?”

You nodded and watched him roll over, grabbing his cell phone off the nightstand and putting it to his ear while sitting up on the edge of the mattress.

“Doctor Reid,” he spoke and then was silent for a moment or two and his back straightened. “Seriously? You…I…seriously? Uh, yeah of course. Today? Gosh…yes. Ok. Ok. Thank you. Goodbye.”

His hand holding the phone fell to his lap limply but other than that he didn’t move. You rolled closer to him with a frown, wrapping an arm around his waist when you were close enough.

He slowly turned his head to look at you and you couldn’t read his expression.

“Spence?” You croaked. “Is everything ok?”

He exhaled through parted lips, his eyes widening a little before he slowly started to nod.

“Y-yeah,” his voice cracked. “Yeah everything’s great. That was Jenny. Apparently we’ve been approved for placement under supervision for Wren. It might not be permanent and Jenny will visit every week. But they wouldn’t let us bring her home if there wasn’t a strong possibility of us being able to adopt her. She’s coming home, Y/N. Our little girl is coming home.”

His tears overflowed when he reached the end of his speech and the smile that adorned his lips was brighter than the sun and all the stars in the sky combined.

You jumped up and threw yourself into his lap, wrapping your arms tightly around him.

“Oh gosh Spence, that’s great!” You felt your own tears well in your eyes as he held you.

And for some reason when he called her our little girl, it didn’t freak you out in the slightest,

***

Wren was an excitable blur of hand gestures and bounces in her seat as Spencer drove the three of you home later that afternoon.

She’d only ever seen photographs of the room Spencer had put together for her and she was buzzing to see it with her own eyes.

It was only once he got close to home driving through the neighbourhood she had lived with her parents whom she watched die, that she clammed up.

You sat in the back of the car with her and watched the way her eyes turned down at the corners as she looked out the window at the familiar houses.

You reached out to her, held her hand.

“It’s ok if you miss them, Wren.” You whispered and her head whipped around to face you.

She was gnawing on her bottom lip, perhaps trying to stop from pouting.

“But I don’t want to make you and Spencer sad.” She spoke in equally hushed tones.

“Hey now silly girl,” Spencer’s right hand appeared between the front seats, blindly reaching for her knee. “You could never make us sad. You have no idea how happy you make us, pumpkin.”

“But you will miss your mommy and daddy and we want you to be able to tell us when you do, ok?” You added, squeezing her hand.

“O-ok.” She nodded, turning back out of the window.

Soon enough Spencer pulled the car to a stop outside of the house with the canary yellow fence and green front door.

He exited the car and rushed around to open Wren’s door while you unbuckled her seatbelt. He lifted her in his arms, spun her around twice, and planted her on her feet on the sidewalk.

She instantly reached for you both, gripping Spencer’s hand in her left and yours in her right.

You and Spencer shared a smile over her head as you led her up to the front door.

The second the door was open a messy haired small mutt ran at full pelt towards the three of you, practically crashing straight into Wren.

She giggled and threw her arms around the dog.

“Rover!” She screeched, burying her face into his matted fur.

Spencer took her bag from her and unzipped it, pulling out the toy Rover and holding him out towards the girl and her dog.

“Rover meet Rover.” He spoke and Wren beamed brightly as she took the toy from him.

She held it in front of the real dog's face and he licked the toy feverishly, making Wren giggle again.

“I think they’re going to be friends!” She cheered happily.

“That’s a relief.” Spencer chuckled, hand naturally slipping in yours.

“Would the Rover’s like to see your new room, honey?” You asked Wren, entwining your fingers with Spencer’s.

“I think so!” She jumped up and down. “Come on big Rover, come on little Rover.”

You and Spencer shared another smile as you led the way, hand in hand, up the stairs and towards the room at the end of the hall.

One of the Rover’s was held by Wren around his neck while the other followed of his own accord. You both stepped aside and motioned for Wren to open the door.

She looked positively giddy with excitement as she reached for the handle. She pushed open the door and Spencer reached inside to flick the lights on.

Her eyes widened as a dozen strings of pumpkin fairy lights cast their glow across the warm autumnal walls, thick cream carpet and everything in between.

She took a few steps inside the room and the two of you watched her eyes flicker between the My Little Pony bed sheets, her name placard above the bed, the bookshelf stuffed full of books, another shelf packed with stuffed animals.

They moved between the dog bed meant for little Rover which big Rover was now already making his way to, to the dresser under the window with a little mirror and her very own chess set.

They made their way to the wardrobe which Spencer had stencilled with falling leaves and little brown birds of her namesake.

Her eyes danced from here to there, there to here and back again. When they finally came to a stop on you and Spencer, they were full of tears.

“This is…for me?” Her bottom lip pouted.

“I don’t know any other little girls called Wren.” Spencer smiled at her.

She suddenly dove at the two of you, one arm wrapping around each of you and nuzzling between you. You felt her small frame racking with sobs and it made your heart melt.

“T-thank you.” She cried, squeezing you both as tightly as she could. “I love you.”

You looked at Spencer, you both had tears welling in your own eyes.

And god dammit if you didn’t love her too.

***

The three of you ate ice cream for dinner on the floor of her bedroom at Wren’s insistence.

You and Spencer played with her and her new collection of stuffed toys, as well as the real life Rover before you took turns reading to her until she finally fell asleep.

Rover was already curled up in the dog bed at the foot of Wren’s bed so you left him there and the two of you quietly crept from the room.

With the day's events you hadn’t had a chance to talk about what happened last night and now you were in the corridor, you weren’t sure what room to go to.

Clearly Spencer didn’t either.

He awkwardly scuffed the toe of his candy corn print sock on the carpet whilst rolling his lip between his teeth.

“Should we, uh…talk?” He shrugged.

“Most likely, yes.” You nodded and silently he led the two of you back downstairs to the living room.

You were both quiet, not meeting the others' gaze as you sat in the armchair and him on the couch. The air was thick with tension, and you didn’t even know where to begin with this conversation.

“I know you don’t want to be Wren’s mom.” He suddenly blurted out. “And I’d never ask you to. But I love you and last night was…it was perfect. I don’t want to choose between having you and Wren in my life. I know it wouldn’t be easy because if everything goes to plan I will have a child at the end of it. You think there’s any chance you’d want to date a single dad?”

He was talking so fast all of his words merged into one and it took you a few moments to ascertain what he was saying. But before you could really catch up, he was talking again.

“We get Wren home permanently, you can give up your rights just like you planned. You move out and you go back to your normal case load but maybe…maybe we can work things out? I know it won’t be easy but I don’t care.

You clearly mean a lot to Wren and I know she would love it if you were still a part of her life after all this, even if it’s not as her adoptive mother. And I hope that you can still be part of my life. As my partner, my one true love.

Wren will be my reasonability, I won’t expect anything from you in regards to her. But I don’t want to be without you, even if it means our life is separate from my life with Wren. I don’t think it’s entirely beyond the realms of possibility to think we could make it work. I just think-”

“Spencer,” you had to cut him off or he would spend the next hour rambling. “I don’t think it’s entirely beyond the realms of possibility either.”

“You…you don’t?” He inhaled sharply.

“It’s not going to be easy,” you pushed yourself up and moved slowly closer to him. When you reached him you lowered yourself so you were sitting in his lap. “It’s going to be hard in fact, really hard. But dating a single dad doesn’t sound like the worst idea in the world. Especially when that single dad is you.”

His hands glided across your back, settling on your shoulder blades and holding you firmly in place,

“We’ll make it work.” He smiled at you, inching closer.

“We’ll make it work.” You repeated just as his lips pressed against yours.

***

The day after Wren was placed with you and Spencer, he and the little girl started excitedly decorating the house for Halloween which was two weeks away.

The house was a menagerie of fake cobwebs which you kept walking into, strings of little ghosts hanging in every doorway. A newly carved pumpkin appeared on the porch every single day you returned home from work.

By the time Halloween rolled around the three of you had fallen into somewhat of a routine.

You had tried to distance yourself from parental activities, as soon as the paperwork was finalised you would be moving out and you didn’t want Wren to get too used to you being around.

The last thing you wanted to do was confuse a child who had already lost her biological parents.

Spencer dropped her at school on the way to Marlborough everyday and picked her up on his way home.

He cooked dinner which the two of them ate together and he saved leftovers for when you arrived home.

Nine times out of ten Wren was already in bed by the time you got home from Quantico which helped. It also gave you alone time with Spencer.

Usually you wouldn’t even be in the door more than ten minutes before he was leading you to the bedroom. You’d been sleeping in his room since Wren had come home, although there was usually little sleeping happening.

You’d both quickly learnt how to be quiet, not wanting to further traumatise the girl by having her hear the two of you having sex.

The routine seemed to work for the three of you, it allowed Spencer and Wren to grow closer whilst allowing you and Spencer to grow closer.

On Halloween night you got out of work slightly earlier but still expected Spencer and Wren to be out trick or treating.

He’d promised the little girl months ago to take her and she’d been so excited for tonight, talking about it non stop since she’d come home with you.

He wanted to make her a costume and you tried to teach Spencer how to sew but when that didn’t work you showed him how YouTube worked so he could learn that way.

He’d slaved over creating her a pumpkin costume which was a little lopsided and probably could have been neater but he was so proud of his creation.

Wren had insisted he dress up too so you arrived home to find Dracula in your living room.

“What happened to trick or treating?” You asked as you stepped in the door and hung your jacket up.

“Oh hey,” he smiled brightly as soon as he saw you, moving closer to you. He went to kiss you but then remembered the fake blood on his mouth and refrained. “We’re about to leave, Wren is just getting dressed.”

“Did she love her costume?”

“You have no idea. I’ve never heard a five year old scream before and I’m not sure it’s something I want to relive in a hurry.” He chuckled, straightening up his cape. “Now you’re home you can join us.”

“I don’t think so.” You shook your head.

“Oh come on, she’d love it if you came.” Spencer gave you his puppy dog eyes which you tried to ignore.

“You’re the parent.” You reminded him. “And besides, someone should stay home with Rover.”

“Rover is ten years old and sleeps all day.” Spencer rolled his eyes. “He’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know. I just-”

You were cut off by the sound of Wren running down the stairs. When she appeared in her pumpkin costume, complete with orange painted face, she was smiling from ear to ear.

“Y/N!” She jumped up and down excitedly. “I’m a pumpkin!”

“Oh wow, you look great!” You cheered.

She beamed, happily showing off her costume like a proud parent.

“Are you coming trick or treating with us?” She asked with expectant green eyes.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

“Please! You have to come!” She jiggled, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.

“Yeah Y/N,” Spencer smirked at you. “You have to.”

“I don’t have a costume.” You shrugged.

“Leave that to me.” Spencer stepped closer to you and took hold of your hand. “Wren give us five minutes and we’ll head out, ok?”

“Ok!” She nodded, moving aside so Spencer could lead you upstairs.

You let him lead you to the bedroom, which he’d done countless times before but you knew this wasn’t for the reasons you would like.

“I took the liberty of picking something up for you at the costume store when I was getting mine.” He let go of your hand so he could open the closet.

“Of course you did.” You sighed.

He pulled out an outfit in a costume bag and turned it to face you. Inside was sheathed all the makings of a witches costume.

A long, flowy purple crushed velvet dress with long, billowy sleeves. A black wig. A pointy hat.

You rolled your eyes as you took it from him, trying to ignore the stupid look on his face.

“Fine, I will wear it. But you are not painting my face.”

“Deal.” He grinned, in a smug way knowing he’d won.

***

Ten minutes later the three of you were out the door. Dracula, the witch and the pumpkin.

Wren was full of excitement as she skipped on just ahead of you, swinging her little bucket she hoped to fill with candy.

“She’s your problem when she won’t sleep tonight because she’s hopped up on sugar.” You spoke as Spencer slipped his hand in yours.

“Fair enough.” He chuckled, eyes never leaving the back of the curly haired pumpkin. “Thank you for coming.”

“Did I have a choice?” You joked.

Spencer briefly glanced at the side of your face before focusing back on Wren who was now making her way up a front porch of one of your neighbours houses. The two of you hung back by the gate.

“You don’t like spending time with her.” He looked back at you while Wren was busy getting her candy.

“That’s not true. I love spending time with her, she’s an amazing kid. But I don’t want her to get used to me being around all the time. She lost her mom and dad, I don’t want her to see me as a parental figure only to lose me too.”

Spencer’s hand slipped from yours and he quickly pocketed both of his hands. You frowned at him as he turned away from you.

“Right. Of course.” He watched Wren smile and thank Mrs Taylor for the candy.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” You glared at him.

“Nothing. I just forget sometimes what a hardship this is for you.”

“Spencer, I never said-”

“What did you get, pumpkin?” He cut you off as Wren came running back over, his tone lightening as he regarded her.

Wren showed off her haul and soon you were continuing on. Spencer walked with Wren now, holding her free hand while you hung back.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that this would get complicated. But why did it?

***

The night ended worse than it started. When your rounds of the neighbourhood took you past the old Briar house, the home where Wren watched her parents die, it came to an abrupt end with tears.

Spencer carried her home while she sobbed in his arms. He put her to bed and spent a long time coddling her while she cried for her parents.

He found you in the living room, your wig and hat on the coffee table. You stood from the couch when he entered the room.

“I don’t really feel like company tonight so maybe you should just stay in the guest room.” His jaw was clenched tightly as he spoke.

“Right, sure.” You nodded.

He turned away from you, started towards the stairs before quickly turned back around.

“You know what actually, maybe you should look into moving back into your apartment. This place is kinda crowded. You only need to be here when Jenny visits anyway, there’s no point in you being here all the time. And that way Wren won’t get attached to you and it’ll make it easier all round.” He turned again but before he could get too far you grabbed him by the wrist.

“Spencer, please don’t say that. We talked about this, we had a plan, we-”

“Stop it, please.” He cut you off. “I can’t do this right now, ok? I have a little girl upstairs who I had to rock to sleep because she couldn’t stop crying about her dead parents. I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with all this right now.”

“Fine.” You clenched your jaw to stop the tears falling. “But let me just say it isn’t fair for you to act this way when we had an agreement. You knew what my involvement was going to be in all of this and the plan was never for me to be her mother!”

“The plan?” He suddenly spat. “The goddamn plan? You make it sound so clinical!”

“I thought it was.” You rolled your eyes. “Did you expect that I was going to wake up one day and change my mind? Was that what you hoped for here? That I’d play happy families and realise this is what I wanted?”

“Yes,” he shrugged. “Yes, that's exactly what I hoped would happen. Excuse me for believing that two people who are as in love as I thought we were could raise a child together.”

“Maybe I should move out.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“I’ll help you pack.” With that he turned again and this time you let him go.

You watched as he ascended the staircase, clearly wanting to make more noise about it but not wanting to wake Wren.

Once you heard his bedroom door shut you fell back to the couch and your tears unleashed.

What had possessed you into thinking this would be a good idea? You’d wanted to help Spencer and never once stopped to think of the ramifications.

Like it or not you and Wren had grown close, despite your best efforts. Your leaving would be hard on her. And it would be hard on you too.

You’d come to care for that little girl even though you’d tried so hard not to. You weren’t ready to be a mom, or so you thought, but Wren had wormed her way into your heart.

And now you were going to lose her and Spencer through your own stubbornness.

Well done, Y/N, you thought to yourself as you cried. You’ve really gone and fucked this up.

***

The following day Spencer dropped Wren off at school, thankfully in a much brighter mood than she had been the previous night.

You both had the day off work for Jenny’s weekly visit and if she noticed the awkwardness between the two of you she didn’t mention it.

Spencer was amazing at keeping his emotions in check when he needed to and even you believed he was happy.

You sat amicably and drank tea while Spencer filled the social worker in on your Halloween night, glossing over all the bad parts.

It struck you that Jenny wasn’t taking notes like usual, didn’t even have her notebook out. You weren’t sure if Spencer noticed or not or if he was too busy pretending he had the perfect family to notice.

When the tea dried up along with the conversation, Jenny pulled a manilla envelope out of her briefcase and proffered it forward.

Spencer took it with a frown, in the corner in black ink it read simply: Re: Wren Briar - Reid Y/L/N.

“Uh,” he ran his fingers over the envelope and looked up at Jenny with a frown. “What is this?”

Jenny smiled softly, a smile that reached all the way to her eyes.

“Congratulations,” she spoke sincerely. “That is your official adoption papers. Wren is now formally in the care of the two of you.”

You felt a flurry of emotions all at once and you didn’t know which one to focus on. But you were distracted from that when Spencer, out of nowhere, started sobbing.

“S-seriously?” He stuttered, tears streaming from his eyes.

“Seriously, Doctor Reid.” Jenny smiled. “I know it’s been a long and difficult process, but it’s over now.”

“Oh my god.” He grabbed your hand and squeezed it tightly. “Oh my god.”

Seeing the happiness on Spencer’s face made your own tears fall and you gripped him tightly.

“We did it, Spence. We did it.” You cried.

Jenny saw herself out as the two of you continued to cry. At some point Spencer wrapped you in his arms and sobbed into your shoulder while you did the same into his chest.

Eventually both your tears started letting up and he sat back and wiped the stains on your cheek. He was smiling shakily at you and you returned the gesture.

“Don’t leave.” He whispered, voice cracking with emotion. “Please don’t leave. I don’t want to do this without you. I know this wasn’t part of the plan but-”

“Screw the plan.” You cut him off. “Plans change. I can’t ignore the feeling of elation and relief I felt when Jenny told us. Goddamnit I love Wren, I love her so much. And I want to be her mother, Spencer, I really want that.”

“You…” he choked. “You do?”

“Yes. This wasn’t the life I envisioned for myself but life isn’t straightforward. Things happen, plans change. I found my family. And it’s you and Wren.” You smiled as your tears started up again.

Spencer was quick to tug you back into his arms and hold you tighter than you’d ever been held before. He nuzzled against your neck and placed soft kisses on your flesh.

“I love you so much.” He cried. “And I love our little found family.”

You stayed like this for some time, until you needed to pick Wren up from school. For the first time you and Spencer went together.

When you told her the news she jumped up and down and squeezed you both as tightly as her little arms would allow and it filled your heart to the brim.

There was no doubt in your mind that this was where you were supposed to be.

As she planted big sloppy kisses on yours and Spencer’s cheeks, you heard him whisper, welcome to the family little pumpkin.

***

Four Months Later

The noise from the backyard filtered in through the open door, little voices chattering, the occasional screech of excitement, giggle from tiny lungs and small feet pitter pattering in the grass.

You poured yourself a glass of water and sipped from it while you observed the chaos.

It was Wren’s sixth birthday and damn near every child in her school had descended on your home. The BAU team members and their kids were all in attendance and you wondered if your garden would ever be the same again.

There was a bounce house in one corner, a magician in the other - for which Spencer had begrudged paying for when he could have done it himself.

You’d insisted he wanted to be more present for the event, really enjoy the memories made today on her first birthday as your daughter.

Rover had long ago distanced himself from children pulling his matted fur and retired to his bed in Wren’s room. You couldn’t blame him, you’d half contemplated joining him.

You were exhausted from all the planning, from the demands of motherhood and still trying to hold down your job at the BAU, albeit only part time now.

You hadn’t even stopped to consider how tiring the party would actually be.

You felt a presence behind you and spun on your heels to find Spencer smiling at you as he sidled up to you. He moved in close and placed a chaste kiss on your lips.

“Are you as tired as I am?” He chuckled.

“I don’t think anyone is as tired as you, you’re the life and soul of this party.” You teased him. “I saw Wren dragging you on to the bounce house.”

“It’s been a long time since my old knee injury hurt this bad.” He grumbled a little. “But it’s worth it to see her happy.”

“I can’t believe she’s six already. The months are flying by.” You sighed wistfully.

“She’ll be eighteen and going off to college any day now.” He laughed.

“Bringing boys home.”

“Don’t you dare!” He gasped. “Do not put that idea in my head.”

“Sorry,” you smiled sweetly. “It’s a long way off.”

“It better be.” He shook his head.

“So, uh…I got you something.” You reached behind you and grabbed the small, neatly wrapped gift off of the kitchen counter.

Spencer frowned at it as he took it somewhat cautiously.

“You got me a gift? For our daughter's birthday?” He ran his fingertips over the wrapping paper curiously.

“Just open it and be grateful.” You rolled your eyes playfully.

Still with a frown on his face, Spencer tore the gift wrap, the same kind as you used to wrap the obscene amount of gifts you’d brought Wren.

You held your breath and waited, your nerves getting the better of you and you leaned back against the counter top as your legs shook a little.

Spencer’s deft fingers made quick work of the paper, tossing it aside like the excited six year old had with her own gifts.

Once opened he stared at the item in his hand. Approximately five inches long. Thin. Hard plastic.

You watched him stare at it as if it was a completely foreign object, patiently waiting for him to look up, to say something.

His hands started to tremble and when he finally did look up at you, tears swam in his eyes.

“Is this…for real?” His voice cracked with emotion as he spoke.

“It’s like the fifth one I took so I’m fairly certain.” You nodded, feeling your own eyes fill with tears. “Wren’s going to be a big sister.”

Pregnancy test still in hand, he suddenly threw his arms around you and squeezed you so tightly you felt the air leave your lungs.

“We’re having another child?” He whispered against your neck.

“This family just keeps growing.” You laughed as you wrapped him in your arms.

You wiped away your tears, not wanting to be seen crying at Wren’s birthday party. But soon your moment was over, and you were being forced away from each other.

“Mommy, daddy, is it time for cake?” Wren’s voice carried in from the garden.

You sprung apart and stared at each other, a new batch of tears in both of your eyes for completely different reasons.

“Did she just…” you breathed, voice slightly horse.

“I think so.” Spencer sniffed, a delighted smile on his face.

Thus far Wren had always called you both by your names which was entirely understandable. Spencer had always told her she could call you mom and dad if and when she felt it was right.

“As if this day wasn’t perfect enough.” He wiped his eyes, pocketing the pregnancy test after giving it one last look.

“We better go, daddy.” You winked at him and went to pass him but he grabbed you by the waist.

“Oh jeez, why is that so hot when you say it?” He growled, bowing his head and placing kisses on your neck, making you giggle.

“Really?” You smirked.

“Really.” He hissed, stepping back and nodding to his crotch where you can instantly see the bulge forming in his slacks.

“Hmm, I’ll bear that in mind daddy.” You chuckled and he let out a soft low moan.

But before he could reply, you were summoned again.

“Mommy, daddy!” Wren hollered from the yard.

“Ok, not so sexy anymore.” He shook his head, stepping further back. “I’ll get the cake.”

“I’ll get my phone so I can film you and your horrible singing.” You gently kissed his cheek before he walked away.

Spencer lit the six candles on the pumpkin shaped birthday cake and cautiously carried it through to the yard while he began singing happy birthday.

All the kids and adults joined in as Wren beamed from ear to ear as all eyes were on her. You held your cellphone steady, hovering by the back door where you filmed the chorus.

When the song was over everybody cheered and Wren sucked in a huge breath before blowing out the candles.

You watched on as Spencer placed a kiss in her messy dark hair and she smiled brightly at her dad in return.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the two of them, Wren bouncing excitedly in her chair while Spencer went about cutting the cake into slices for all the children.

Spencer handed her the first slice and she gorged on it, stuffing the cake in her mouth and leaving icing smudged around her lips.

It was crazy how much things had changed in such a short space of time. Six months ago you never would have pictured yourself here, a mother to a six year old and growing another child inside of you.

Life has a funny way of giving us exactly what we want at exactly the wrong time. But for you and Spencer and Wren, the world had worked its magic and done you all the biggest favour.

It had given the three of you the kind of love you all so sorely needed, it had offered a home to three people who were out in the cold. It had created a family, who in eight months time would have a new addition to it.

Ultimately all we really strive for in life is to find somewhere to belong, and although it may have been unexpected, it was safe to say that you, Spencer and Wren had found that somewhere with each other.

@ultragirrl @wittlewowa @bxtchopolis @coldheartedmar

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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romeavecryst · 3 months

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Not proofread Blackfem! In mind. Just a bit random!!

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

Thinking about Shoto with a blkbimbo!gf how when interning she’ll pull him to the side when walking the streets so she can give him a kiss the dark gloss combo on her lips staining his face before returning back to there patrols meeting back up with his hair all messy the dark gloss lingering around his lips.

How her hero costume in all pretty and just the right amount of skimpy, her qurik being Ice/snow based her chunky dc snow boots going with her one pice that let her but hand out just a bit(enough to get past Aizawa). The way her white costume reflected her dark tone so well with her jewelry.

He never whipped them off, he loved her lip combo and she went out of her way to ‘mess it up’ just to kiss him why would he whip her hard work away. He loved watching her reapply her glossy how she’s have him hold her phone so she could see herself in the camera.

Shoto never says anything on what she wears he knows how to fight. He loves her mini skirts and booty shorts, and low rises with her panty strings hanging off her curved hips, her skimpy shirts may it be colorful crop tops or cami tops with fishnets over the top and her accessories he got tired if her buying h&m hoops that broke and wore off of the pretty yellow gold she likes. So he buys her real gold, hoops, brackets and necklace. It’s all her and she never takes them off.

Shoto who at the end of the day loves watching in ready herself after the day has ended, him sitting close to her as she whips her face off doing her skincare. All the storms and steps, he loved the little imperfections on her dark skin form acne scars to blemishes she took care of her skin. The cute little head band she makes him wear with her as they do a face mask. She took care of him to.

Shoto loved his girlfriend even with the people in his ear ‘she’s just with your for your money’. He knew better. She never asked but he gave, and he’d continue to give.

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #shoto todoroki #shoto x reader #shoto torodoki #mha shoto #mha shoto todoroki #shouto todoroki #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x you #x black fem reader #mha x you #x black reader #mha x reader

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mrowtastic · 1 year

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Ok I had a cool Idea about a dp x dc au that i want to throw out here.

The story takes place after the show. Everyone is in their early-mid twenties, (I'm thinking the Trio is around 22-23 and Jazz 26-27, depending), Everything that happened in the show happened here. It's been over five years now and Team Phantom is a well-oiled machine of ghost kick-assery.

The Drs Fenton are retired from the ghost hunting business. Inventing new gadgets and theories is their game and they enjoy it. They have gladly passed the torch to their two kids that they are so so proud of. (Maddie insists that they call at least once a week to chat).

Everyone has stuck together. Amity is healthier (ghost-wise) and is particularly peaceful. The gang goes to the same college (take your pick, i prefer Gotham thanks to ghosty biz), and realize just how much their ghostly know-how is needed outside of Amity. (Maybe Gotham calls in a favor and asks them to [spiritually] clean up her streets to help with the strain of everything?).

Team Phantom comes out of retirement to address the spiritual turmoil, hunt down naughty ghost, help the dearly departed to the other side, and steal mementos, haunted artifacts, and other dangerous occult items best left to the dead. The more morally-grey parts of the job force the Team into stealth mode. They work mostly at night but can work during the day depending on the mission. In order to stay anonymous they have motorcycles (with their assigned colors, the sporty kind) with helmets. (I'm imaging so many motorcycle chasing scenes. Maybe the Fentons invent a ghost whip that snags ghosts mid-chase? That sounds cool).

It's easy to get what they need between Sam's and Danny's wealth, Tucker's programming skill, Danny's engineering skills, Jazz's organizational skills, and Sam's ability to see the big picture. It's just like old times.

In a sense they make themselves a superhero group. To everyone else, however, they have come out of nowhere and are way to skilled to be newbies. It has the bats and other heroes scratching their heads. Shenanigans ensue. Constantine loves them and loathes them in the same breath. The Bats are running in circles because How do they keep getting away?

Everyone gets a superhero identity:

Danny: Sticks with Phantom. I know, boring, but no one outside of Amity really knows about him. (I'm thinking an info blockade from the government like in so many fics). He specializes in all the ghostly, magical parts of their exploits. Anything that needs to be done regarding ectoplasm and weird symbols is his business. Also is the only one able to make chemicals needed for their weapons and handle a hammer for repairs to equipment. I imagine him in either a black trench coat or motorcycle jacket with combat boots, black jeans, and regular black t-shirt. He wears goggles like Maddie's. (Like mother, like son). They make him look unhinged.

Sam: I'm leaning towards the name Thorn? She's the sharpshooter. The muscle. She can and will crack your head between her thighs and possesses 90% of the trio's impulse control (in most situations). I imagine her in knee-high, laced up, goth boots, leggings and killer skirt with a leather jacket and crop top. Her colors are still black, purple, and green. She is SWOLE. I love her.

Tucker: Now, I'm not sure what his name would be but he's basically the field tech. Having an on-site hacker is super useful. He's got twenty ways to get into every building. Security means nothing to him. He's great at stealth (not counting Danny cause ghost powers) and is great at thinking on his feet. His color are black and orange. Instead of wearing his red beret and yellow shirt duo he wears sneakers, tech glasses, a motorcycle jacket with a hoodie attached.

Jazz: Prophet is her codename. She's the lady in the chair. Tucker may make the programs that run the computer, but only Jazz can run them efficiently. She gets them where they need to go, gets them out of tough situations, gets info, assists Tucker, and so much more. Also, I want her to fly a ghost jet. I dont know why but she would be so cool doing it.

#dp x dc prompt #dc x dp #dp x dc #had ideas for sketches but they're not coming out rn so i thought id throw this out here in the wild #I may add the art later if i can get it out so stay tuned #Also had a cool scene in my head I may write out later #anyone is feel to run hog wild with this #if anyone writes anything tho please tag me!

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glow-worms-are-believers · 6 months

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Road Hazard (dp x dc)

Cassie looked to the side at the boy sitting next to her in the small waiting room.

"You nervous?" she asked and he looked up from whatever he was doing with his phone to answer.

"Eh." The guy answered with a vague hand motion and Cassie had to squash the need to pat his head kindly. Though he had to be at least sixteen if he was taking driving lessons, he looked way younger. With his messy black hair and big blue eyes he made her think of a disgruntled kitten that had been scruffed abruptly.

"I'm sure you'll do great!" Cassie couldn't help but want to encourage him. She herself had only just started taking the classes since she'd never found the time before.

But her words seemed to have the opposite effect as she wanted as the kid seemed to deflate at her words. "It's going to go terrible," he bemoaned.

"Don't say that," the demigoddess chided. "We're still learning this stuff. It's normal to have some issues still." She pointed to herself. "I can't seem to park, like, at all."

"It's not the same," the guy said. "Bad driving is in my blood. I'm literally destined to be awful at this. I had to take classes two hours away from my hometown because they didn't want to let me behind the wheel."

"Look," there Cassie paused, realizing she didn't know his name. "Danny," the kid provided helpfully after the short silence. "Cassie," she introduced herself.

"It's just a joint practice," she said. "So you won't be evaluated today. Nobody's expecting miracles here. So don't worry so much, ok?"

The kid exhaled audibly and let himself sag. "Yeah," Danny said. "Yeah, ok."

"Let's just do our best and have fun!" Cassie gave him a smile she hoped was encouraging and his own lips tugged upwards in response.

"Cassie Sandmark and Danny Fenton?" called the voice of the receptionist. The two stood up and were directed towards a man looking to be in his forties holding car keys.

"Who wants to start us off?" the man said.

Cassie looked to Danny. "Want to start?"

The kid heaved a breath. "Sure," he said, trying to sound resolute.

"Let's go," said the instructor, giving the keys to Danny before guiding them towards the car.

Danny got in the driver's seat, and Cassie looked on as he went through the steps of rearranging the seat and mirrors, putting on his belt. Then, the instructor gave the go ahead and Danny switched from park to reverse. He took off the hand brake before twisting around. He started reversing the car jerkily.

"Easy," the instructor said, then after a moment spoke up again. "Alright now you can go forward and merge with traffic."

Danny put the car to drive and took a deep breath as he signaled with the blinking light his next move. So far so good, thought Cassie.

And as if the universe had heard her, that was the moment Danny went full throttle on the gas pedal, propulsion the three of them onto the street, narrowly missing getting rear ended by the truck behind them. Cassie's yelp was drowned out by the cacophony of honks that sounded just behind her.

"Easy, easy, easy, easy!" the instructor was repeating which, to his credit, did seem to get Danny to slow down a bit, but then the traffic light in front turned yellow and the car once again roared to life as they dashed forward. This time the instructor yelped as well as one straggling pedestrian had to jump out of the way of the moving car.

So maybe, Danny hadn't been exaggerating after all.

#cassie sandsmark #wonder girl #driving lessons #This would've worked with Jazz as well but I like giving Danny more older sister figures #You can never have too many big sisters in your life #dc x dp #dp x dc #roxpox #roxpoxwrote

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goodfish-bowl · 2 months

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Never Really Knew (DP x DC)

DP Side Hoes Week 2024 Master Post

Day 5: Dani - self-defense

Summary: There were plenty of things she knew, but it was all things that had been downloaded into her head. There was very few things that Dani had actually experienced in her extremely short life. Dani’s trip after being freed from Vlad goes well until it takes a turn into Gotham, New Jersey. Takes place after "Kindred Spirits", but before "D-Stabilized".

Word Count: 2173

AO3 Link

Dani had known that traveling by herself would be dangerous. She knew it in the same way she knew advanced mathematics and classic literature. It was knowledge she had but had never experienced, programmed and downloaded into her head. She knew a lot of things this way, and very few things the other way. Dani had wanted to experience everything, to learn the way everyone else did. But she hadn’t known, not really, just how dangerous this task would be for her. She doubted Danny knew either, or he probably wouldn’t have let her go.

Dani wasn’t having any trouble with money, so to say, Vlad’s credit card covered that, but there were very few places that would both accept credit and let a 12-year-old rent a room for the night. So while she was good on food and any other thing, shelter was a lot harder to manage. It had been fun, at first, buying a tent and camping equipment, and staying at parks while she explored the area, but yet again, a 12-year-old couldn't rent out a campground, so it was a bit riskier every night she stayed. If she stayed in the wrong place or too long, she would get chased out. She lost a few tents this way. She lost a few more to thefts that happened while she was out and about.

The campground was fine when she was just about, but they weren’t always an option, like in the bigger cities, where she was now. Normally, Dani was able to keep her head low, and hang out on a rooftop for the night, but that wasn’t really a good option with vigilantes of Gotham frequenting those spaces too. She had to find a different place to sleep for the night, which she supposes is what got her into this whole mess too. That and not knowing, to an instinctual degree, that she should not have come to Gotham all alone.

Dani had bunked down for the night in one of the many abandoned buildings around, even setting up her cot and some of her other camping equipment. This was not where she had woken up.

Dani woke up with a full body ache and a piercing migraine, and immediately curled up on herself with a soft hiss. Everything hurt. Slowly, as Dani came to, her senses faded back into focus. It smelt generally terrible, like BO and urine, along with the faint tinge of mold and cigarettes. There was the sound of someone else crying near her, whimpering, and the more distant sound of laughter. She could feel the bare concrete under her as it tried to drain away what little body heat she actually produced. Her tongue tasted vile in her mouth, still full of fuzz with a metallic aftertaste in the back of her throat.

Dani was locked in a dark, generally dingy cell, with the only light coming from a yellow street light that managed to crawl in through the basement window, and a white fluorescent light that climbed under the door. There were a few other kinds locked up in here with her, in various stages of crying or passed out. Some of them were hurt, bad. Dani had been kidnapped in the worst city to be kidnapped.

Slowly, feeling her whole body protest, Dani pushed herself to a kneeling position, drawing the other kids' eyes to her. She gave them a shaky smile that probably looked closer to a grimace. Dani felt her clothes and found that all the belongings she kept in her packets were gone. Darn, no more credit card. No more anything, really. Well, that sucked, but it wasn’t like they could keep her here for long, ghost powers and all that. Dani should get out as soon as she can, and run for the hills. She was sure whoever had captured her wouldn’t even notice one less child.

Dani strained her ears to listen to the voices from under the door, but a sniffle from one of the other kids in the room stopped her in her tracks, shutting down her plan of running out alone. Stupid Danny and his stupid protective streak. She would have to figure out how to get them all out together, and probably fast if the pick up in activity from under the door was any indication. Dani went over to the window, straining to look out of it, trying to figure out where it let out.

“Hey,” Dani whispered. “Do any of you know where we are?”

There was a soft murmuring among the other children, before a scruffy-looking boy answered her in a thick Gotham accent. “Somewhere in Crime Alley. That window has metal bars in it, no way to get out from there.”

Dani hissed under her breath, letting go of the window sill from where she was straining to lift herself onto it.

“Do you know where it leads?” She followed up.

“Just some scummy alley.”

Dani nodded, that was at least something good, no one would notice if she passed some of the others through intangibly.

“Okay, I can get us out,” Dani declared, keeping her voice intentionally low.

“How do you plan to do that? You a meta or something?” one of the slightly older girls demanded.

“Something like that,” Dani answered sheepishly. “Come on, I can take us directly through the wall,” Dani gestured through the window.

The others were too scared to protest, and slowly Dani began to file them one to two at a time through the wall, into the alley above. Every trip burned through her reserves, and she hadn’t noticed just how many of them were in the cell with her. After the fourth trip, Dani felt fragile, only able to pass the boy with the thick local accent through, but not able to go through herself, she would hurt herself if she tried.

“Butter biscuits… I can’t get out, I’m out of energy,” Dani called out. She was going to have to figure a way out, no powers unless absolutely necessary, she might risk destabilization otherwise.

The boy peered down at her from the window, looking grim. “I’ll go get help,” he stated before leaving her all alone in the room.

Dani let herself drop to the ground as soon as he was gone. She felt so tired, vaguely ill, and tried her best not to not fall back asleep, but still get a little bit more rest before the rest of her grand escape. She spent those minutes listening to the voices as best as she could, planning. She really shouldn’t use her powers for the next bit, but Dani also really needed her stuff back. It would have to be worth the risk, it was the only way she could really afford anything. All she needed was just her wallet with the card in it. Everything else could be replaced, emergency cellphone included. She might have a window to get it when whatever help that boy had mentioned showed up.

The voices on the other side of the door grew frantic along with an even more distant sound of gunshots and shattering glass. The door slammed open, causing Dani to fall onto her back in fright. The man’s eyes were blown wide in fear, teeth bared. His eyes narrowed as he probably noticed the lack of children in the room, and spat out a nasty curse before his eyes locked onto her.

“Fuck it, we only need one hostage, a half-dead brat will have to do,” the man spat, practically snatching her up by the arms, causing Dani to cry out in pain.

Dani had to scrunch up her eyes under the artificial white lights, leading into an open warehouse. She struggled for just a second before there was something cold and metal pressing against her temple.

“Try it, brat, and your brains will be blown out all over the floor,” the man growled, and Dani froze.

It was a gun. Dani knew it was a gun, and finally, it sunk in just how much danger she was really in, and tears began to run down her face. She didn’t want to die! She had only just begun to learn how to live in the first place. She needed more than a few months to figure herself out!

The man didn't do anything as Dani began to cry, but one of the other roughly dressed goons in the room, holding an even bigger gun, sent the one holding her a dirty look, before a confused realization passed over him.

“Where the other kids?” The other guy asked.

“Hell if I know. Only one left was this shrimp who looks well and ready to keel over. She’ll fucking have to do.”

There was another loud bang as a door somewhere in the warehouse was thrown open.

“Red Hood! Don’t fucking try it or I off the kid!”

Dani strained to see through her tears and hysterics. Was this guy supposed to be her help? But Dani was already held hostage, how much help could this ‘Red Hood’ be?

“You know I don’t like people fucking around with kids on my turf,” a modulated, artificial voice spat.

“Which is why you’re going to let us go, so that this little girl’s brains don’t end up splattered all over the ground,” The guy holding the bigger gun argued back.

There was a creak from the rafters and the other guy opened fired, sending rounds into the ceiling. A large figure dropped down, returning fire as they fell. Dani’s eyes widened at the heavily armed figure in a red helmet and leather jacket. He was both the coolest and most terrifying person Dani had ever seen. The guy with the bigger gun went down with only a few well-aimed shots.

Red Hood towered over Dani’s current kidnapper, who pressed the gun harder into her temple, causing another wave of panic to go through her as her eyes strained to dart back and forth between the man holding her and her ‘savior’ who had just definitely killed someone.

“There you are, you shitty bastard,” her kidnapper growled. “Now!”

Gunshots came from a completely different direction, catching Red Hood by surprise, but not before he managed to take out one of the two new assailants, and a stray bullet slammed into the arm holding the gun to Dani’s head. The man recoiled, practically tossing both her and the gun aside, forgotten. Dani ducked down, scrambling the best she could away from the center of the fight, but exhaustion and a horrible pinch in her ankle weighed down on her entire being.

Dani looked back after hearing a few more gunshots. The guy who had been holding her was dead, but Red Hood had taken a couple of hits himself, stuck kneeling as the final kidnapper pointed his gun directly at Red Hood. He was going to be killed, and then Dani knew she would quickly follow him. Panic seized her body and core, dredging up what little energy it could. She couldn’t let Red Hood be killed, Dani didn’t want to die.

Dani dove for the gun that had been tossed away in her. The knowledge of how to use a gun quickly clicked into place, just like all of those other things she knew and had never experienced. Dani was keen on never feeling the chill of a live firearm in her hands again, nor the image of the man dropping dead from a clean shot as she fired.

The gun clattered to the ground and Dani was well aware that Red Hood was full-on staring at her beneath his helmet.

“Kid-” the modulated voice called out, but Dani yanked on her invisibility, pulling as hard as she could, running off.

Dani had killed someone, sending full-on shivers and nausea through her, compounded by the protests of her fragile anatomy as she tried to maintain invisibility. She quickly found her things, which had been haphazardly tossed into a corner, snatching the wallet and nothing else. It felt like she was falling apart.

Dani made it to the exit before Red Hood spotted her again.

“Wait!” He called out, sounding panicked.

Dani couldn’t help the reflexive glance back, likely showcasing the bright glow of her eyes, and the thick trickle of ectoplasm as it seeped out of her nose before she fled into the night. There was cursing and heavy steps behind her, so Dani did the only thing she could and transformed as soon as she was out of direct eyesight, doing her best to ignore the familiar sensation of destabilization as it began to set in. She even ignored the swear-storm of the vigilante she left behind in the alley. Dani was going back to Amity Park as soon as she could, but she now knew, deep in her gut and in the sour taste of ectoplasm in the back of her throat, just how dangerous it could be on her own.

#danny phantom #dp x dc #goodfish writes #dp side hoes week 2024 #dani phantom #red hood #dp x dc crossover #finally gave in and did it #I needed a dangerous city and a vigilante for plot reasons #cw: kidnapping #tw: death #tw: guns #tw: gun violence #failed my 'don't severely traumatize any of the character for a week-long event' challenge #darn i guess sorry dani

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the-hottest-band-tournament · 1 month

Text

Welcome to the hottest 80s band tourney

In this tournament you can submit an band from the 80s here and we’ll see who’s the hottest

Submissions are now closed

Submission requirements

It must be a band no solo artists

I need a list of the members and the instrument they play

They had to have produced at least one album during the 80s

Choose the lineup that you want just make sure that they just all performed together during the 80s

For a list of the lineups check here a quicker list of submitted bands is down below. We are trying to get to 256 submissions so don’t worry about submitting to many bands.

List of submitted bands

will be updated

Guns’N Roses

Mötley Crüe

Queen

Hanoi Rocks

Iron Maiden

Poison

Rush

Anthrax

Possessed

Bon Jovi

Skid Row

Talking Heads

Warrant

The Cure

The Bangles

Def Leppard

The Traveling Wilburys

Dokken

Blondie

Duran Duran

Quiet Riot

Aerosmith

Dio

Metallica

Winger

The Human League

The Clash

Cinderella

Nirvana

The Smiths

The Police

They Might Be Giants

Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band

R.E.M.

Spın̈al Tap

Tin Machine

Red Hot Chili Peppers

ZZ Top

AC/DC

Beastie Boys

Depeche Mode

The Pogues

Bauhaus

Prince and the Revolution

Joy Division

Fleetwood Mac

Devo

Van Halen

Van Halen (again)

Led Zeppelin

Joan Jett and The Blackhearts

Genesis

Primus

Ramones

Yes

Siouxsie and the Banshees

Kraftwerk

The Alan Parsons Project

Hall and Oates

Echo and the Bunnymen

Tears for Fears

The Psychedelic Furs

Misfits

Living Colour

XTC

Adam and the Ants

Run-DMC

King Crimson

Public Enemy

KISS

N.W.A.

Whitesnake

Black Sabbath

Deep Purple

L.A. Guns

W.A.S.P.

Pantera

Styx

B-52’s

Vixen

The Go Go’s

The Residents

Pretenders

Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

Asia

Jethro Tull

Green Day

Journey

Wham!

Pet Shop Boys

The Who

Scorpions

Heart

Ratt

The Beach Boys

Queensrÿche

The Cars

Foreigner

Marillion

GWAR

Max Webster

Twisted Sister

Stray Cats

Megadeth

The Stone Roses

Slayer

Operation Ivy

Bam Bam

Cybotron

Steve Miller Band

The Highwaymen

10cc

Fugazi

Minor Threat

Dead Kennedys

Blackfoot

Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble

Dire Straits

Electric Light Orchestra

The J. Geils Band

Judas Priest

Motörhead

Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young

Elvis Costello and the Attractions

Chicago

The Replacements

The Kinks

Pixies

Men at Work

Stryper

Faster Pussycat

Thin Lizzy

Grateful Dead

Sepultura

Bananarama

Nine Inch Nails

Foghat

Blue Öyster Cult

Culture Club

Tesla

Soundgarden

Berlin

Boston

Public Image Ltd

Pink Floyd

The Professionals

Starship

REO Speedwagon

Extreme

Shonen Knife

Night Ranger

De La Soul

Salt-N-Pepa

Earth, Wind & Fire

X Japan

The The

The Time

Steely Dan

Godley & Creme

The Tragically Hip

Dexys Midnight Runners

The Cross

Sonic Youth

Roxy Music

The Rolling Stones

Hüsker Dü

DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince

New Kids on the Block

Huey Lewis and the News

Eurythmics

A Flock of Seagulls

The Blues Brothers

Love and Rockets

Strawberry Switchblade

Los Lobos

Santana

Oingo Boingo

Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five

A-ha

Crack the Sky

Crowded House

Yellow Magic Orchestra

Eric B. & Rakim

Commodores

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

KIX

White Zombie

UB40

Great White

Bruce Hornsby and the Range

White Lion

.38 Special

The Tubes

Utopia

The Sugarcubes

Faith No More

Throbbing Gristle

Ministry

'til tuesday

Sparks

Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band

The Oak Ridge Boys

The Judds

Dinosaur Jr.

The Moody Blues

Pat Metheney Group

INXS

Status Quo

Melvins

Pandora's Box

Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark

New Order

Meat Puppets

Descendents

The Fall

Spandau Ballet

Thompson Twins

Tom Tom Club

Jane's Addict

Bob Marley and the Wailers

Modern English

Cutting Crew

My Bloody Valentine

Black Flag

Wire

The Cult

The Jesus and Mary Chain

The Specials

Missing Persons

Simply Red

The Romantics

Madness

Violent Femmes

Skinny Puppy

Cocteau Twins

The Damned

Simple Minds

Frankie Goes to Hollywood

TISM (This Is Serious Mum)

The Cockroaches

The Allman Brothers Band

Cold Chisel

Midnight Oil

NOFX

The Crucifucks

America

Bad Religion

Helloween

Mother Love Bone

The KLF (a.k.a. The Justified Ancients of Mu Mu, a.k.a. The Timelords) [same group, just used numerous names]

Dog Police

Frank Chickens

Men Without Hats

Europe

Can I submit propaganda?

Not right now. If you do I won’t post it until the polls start which looking right now could be a while. But it will be posted eventually

can I submit more than one band?

yes!! Go wild

Some blogs that inspired this

@billboard-hotties-tourney

@the-80s-music-colosseum

#80s bands #80s music #80s glam #80s metal #80s rock #tournament poll #tumblr tournament #The hottest 80s band tournament #80s pop #80s post punk #80s country #80s #1980s #eighties

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agent-cupcake · 2 years

Text

Trouble Man

This marks my third completed commissioned fic! I may have gone a little far in places, added some unnecessary flourishes... Either way, thank you to the person who commissioned this (and all of you) for being so patient with me!

Pairing: Arkhamverse Jason Todd x f!reader

Synopsis: After a chance meeting late one night while Jason—the Arkham Knight—is playing civilian, he develops a bit of a crush. Months later, after the events of the base game, your unfortunate involvement in a crime requires a visit from Red Hood to coax out some honest answers.

Warnings: explicit smut, dubcon, murder ment., stalking, angst, gun kink, rough sex, possessive behavior

Notes: I must give a big girthy thanks to my sweet muse and local DC expert for her help on this, it wouldn't exist without her help. It's also important to recommend you all watch clips from Arkham Knight - Red Hood because the delivery of his oneliners are absolute gold. Jason Todd has definitely risen to the upper echelon of tragic men in my life, he's worth your attention.

Word Count: 17k

Dry leaves crackled like paper through the breeze, tumbling over brown grass and grinding beneath your feet as you walked through the park, hands shoved deep into your pockets and head down. Their colors had changed as the trees shed, creating a sea of red and orange and yellow paste over the sidewalk.

You thought walking home instead of taking the subway would help. Walking was what people did to think, to contemplate their life and their future, to pace out the excess energy that came with stress. But the autumn sun was bright and cold. A storm threatened the horizon in smeared shades of mean dark gray. The air stank of rotting foliage and filth. With each breath, you suffocated on it, choking on smog and the sour scent of Gotham’s streets, choking on the rising tide of existential dread, choking on this looming fear of something you knew existed yet couldn’t quite see.

The question of what you were going to do echoed in the back of your mind, even if the answer was decided. Because it was unfair, because you were scared. All you could think about were the shiny reporters on the television gleefully claiming that crime rates had fallen, that Batman had cleaned up the city, that everyone was saved. It was funny to think that you got this job with the idea that you could turn your life around, a small step towards salvaging your life. Who would have thought anything would be wrong with a place called something as dumb as the Palace of Pies?

What a fine mess it all was. Your head ached, your throat swollen with angry tears and a frustrating, primal need to excise the tempest of emotions you crushed down. Idly, you wondered what would happen if you were to stop in your tracks and begin screaming. Would anyone look? Would anyone stop and ask what was the matter? You didn’t think so. People would step around you, avoiding eye contact. That’s what you would do. Everything in the city, if not trying to actively harm you, was passively hostile. Looking beyond yourself was how you got hurt. Being surrounded by people only made you more aware of how alone you were, how aggressive isolation en masse could be.

With the weather turning so quickly, few people lingered in the park, merely passing through on their way to or from something. Always going, moving, acting with purpose and a destination, paying no mind to the changing season. When you were younger, you loved the fall. Back when costumes were saved for Halloween and horror was strictly contained to the scary movies you watched without your parent’s permission. Who needed a creepy corn maze or haunted house when you had the privilege of living in Gotham City?

You breathed out, trying to exhale those thoughts. Trying to think. Clearly, for once, although it was hard when you never got enough sleep, when you never had any space to seek clarity. Gotham was a place without peace. You could never find solace away from the people and the noise and the claustrophobic streets and decaying walls that seemed to close in the longer you stayed. It was inescapable, no matter where you were. The breeze churned up all manner of unsavory smells, carrying the sound of people talking and dogs barking and cars honking, cluttering your senses. It was never quiet, never clean, never calm, never safe. Just last week, a woman had been brutally stabbed to death only a half mile away from the path you were on. Her dog too. Part of you feared stories like that, knowing it could just as easily happen to you. Part of you didn’t care, really. So what if it did.

And yet, the plastic newswoman cried with religious fervor, crime was down. Thank God for that.

When you got down, you knew quite surely that you would die here. The city that once held the sparkling allure of hopes and dreams and promise, a life grander than you could have in a small town upstate, turned out to be nothing more than a slaughterhouse.

These days, these terrible, sentimental days, you could imagine it. Dialing the numbers—you knew they wouldn’t have changed, even after all this time, nothing ever changed there—and holding the phone up to your ear with a clammy hand, hearing her voice for the first time in years.

“Hey mom.” You would sound sheepish, your voice up a few halftones to mimic the girlish sound you had before you left. “It’s me. It’s been a while. I know, I’m sorry. I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m—”

You wouldn’t. You couldn’t. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was mercy. Mostly it was just pride. Anger. This was the bed you made and you could hate yourself and you could hate the man who sold you pretty lies and you could hate the wretched city and you could hate your dead end job working for an obvious criminal but you could hate them too, if nothing else then just to try and cope with it all.

You shoved your hands deeper into your pockets and lowered your head to brace against the wind. A storm was going to hit soon.

II.

The rattling thunder was what snapped you alert, the metal shelves lined with plastic bottles and boxes of toilet paper trembling with the force of it. You’d meant to take a short break, but somehow you had managed to doze off sitting on an upturned bucket in the back room, leaning against the wall amidst cleaning supplies with your eyes closed and mind wandering far away, lulled by the sound of rain on the roof. Thinking of home, of the wind knocking the pale limbs of aspen trees against your window as gentler storms passed through the town, watching lightning from your bed and hiding beneath the covers at the thunder.

Annoyed with yourself, you stood up, grabbed the napkins, and returned to the front of the house to do your table rounds before you got in trouble.

Nobody really seemed to care either way. The few customers that had trudged into the inauthentically kitschy restaurant at such a late hour were soaked and cold and cranky and addled by some substance or another. Despite the attempts to cheer the place up with warm lighting and friendly decor, the whole restaurant had a dour atmosphere. Dark, miserable, heavy with the kind of mundane tragedy that carried the careers of famous poets. It seemed as if, no matter how bright the lights shined, they couldn’t fight off the creeping shadows of Gotham.

In other words, it was a normal night for you. Too many hours on your feet, too much caffeine, too few full nights of rest. Nobody else wanted the late shift waiting tables in city like this and it wasn’t like you blamed them—God only knew that you didn’t want to be here either—but you were too strapped for cash to be picky. In a way, you imagined your brain was attempting to help you by conjuring fantasies of better times. But happy memories only got more and more sour with age, the highs casting the lows in thicker shadow.

Better not to think of it. Your shift was almost done. Just get the night over with, and then the day would be over. You didn’t think of what came after that, didn’t dare to consider tomorrow. Short term goals were easier to handle, easier to stomach. Nothing else was worth thinking about.

It was almost fate, if you were the type to believe in such things. You were looking for a distraction from your thoughts and he showed up as the clock’s little hand neared twelve and you knew immediately that he was different. Despite the downpour, he had no umbrella. What he did have was a black hoodie with the hood pulled up, the fabric soaked through and clinging to his torso, and an aura of disquiet, obviously unlike the hungry stoners and the late workers and the otherwise normal folks who came in. A chill and trail of rainwater chased him inside to where he sat at the counter, empty red vinyl barstools surrounding him on both sides. Different wasn’t good or bad, necessarily. If he was the type to make trouble, the cook, a guy you knew only as Ace, would scare him off with his 32. Different was, at the very least, distracting. You put on a smile and rounded the counter.

“How are you doing tonight?” you asked in a serviceably friendly voice as you took the pot of coffee from the warmer and poured him a cup.

His eyes were lucid enough, at least enough that you didn’t think he was on drugs. The two of you sized each other up for a moment before he gave you an ironic half smile that clearly asked ‘how do you think I’m doing?’ Which was fair. Close up, you could see that he had a developing bruise right on his cheekbone, although the more striking feature was the mark on the opposite cheek. It looked like the letter J had been carved into the skin. An old wound, the skin pale and puckered with scar tissue. Best guess, it was a gang thing. That was part and parcel for Gotham, and especially for the Palace.

But, bruise and scars and all, that sarcastic little grin was attractive. He wasn’t exactly tall, dark, and handsome, but whatever the more menacing equivalent was.

“Wet,” was all he said after a long moment, his tone ironically dry.

You reached under the counter to grab a clean towel, sliding it over to him. He eyed it suspiciously. “Might help a little,” you explained. He didn’t look convinced, but there was no way he wasn’t cold. You felt cold just looking at him. “Come on, you’re dripping everywhere as is,” you told him with a huff, gesturing to the water he’d tracked in. It was too late to fix now, but watching him literally drip rain water was just a touch too melodramatically sad even for you.

Hesitating, he looked down and behind himself at the puddles that had followed him inside. While he didn’t have the grace to so much as pretend to be apologetic, he did accept your offer and began toweling off his hair. It was dark and cut short, save for the bangs that were a stark white. Was that a gang thing too? It worked, oddly. Or, he was odd and it worked.

“Anyway,” you said, reverting to your patented professional tone to cover the fact that you had been staring. “Can I get you started with something to drink?”

“Just coffee’s fine,” he told you, tossing the towel back onto the counter and running a hand through his semi-dried hair to keep it pushed back. Despite your best attempts at professionalism, your eyes tracked the motion. He was wearing gloves. Probably to hide a set of bruised knuckles, a person didn’t catch a shiner like that playing nice.

"Do you have any questions about the menu?” you asked. “Tonight's special is-"

"Yeah, I’ll have that.”

Considering he hadn’t so much as glanced at the menu or let you finish the pitch, his eyes scanning the restaurant with a restlessly critical look, you doubted he even knew what he was ordering. Maybe he didn’t care.

“Alright,” you said. “Anything else?”

“Nope,” he said, finally looking back at you. His eyes were pretty, even bloodshot and shadowed with exhaustion. Blue, lined with thick black lashes that still sparkled with rain whenever he blinked.

“If you need anything else,” you told him, “just let me know.”

“Will do.”

Quickly scribbling the order onto your pad, you slid it across the window to Ace in exchange for finished meals and did your rounds. Table seven got their hash browns, over easy eggs, and chicken tenders. Table five got their big pieces of banana pie. All the while, you couldn't help but feel that the man at the counter was watching you. He probably wasn’t. Or maybe he was. Not that you actually, really cared that much either way. You didn’t want to check though, just in case.

When you returned to the window between the kitchen to drop off the dishes, you saw the Ace was gone. Probably for another cigarette break. Of course. The man’s addiction to nicotine was astounding. But he wouldn’t be punished for it, even if you complained. The quality of his work was unimportant, he was a part of it. Whatever Mr. Anthony’s real business was, Ace was his guy.

You grabbed the chicken fried steak meal—the day's special—and delivered it to the mysterious customer at the counter. He eyed the food hungrily, barely responding to your offer of “If you need anything else…” before digging in.

The clock said you had forty five or so minutes before closing, which meant an hour or more left. You could do another hour. Another two hours, if you were being realistic. But you rounded down, it was easier to handle that way. Refilling drinks, cleaning up tables, sweeping the floors, you did these things on autopilot. Table five, a pair of young junkies you were decently familiar with by now, finished their meal and paid. You checked them out with a smile all of you knew was fake, taking their lack of tip with a brave face.

The door opened with a little burst of rain washing over the threshold as they left, the sound of it pounding against the blacktop abrasively loud. Even if you knew it wasn’t actually a fact, you didn’t think it ever stopped raining in Gotham, as if God himself was trying to wash the city away in some form of biblical vengeance.

“I was surprised to see a place like this open this time of night,” the man at the counter said. You jumped a little at the sound of his voice, turning away from the register with the uncomfortable realization that he had most definitely been staring, at least just now. He didn’t try to hide it either, his elbows propped up on the counter and head tilted at a slight angle. His plate was almost empty, which made sense considering the ferocity with which he’d been eating.

“Yep, we’re open till one,” you said, trying not to seem flustered.

“Don’t you think it's a little dangerous to be working so late?” he asked. It was difficult to read his tone. Not quite a warning, but not a joke either. “Gotham’s not a very nice place.”

You shrugged. “This area isn’t that dangerous.”

“And after you leave?”

Once again, you couldn’t place his tone. You didn’t want to automatically think the worst of the man, but you weren’t naive enough to miss the possible threat. “You know, it’d be pretty easy to take a question like that the wrong way,” you told him bluntly, taking a somewhat playful tone to hide your discomfort and diffuse the question. “I wouldn’t. But someone else might.”

“They might,” he agreed easily.

“Not that I think you meant anything by it.”

“I never said I was the one you needed to worry about.”

He had to be messing with you. Either that or he was deranged. The slightly ironic upturn of his mouth made you think—or hope—that it was the former. “Either way, it is what it is,” you said, waving your hand dismissively. “Que sera and all that.”

He hesitated, eyebrows knitting slightly. “Kay… What?”

“You know, like the song,” you said. “What will be, will be. Was it Rosemary Clooney? Or… Doris Day, I think.” He stared at you, obviously lost. You waved it off again, shaking your head. “Anyway, the point is that I’m fine."

He grunted noncommittally, clearly not buying it. "Bet whoever's waiting for you at home hates it that you’re gone so late.”

You snorted. “If I had someone waiting for me, do you really think I’d be here?” It occurred to you a second too late that he might have been flirting, surreptitiously asking if you were single. Or maybe he wanted to know if a potential mark had anyone to worry about her getting home. The fact that you couldn’t really tell was probably a bad sign. “And anyway, I hate to be rude,” you continued blithely, brute forcing a change of topic, “but I’m not sure you’re the one who should be giving out safety tips.” Your eyes lingered pointedly on the bruise swelling up his cheek. You’d had bruises like that in the past and, no matter what you told anybody, they didn’t come from being clumsy.

“Oh, this?” His hand raised, fingertips coming into contact with the swollen injury like he’d forgotten it was there. “You should see the other guy.”

Red flag? Innocuous boast?

“Hopefully he’s in handcuffs by now,” you said, picking the route of deflection. “I mean, hitting a handsome face like yours must be breaking some law.”

“Well, he wouldn’t be the first,” he said, something dark and ironic marring his otherwise confident demeanor. That reaction gave you pause, your eyes catching on the letter carved into his cheek. There were more scars too, old ones.

“Ah, sorry,” you said, nerves catching up to your attempt at a cool demeanor. “I have a tendency to make jokes out of things that… aren’t funny.”

“I’m not very big on comedy.”

“Well, you’re in luck because I’m not funny,” you told him. “I only pretend like I am.”

“So all of this,” he said, gesturing vaguely, “was a joke?” Unlike his previous statement, the question sounded more lighthearted. It made you doubt yourself all over again, worried you had overcorrected with the apology.

“Not… everything,” you replied. “I-”

“Got an order of mozzarella sticks,” Ace called, cutting you off.

While the cook’s voice merely surprised you, the man at the counter tensed up immediately, his body going taut in preparation to jump up. You blinked, kicking yourself for getting carried away, unnerved by the man’s reaction. It was the quick trigger response to stress you knew fairly well. He relaxed immediately, or at least untensed slightly. The shift was so fast, it was as if it hadn’t happened.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta,” you motioned behind yourself, feeling apologetic for some reason.

“Do your job?” he asked dryly.

“Yeah, that. Let me know if-”

“Will do.”

You nodded and turned away, tending to the other tables and cleaning up so you could get off at a semi-reasonable time. It was impossible to not feel overly aware of the man at the counter. You wondered if he was actually interested or if he was just playing along. You wondered what you looked like to him. You wondered why he’d gotten hit in the face. You wondered a lot of things, had so many questions you knew you’d never get an answer to. The scars, the haunted look in his eyes. He was dangerous, you were pretty confident of that. He was something else too. You thought. Then again, it was just as likely that you wanted to think the best of this handsome stranger. It wouldn’t be the first time you made a dumb mistake like that.

A few minutes later, after the banana pie couple paid and left, you returned to the man at the counter, clearing his clean plate. “Can I get you anything else?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll take the check.”

“No pie?”

“It’s late,” was all he said, rolling his shoulders slowly. There was a hunch to them, something you hadn’t noticed before. It contrasted with his otherwise poised form.

“That’s completely missing the whole point of eating here,” you told him sternly. “What do you like? Cherry? Pumpkin?”

He snorted. “I’ll pass.”

“It’s on me,” you told him. When he opened his mouth to argue, you added, “—and in a to-go box. I know for a fact that it’ll make your night better. Think of it as thanks."

"Thanks for what?"

"For reminding me that there are people having a worse night than me,” you said with a smile. “Now, what’s your favorite?"

He stared at you for a long moment and you wondered if you had finally crossed that oh-so thin line of propriety. Then he smiled, shrugged. “Dealer’s choice.”

In the end, he left with a cardboard box of vanilla cream pie and an expressive combination of amused bemusement on his face. You helped Ace close up, going over your interaction over and over in your head, eventually coming to the conclusion that you had made a fool of yourself. You always liked to seem so clever, as if anyone would be impressed, as if anyone would think of you outside the liminal space of the stupid little resturaunt, as if you could even exist outside of what service you could offer. You didn’t even know his name.

It was still raining when you left.

III.

Sometimes, you had a tough time being positive.

Most of the time, really.

Gotham did that to people.

But you did try, it was just difficult when you got off late and held your bag close as you traversed the creepy empty subway and the filth that lined the underground, your head down to avoid the hungry eyes of stray beggars. More and more, you were getting off late, closing time getting pushed back to account for the shipments coming in the back. You played dumb, but you weren’t entirely stupid to what was going on. Drugs? Weapons? You didn’t know the details of what was happening. You didn’t want to know the details, you didn’t want to admit that you saw anything you weren’t supposed to. You were selfish, all you knew for sure was that something was going on and you were afraid and alone.

It was like being a ghost, like being trapped in some hellish nightmare where each day repeated itself without end.

When you boarded the subway, you huddled in a corner seat, giving the train a cursory glance before ducking your head again. Time and time again, you thought you noticed the same hooded person on your way home. Never close enough to see a face, just the shadow of a figure in another car or across a crowd. And you didn’t think you would be so sensitive, so hyper aware of it, if you didn’t get the awful impression that somebody had been into your apartment sometimes when you got home. There was no proof. A mess where you thought you had tidied, old things you had shoved into drawers to be forgotten sitting on top of your dresser.

But, you reasoned, if you were being followed, if Mr. Anthony’s crimes were significant to warrant that sort of thing, you would have known, surely. You would be able to come up with evidence, with something solid. Unraveling sanity wasn’t fact. You were just tired, overworked, and stressed. You were a fool girl all alone in a city whose natural process was to chew up innocence and spit it out into the trash that littered the streets. The ultimate fact was that you weren’t interesting enough to be followed. There were a dozen girls just like you in the city. More, probably, and most of them were more interesting too.

In the worst way, in the darkest parts of your mind, you thought it would almost be flattering to have a stalker. To matter to someone. And that was just…

You couldn’t follow that thought to its natural conclusion. It was better to stare at the filthy floor beneath your feet and listen to the city’s abrasive symphony.

IV.

The restaurant was relatively busy when the news came. On Halloween, people wanted a place to eat before or after the night’s entertainment. And entertainment was what they got, footage of people infected with Scarecrow’s fear toxic, their brains twisted and driven insane. It was a massacre.

“Gotham, this is your only warning.”

Scarecrow’s announcement broadcasted through the city after that terrifying footage played. Evacuation instructions were issued shortly after, but the damage was done, the panic had begun. Through radios, televisions, loudspeakers, megaphones, everywhere was the same message. Get out. Escape.

But it was mayhem. Footage of the Scarecrow’s face, of the savagery in the diner, was projected just as prolifically as information on how to evacuate. Watching customers leave the Palace of Pies was like watching a concert crush, bodies congealing at the door as they desperately tried to get out.

And you, not knowing what to do, joined them. All around were screaming children in their costumes, people fighting and shouting at each other, others trying to direct foot traffic in some attempt to play hero. Everywhere was chaos and you couldn’t ground yourself in reality, it didn’t feel real. It couldn’t possibly be real.

You passed a woman shouting for her child, begging passersby to help her. You passed someone looking around with wild eyes, asking nobody in particular what he was supposed to do. Nobody answered, nobody stopped, nobody helped.

The police had checkpoints set up, alarms blaring past the relentless, all consuming noise. People rammed into one another in a block of bodies, stinking of rain water and sweat and city filth all stirred up by too many feet. Another bus peeled away from the curb, you could only see the glistening top of it and hear the shouting, people begging to be let on. You didn’t like your chances of getting on one of those buses. They filled up nearly as fast as they hit the curb, it didn’t matter how many came, the crowd only got bigger, swelling to an unmanageable size despite the domineering corralling of the police officers.

Someone elbowed you hard in the stomach and you stumbled. The noise and panic was too intense for your cry to rise above the roar of voices, of babies screaming and wheels squealing and rain pounding. Like a violent, churning ocean, the crowd gathered and heaved and you were pushed from the tumultuous tide, forced into the back of the hoard. All you could imagine was yourself all alone, abandoned on the streets of Gotham, driven mad like the people in the video.

What terror would you see? What waking nightmare would your mind torment you with? You had a few guesses.

A crack in the sidewalk caught your toe, upsetting your balance entirely. Falling onto the concrete tore up the skin of your knee in an ugly way, the shredded skin immediately welling bright red blood. Nobody stopped for you, someone’s boot came dangerously close to smashing your fingers before you flinched away.

A gloved hand entered your vision, and you realized it was meant for you. His grip was steady and firm as he helped you to your feet. Your rescuer, a tall, imposing man, was saying your name. Your name. You didn’t recognize him, not even slightly, and you couldn’t comprehend it, too panicked, too confused, your ears ringing something fierce.

“Do I know you?” you asked him, trying to escape his grip without any success, distrust freezing your fear.

“Stay close to me, you’re getting on this bus,” he told you, diving back into the crowd without any further explanation. You barely registered his words, too busy stumbling along. His grip on your hand was firm, unyielding even as you tried to pull back, trying to make yourself heard over the crowd as you demanded you know who he was or what was happening.

Unlike you, he had no problem parting the tumultuous waves of people. They swore and lashed out like wild animals, but after a suffocating march, you broke out into the front. The bus was loaded, the final few people attempting to fight their way onto the bus swarming like angry wasps. You held fast onto the man as he knifed his way to the officer guiding the crush. Everybody was shouting, wailing. Violent elbows thrown and bodies jostling and it was too much. You were confused and scared and suspicious, but you weren’t stupid either. All you could do was cling to the man dragging you along and hunch your shoulders as if you were weathering a storm.

The officer tried to stop the man leading you, holding up his baton threateningly, but your guide didn’t back down. Whatever he said to the officer made him frown, the cop looking you up and down with a hard look. You were prepared for rejection, to be physically thrown away from the door like the other people who tried to board without permission.

“Go,” your guide shouted, releasing you. The immediate urge was to reject him, but you were given a hard push and tripped upward on the steps, your palms scraping the gritty traction mats. People were cursing and spitting and screaming at you from behind, but the officer didn’t stop you. No matter what the circumstances, you didn’t really have a choice but to obey.

Inside, the bus stank of sweat and rainwater and filth and you were met with various degrees of hostility, anxiety, and glassy indifference. People packed into the faded and torn seats like canned fish, clutching their bags close and curled in on themselves out of distrust for their fellow man. Hands pounded at the windows, faces pressed to the glass. You took a look back, but the man who’d escorted you was gone. The door unfolded and shut with a painful squeal.

After being snapped at by the driver, you claimed one of the last available spots next to a mother and her weeping child. A pumpkin was painted on the kid’s round, ruddy cheek, streaked with tears. The mom looked at you with narrowed eyes and you looked away, focusing on the blood welling up and crusting over your skinned knee.

Almost laughably, one of the few thoughts you could scrape together was that you didn’t have a toothbrush.

Palace of Pies, just like so many palaces before it, survived the siege. Your apartment complex fared slightly worse, but the damage was mostly superficial. The hot water was out for a week and you had to pass a city full of wreckage just to get a box of cereal. All the same, you were lucky. You returned from the emergency shelter to a life pretty much intact. Gotham was a different story. Batman unmasked, billionaire dead, a city secured and returned to its people. Mostly.

It was advertised as a good conclusion to a terrible situation, but that seldom held true. That was how it always went for those who lived beyond the tall buildings and glittering lights. Gotham had reached an equilibrium of sorts before the attack, somewhat, but now it was all busted. Criminals, the petty ones, the ones that had nothing to do with super villains or masked vigilantes, scurried around like rats. The fallout rattled even the most minor of them into a panic. And then there were stories about something worse than Batman. Successors or ghosts or whatever. These days, the Palace of Pies felt more like the den of a cornered animal.

And you hadn’t meant to see anything, only wanting to leave a note that recommended a repairman be sent for the old coffee maker that was broken again, but another order sheet was on the very top of Mr. Anthony’s desk. Some of it was written in code or with strange nicknames, but you knew enough to decipher what was being ordered. Chemicals for drugs and parts you assumed were used in weapons manufacturing. All signed off by a man named Hector on behalf of his employer. While you had no idea who Hector might have been, you definitely recognized the name of his boss.

Christ.

Seeing it all written down, for some reason, was the thing to send you over. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t known that shady things were happening before, and it was stupid to buy into the dream that crime would simply go away, that criminals would change their ways. It was one thing for Mr. Anthony to be affiliated with local gangs, but he’d taken it a step further. A big, terrible step further. Your eyes scanned the sheet with increasing fear and discomfort, reality like a vice around your heart.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ace asked from the doorway, startling you. The sound of his voice nearly caused you to jump out of your skin. But you didn’t give into your fear, turning and facing him like nothing was wrong. His face was red, twisted with a form of rage you were all too familiar with.

“The coffee maker’s broken,” you told him.

“You’re not allowed in here,” he said, his hand poised like he was going for his gun.

“The door was unlocked,” you pointed out, refusing to feed into his anger by showing your fear. It was an old trick, the kind that always made things worse, but it was satisfying nonetheless. It was his own fault, his own carelessness, it wasn’t like you wanted to know that your boss was working for an insane cultist.

“Get out of here,” Ace told you, his voice low and eyes all but slits. “Now.”

The urge to get in the last word, to be clever, to be stupidly defiant, almost made you say something that would really set him off. Almost. It was the look in his narrowed eyes, the way his hand was settled on his gun, that made you reconsider.

Ace smelled foul, like stale cigarette smoke and grease, as you passed him in the doorway. You held your breath all the way into the bathroom where you promptly threw up three cups of coffee and a stomach full of sour bile, eventually falling back onto the dirty tile with your eyes closed.

VI.

Mr. Anthony had just finished a meeting with a group of unfamiliar men in the back room when he ordered his customary piece of cherry pie. Mostly unfamiliar men. Some faces came around often enough for you to recognize and now that you knew what you were looking for, figuring out who “Hector” was wasn’t difficult. Both he and his employer had a particular style. Cults were like that.

Just thinking of it made your stomach twist with nausea. Nobody knew what happened to many of the criminals after the incident in Arkham Asylum, and that was obscured further by the reform that had taken place recently. Speculation floated around Gotham, but that was all it ever was. Speculation. And you could hope that it was just a copycat criminal, you could hope that someone had stolen the moniker, but if it was him, if that was who Mr. Anthony had teamed up with, sticking around was borderline suicidal.

But when you thought about that, you were reminded with a cold sort of brutality that you had nowhere to go.

All you could do was serve Mr. Anthony the cherry pie he ordered with a polite demeanor and hope. Hope for salvation, for some sort of divine intervention. You thought about your rescuer from Halloween night, wondered who it was, why he had helped you, how he had known you. You wondered if he would come back, if he would save you again. But those were the thoughts of an idealistic child, you knew that. Real life was never so kind.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” you asked.

Mr. Anthony looked sicklier by the day. He was putting on more weight, his face puffy and pale like pastry dough, his big forehead shiny with sweat. He was drinking heavily from a gold plated flask, his movements jittery and eyes shifting nervously around the restaurant even after his associates were gone.

“Yeah, why don’t you sit down. Take a little break,” Mr. Anthony offered in a would-be casual voice, gesturing to the empty chair with his fork. “I wanna have a chat.”

Your heart sunk into your stomach like a rock. Did he know? Had he guessed your thoughts? Had Ace told him what you had accidentally seen? Fighting your creeping dread, you did as he indicated. It wasn’t like anybody was coming in, the place was dead. These days, it was almost always dead.

“Yes?” you asked, feigning innocence despite the way your voice shook.

“I bet you’ve noticed that things have changed around here,” Mr. Anthony said. Although he was drinking, his dark eyes were lucid when they focused on you. A man as paranoid as him wouldn’t get drunk in public, it was just to ease the edge. You knew all about that.

“I guess. But everything has changed since the incident,” you responded carefully. “I think the Palace has recovered well though.” He wasn’t stupid, the both of you knew that wasn’t what he asked. But there was a time for cheek and a time for honesty and you were too scared for either, your nerves rubbed raw.

"Do you like working here?" he asked rather than push you on that, abruptly shifting the conversation.

"I do," you told him, pouring as much sincerity into the words as you could manage.

"You feel like you're being treated fairly?"

"Yes, sir.”

“I like to make sure my employees are happy,” he stressed. “You know what I mean, happy?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“Running a business is like being the captain of a ship. If anybody steps out of line, we all sink together. I’ve gotta keep a tight ship,” he emphasized the point by making a fist, a fast movement that made you flinch. “That’s the only way we can stay afloat.”

“I understand,” you emphatically agreed. Then you hesitated, thinking. He needed more. He needed reassurance. Wiping your sweaty hands on your apron, you cleared your throat. “You’ve always treated me with respect, I wouldn’t do something to betray that. It’s tough to find respect in this city.”

"Yeah, that’s true. You're a smart girl,” Mr. Anthony said, nodding, taking another big drink from his flask. “Got a good head on your shoulders." He chuckled. Prickling discomfort ran down the entire length of your spine. "You’re not gonna do anything stupid. No, no, you’re a smart girl. You know what’s good for you.” A vague sort of mania shone in his dark eyes and you knew what he meant. If you turned on him or his associates in any way, you were as good as dead. It wouldn’t matter even a bit if you wound up in a ditch outside of town, nobody would care. But if you were smart, you would keep your mouth shut and continue doing what you were told. You would ignore the things you saw and continue to serve his cherry pie with a smile.

“Thank you, sir,” you said.

Mr. Anthony didn’t say anything, but he didn’t dismiss you either. He just shoved forkful after forkful of pie into his mouth, pausing every few bites for a drink. A catchy top ten pop song played distantly over the radio.

“Do you have a family?” Mr. Anthony finally asked, his eyes a little glazed over as he considered the last few bites of pie. He wasn’t quite drunk, but his words were slurred.

“I moved away from home a while back,” you said cautiously, unsure of why he’d ask.

“What about a boyfriend?”

You almost replied with something acerbic and deflective, defiant that he’d ask something so personal. But you didn’t, swallowing down the disgust and discomfort. “No, sir.”

“Well, you’re still young,” he said. “I got married younger than you are now, you know.”

“Yes, sir,” you told him. “I’ve met your wife.”

“My wife…” He grimaced. “Not anymore. We’re separated now. She abandoned ship, didn’t agree with my decisions…” His statement trailed off, his expression solemn, grave. “That’s how it goes in Gotham. We’re all alone. No matter what you do, how hard you try…” Mr. Anthony shook his head, taking another drink from his flask only to realize it was empty. He scowled at that too. “I can’t stand disloyalty. Can’t stomach it. You know what I mean?”

“I do.”

“Respect, that’s all I ask for. Respect and loyalty.”

“And pie?” you ventured, forcing a smile in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood.

Mr. Anthony hesitated before returning your smile. The way he laughed sent shivers down your back, that same manic sound from before. “Yeah, you’re a smart girl. I can count on you, can’t I?”

“Yes, sir.”

In the end, you walked away from the encounter with a stomach full of sickening dread and a dollar raise and you knew, in your heart of hearts, that if you left now or anytime soon, you were as good as dead. Maybe you were dead anyway. Rescue wouldn’t come. Not for you, not again.

VII.

Hearing a gunshot in such close proximity wasn’t like in the movies. The sound tore through the air violently. It blasted your ears, leaving them ringing, making the ensuing commotion sound like it was happening under water. You weren’t supposed to be here, but you’d left your coat and had keys to the back door so you thought it would be okay. If you had just grabbed your coat and left, it would have been fine. But you heard the shouting and-

The sound of a gun cleared some things up, at least.

You weren’t sure what came over you, what could have possibly compelled you to investigate. It was as if your body wasn’t your own, as if you were merely operating something mechanical as you peered into the front of the restaurant from the dark kitchen. The lights were on, the warm lights that fought to be inviting against Gotham’s gloom. The place was clean and empty. Everything was where it should have been.

Almost everything.

Blood splattered the white tile floor in a gruesome spray, dripping from the red vinyl seats and beading up on the plastic tabletop. Mr. Anthony slumped in his chair, his body limp and doughy chin bulging out over his shirt collar. A half eaten piece of pie sat in front of him. There was nothing dramatic about it, really. It wasn’t like you could see his soul exit through his eyes or anything. They just stared.

Hector, a familiar face by now, was the one holding a gun. Several other men were in the room. As soon as you were noticed, all of them had their guns trained on you.

“I’m sorry, I…” the words sounded distant, even if you were the one to speak them. For the first time since you moved to Gotham, all you heard was silence. It was the most dreadful sound you had ever heard.

“You’re the waitress,” Hector finally said. He was the only one not pointing his gun at you. Instead, he raised a hand, beckoning you closer. “Come here.”

That wasn’t the sort of order someone refused, not when you had three guns pointed directly at your chest. You didn’t think you would be capable of running anyway. On heavy, trembling legs, you slowly trudged forward, trying to avoid eye contact with your dead boss. His blood was forming a big stain on the front of his suit, pooling on the floor. “There’s no need to be frightened.” Hector waved his hand, motioning for the men to put their guns down.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, your voice somewhat more clear because the magnitude of the situation was setting in and, although surreal, pragmatism had to kick in like it always had, self preservation lending you some steel.

“Your boss spoke very highly of you,” Hector said, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. Everything within you demanded you slap his hand off of you, that you lash out against the unwanted touch. But you didn’t, you couldn’t. “He said you’re smart, that he could trust you.”

“I…” Your eyes returned to Mr. Anthony. He wasn’t moving, just slumped to the side, eyes wide open.

“No, don’t look at him,” Hector scolded, shaking your shoulder a little. When your eyes met his in fear of the slight violence, he released you. “I feel bad for you, I really do. This is an unfortunate situation.” He sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. “But I think I can make it work.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” you told him. “I won’t, I’ll-”

“No, no,” Hector said. “There’s no need for that. I want you to tell everyone about this. You’re going to call the police and tell them exactly what happened.” He looked past you, at one of his men. “Is the place clean?”

“Yeah, they won’t find anything.”

“Good, good.” Hector met your eyes. “Now, you’re going to call the police. You tell the opperator that you witnessed a murder, okay? They’ll come with their police cars and paramedics and all that, and they’re going to take you to the station to get your statement.”

“I-”

“Don’t talk, just listen,” Hector told you. “Here’s what you’re going to tell them-”

“I didn’t see them when I came in, but I could hear them through the window between the front and back,” you told the officer, your voice wobbling, fresh tears tracking through the caked salt on your cheeks. People described shock as a numbing agent, as escapism, but you didn’t think you had ever been so aware of yourself than in that moment. Aware of sweat dripping down your neck, aware of the sour taste on the back of your tongue, aware of the unsteadiness of your breathing, the racing of your heart. “I forgot my coat and so I came back to get it, I didn’t think anything of it.”

“What happened after that?” she asked, taking down your statement in a little notebook. The interview was being held in an office and they’d given you a can of soda from the vending machine. You were a witness. A victim.

“They didn’t notice me,” you said. “They-”

“They?” she prompted, cutting you off.

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat no matter how hard you fought it. “Mr. Anthony a-and Ace. The cook. I-I think his name is Payton… I don’t know, we only ever called him Ace.”

“How do you know it was them?” she asked.

“Their voices. I work with Ace almost every day, and see Mr. Anthony at least three times a week, I could recognize them anywhere.”

“Did you hear anyone else?”

“No.”

“And what were they doing?”

“Arguing,” you said. “I knew I walked in something I shouldn’t see so I tried to be quick. I wasn’t looking and then I-I heard the gun go off.”

“What were they arguing about?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t my business.” You couldn’t keep the anger out of your tone at that. It wasn’t your business, so why were you involved? It wasn’t fair, and there was nothing you could do. Tell the police the truth and face the wrath of a famously sadistic criminal. Lie to the police and risk legal persecution. And that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that you were out of a job.

“You don’t remember anything they said?” the officer asked. The doubt in her tone made your stomach twist. Hector’s demands were clear. You either convinced the police of the fake story, pinning all of the blame on Ace, or else. Given his employer, you could only guess what ‘or else’ would mean. Your chest seized, your breathing becoming faster.

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice trembling. “Ace has always been… He’s not a very nice guy, and he’s been acting strange lately. I knew he kept a gun on him. You know, for safety. We stay open pretty late. I knew that, but I never thought he’d actually… I mean, who does that sort of thing? Who could possibly…”

The officer nodded consolingly. Did that mean she believed you? “You’re okay, hon. We’re almost done. After the gun went off, what did you do?”

“I hid,” you told her. That’s what you should have done. You could almost imagine the scene in your head. The two of them arguing, the gunshot, ducking beneath the counter to hide with sweat soaking your clothes and terror squeezing your heart. “I heard him going through Mr. Anthony’s office, and then he came into the kitchen to leave through the back.”

“He didn’t see you?”

“No, I was hiding under the counter and it was… it was dark.”

“When he left, did you get a good look at him?”

“No, it was dark,” you repeated. “But when he opened the door, there was enough light from outside that I could see his coat. It’s really big, kinda tan. He’s the only guy I know who wears something like that.” Pressed against your thighs, your hands trembled violently. “Mr. Anthony was always nice to me,” you said. You didn’t mean to, it just bubbled out. “His wife left him recently, I think they’ve got kids too.”

She nodded again, giving you a sympathetic look. “Okay, honey. You’re okay. Is there anything else you can think of?” You shook your head, wiping your face with the tissues she’d pushed towards you. “I’ll give you my personal phone number, just in case you remember something.”

You accepted her card with the work phone number and hastily scribbled personal number. “Thank you,” you said with a pathetic sniffle, disgust for your lies and terror twisting your insides, fear that they would figure out the lie striking hotter than guilt. Just like that, with one conversation, you ensured that one man’s murderer would go free and another man’s life was ruined.

VIII.

Everything was wet. Negotiating an armful of groceries alongside an umbrella had been impossible, so you entered your apartment dripping and miserable and scared. Even going to the store for an hour or so had your anxiety spiking, you spent the entire time looking behind yourself, terrified that you would be arrested or attacked at any minute.

Feet squelching with every step, you set the bags on the kitchen counter. Just the essentials. And a bottle of vodka. Nasty stuff, but effective. With any hope, enough of it would force you to pass out. After being awake for nearly two days without sleep, you would have thought your body would simply give out, but your brain wouldn’t let you. You ignored the rest of the groceries and opened up the bottle, uncaring of the puddle forming beneath your feet, and took a swig. Foul, but it lit a somewhat pleasant fire in your belly. You took another drink. It sloshed into your stomach like poison and dizzied your head. Drinking on an empty stomach was never a good idea, but you ran out of good ideas years ago.

You didn’t notice anything amiss. Your guard was well and truly down as you stumbled into your room, shucking the boots and tossing your soaked clothes into the hamper. It would have been better to shower the filthy scent of Gotham rain out of your hair, but instead you just covered your wet skin with a pair of pajamas and called it good, ready to self medicate.

No, you didn’t notice anything amiss. Every sound was covered by the groan of the ancient radiator and broken down refrigerator, by the cars outside and voices down the hall. You didn’t even feel the discomfort you occasionally had that someone had been in your apartment.

Somebody grabbed you from behind.

It happened just like that, no time to think or to process or to understand what was happening.

“Considering the trouble you’re in, you really oughta lock your door,” he said, his voice slightly muffled. The piercing scream that left your mouth was covered by a hand. Big hand. Big man. Muscular arms crushed you against a solid, armored chest, one on your face and the other easily pinning your arms. It didn’t matter that you thrashed and screamed, he didn’t so much as budge. When you tried to bash your head against his face, the back of your skull made contact with a hard mask. “Don’t get so worked up, okay? I’m not here to hurt you.”

His words didn’t register, his voice like distant thunder in your head. Alarm bells screeched in your mind attacking the sore spot where your skull had met his mask, and the only thing you could do was struggle with all your strength, staring ahead at the comfortable familiarity of your living room and thinking that you didn’t want to die.

“C’mon, calm down a little, will you?” he said, seemingly put out with your antics. Ignoring him, you only redoubled your efforts. He let out a grunt when you kicked him, although it seemed more surprised than pained, his arms tightening around you to the point of suffocation. “Look, I didn’t want to scare you, but I can’t have you waking up the whole building.”

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. There was something very hard pressing into your thigh and you didn’t think it was because he was happy to see you. Some part of your brain, the part that attempted rationality, recognized that you weren’t going to physically escape. Liquor and bile sat heavy on the back of your tongue, you worried you would choke on it.

“There you go,” your attacker said warmly as your energy drained and you stilled, his grip loosening somewhat now that you weren’t struggling like a wild animal. “Now I’m gonna let you go, and you’re not gonna do anything stupid.”

Breathing hard through your nostrils, you grunted in assent.

“‘Cause if you try anything,” he warned, “I’ll be very upset.”

Another grunt. Now that panic wasn’t so blindingly overpowering, you were aware of what this situation was. The danger you were in. His arms tightened for a moment, although not in an aggressive way. It felt more like a fleeting embrace.

When he released you, you didn’t scream, twisting away and putting as many stumbling steps between the two of you as possible. “I didn’t tell anybody,” you told him before even thinking about the words. “I wouldn’t, I-”

Recognition panged in your head like a bell as soon as you got a decent look at your attacker. For a moment, your brain scrambled, words failing you as you tried to process what you were looking at. Well, who you were looking at. The symbol on his chest was painted in red, but it was shaped like the bat symbol. The hero of Gotham. But he had guns, he couldn’t be. Besides, Batman—Bruce Wayne—was dead.

“You’re…” you said, trailing off in a confused loop of thought. You didn’t really understand what was happening, it was like reality had caused your system to crash. “You’re not Batman.”

“What gave it away?” he asked, his muffled voice sarcastic. You had no answer to that, just the angry pulse of adrenaline and terror and confusion. “It’s good to see you,” he said after a moment, taking a step towards you. “Up close, I mean.”

“What? Who are you?” Once you could look past the red bat symbol on his chest, he was dressed casually. Tactically, you supposed, with some light body armor and weaponry, but with a red hooded jacket and equally red mask that covered his whole face.

“You don’t remember me?” he asked. “And I thought we hit it off so well.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” you told him. Despite your terrible memory, you would definitely remember meeting some masked criminal dressed like a dead icon.

“Nope, you’re exactly who I wanted to see,” he said. “Now why don’t you take a seat. You look like you’re about to pass out, and I’d like to talk.”

Mind whirling with panic and uncertainty, you considered your options. It was difficult. Drinking hadn’t been a good decision, the liquor drifted like fog in your head, confusing your ability to process everything.

“You need to leave,” you finally said, the tremble in your voice giving away your nerves. “Right now, you need to-”

“Come on,” he said, cutting you off. “You know how this goes, so let’s skip the part where you antagonize the guy with a gun.”

The urge to argue further occurred to you, but the words weren’t there. You had to be reasonable about this. If you cooperated, maybe you could find an advantage. Or talk your way out. If he had been here solely to assault you, why would he have let you go? The weight of his body against your own, the strength with which he held you, lingered like phantom pains. It would have been easy for him to force you down, to hurt you. To kill you. So easy.

You sat woodenly on your couch, eying the man warily as he crossed the room into your tiny little kitchen. Well, a counter, stove, and refrigerator shoved into the corner of the main room of your small apartment.

“Smirnoff, really?” he asked, picking up the bottle and inspecting it. Although you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the playful disgust in his voice. You didn’t say anything, watching him open your fridge and emerge with a bottle of water. He tossed it over. You barely managed to snatch it from the air before it fell onto the floor. “Try and sober up a little.”

While you didn’t really want to follow his instructions, you had also become aware of an awful case of dry mouth. He leaned against the counter while you took a few small sips. Although you couldn’t see his eyes, you got the distinct impression he was staring at you. The world hadn’t fallen silent, but it was all muffled. Far away. Your neighbors talked loudly, your old appliances droned, and cars passed outside, but none of it mattered. You may as well have been in a different world.

“You were so talkative last time,” he said as the silence dragged on. “I’m starting to think you’re not happy to see me.”

“I have no idea who you are,” you told him.

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t,” he allowed. “I’ll show you. But it’ll have to be our little secret, okay?”

You didn’t expect him to remove the mask, let alone do so in a nonchalant way. The mask made a distinct mechanical sound as he removed it, setting the piece aside and tossing his hood back. And that face was familiar. Mostly, you just remembered that scar, a crude J engraved on his cheek. You blinked, confusion making you doubt what you were seeing. It didn’t make any sense that the mysterious customer from weeks ago could be standing in your apartment.

“The pie was delicious, by the way,” he said casually, running his fingers through his hair to keep it pushed back. “I can see why it’s your favorite.”

That’s right. You thought you were being so cute for doing that, like you were some sort of philanthropist. It was borderline incomprehensible trying to merge your memory of that single interaction with what was happening now. The customer you awkwardly flirted with was an armored, armed man with the symbol of a dead hero on his chest. You had been genuinely upset that he never came back after that night, thought about him for at least a week after, but this wasn’t what you had in mind for a second meeting.

“It’s you,” you muttered softly, too shocked to be defensive.

“Surprised? It’s been awhile, I know. I’ve been busy.”

“Why are you here?”

“Why do you think?” he asked derisively. When you didn’t respond, he lightened up a bit. “Look, I’ve shown you mine, so why don’t you show me yours? Tell me who killed Frank Anthony.”

You regretted drinking, that question alone making you think you were about to be violently ill. “You’re with the police, aren’t you.”

“Do I look like a cop?” he asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow. No, he didn’t. Hector warned you about this sort of thing. The Bat, he said, might have been dead, but there were always those willing to do the same sort of work. If you squealed, you were worse than dead.

“I already told the police what happened,” you said, your stomach tying itself in increasingly painful knots.

“Yeah, you gave them quite the story.”

“No.” You shook your head. “It’s the tru-”

“Don’t,” he said loudly, aggressively cutting you off, “lie to me.” The rapid shift in tone had you flinching away, your water bottle dropping hard to the floor as you got to your feet to put more distance between the two of you. He had a look in his blue eyes that made you think he wasn’t entirely sane, and it chased away any hope that you could talk your way out of this.

“I want you to leave,” you told him, your fists clenched and shoulders tight, fueled by fear. Fear, and anger. Helpless rage at how awful this situation was, how unfair.

“What are you going to do if I don’t?” he asked, eying you up with a decidedly unimpressed expression, that flare of temper gone. “Fight me? Call for help?”

You didn’t say anything, realizing with a fresh wave of impotent indignation how helpless you were.

“Guess you’re stuck with me then,” he said, playful again, pushing away from the counter to sit on the other side of the couch. You watched him make himself comfortable, arms spread across the seatback and legs relaxed. Even like this, standing above him, you felt weak. He gave you a look. “What? C’mon, sit down.” You didn’t, even though standing there was beginning to feel horribly uncomfortable. “Are you seriously…? You’re not going to make this easy, are you.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you said, putting as much venom in your voice as possible.

He smiled. “I never said I was disappointed. But if you really wanna seem tough, you should relax a little.”

You set your jaw, folding your arms.

“Fine, I’ll start,” he said, maintaining that disturbingly casual voice. “I didn’t give you my name last time. I’m Jason. Might wanna remember that for later.”

“Jason… Have you got a last name too?” you asked, not thinking so much about what you were saying as you were on portraying the only form of strength you had.

Jason shot you a sideways look. “Why?”

“You know, for the police report.” It had been a stupid thing to say in the first place, you knew that, but it didn’t get the reaction you wanted either. Jason just smiled, amused with your attempted wit.

“While you’re in there, are you gonna tell them what a bad girl you’ve been?”

It took you a moment, your thoughts catching on his uncomfortable wording, but then it clicked. “Do they know something?” you asked faintly, your head spinning with sickening anxiety.

“‘Course not,” Jason said. “Why do you think we’re talking here and not at the station? I figured it was better this way. You did something stupid, but you can still make it right. I’m happy to help. All you have to do is tell me what I want to know.”

“Help me?” you asked incredulously. “You break into my home and threaten me and you think you can-”

“I haven’t threatened you,” he said loudly, stopping you. “Yet.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you told him, forcing bravado to cover for your terror. There was no way out of this. Between a rock and a hard place, anything you did would be the wrong decision and it wasn’t fair. That bubbled out, your helpless anger coming through in a sharp tone. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“I was hoping we could avoid this, but…” Jason scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You can’t say I didn’t try to be nice. You’ve never been one to go for the nice guys though, have you.” Before you could respond, he stood up and grabbed you by the front of your shirt, pulling you off balance and up. Jason kept you suspended as you squirmed, although you stopped struggling pretty quick when he drew his gun and pressed it to your neck. It wasn’t like Ace’s gun, which may as well have been a toy in comparison to the weapon Jason held at your throat. The barrel was blocky and huge, you weren’t even sure it could reasonably be counted as a handgun.

“Okay, princess, from the top. Tell me who your boss was working for.”

Survival instinct dictated you cooperate, but the stubborn need for defiance kept you from speaking. The selfsame urge that got you in trouble, that made you want to have the last word when you argued and destroyed your life as you continuously made bad choices. This was the second time you had guns drawn on you, and for what? So you just looked at him, met those pretty blue eyes with the worst type of resolve. The petty kind.

“I don’t know.”

Jason jerked you up higher, the fabric of your shirt straining painfully against your skin. “Try again,” he told you, his voice low and dangerous.

“Even if I tell you, it won’t matter,” you said, your voice jumping an octave in fear. “You’re wasting your time.”

Jason considered that for a long moment before nodding, his expression softening and grip loosening. “You’re right, this is a waste of time,” he agreed. You hoped, for a second, that he was going to put you down. Instead, he hauled you up higher, your toes barely finding purchase on the floor until you hit the wall with a heavy exhale. It was nothing for him to keep you pinned against there, a muscular thigh pressed between your legs. The straps keeping his gun holster in place dragged roughly against the yielding fabric of your pajama shorts, adding a layer of friction that made you shudder, flinching back but unable to go anywhere. The barrel of his gun nudged beneath the hem of your shirt, seeking the warm skin beneath.

“Stop,” you demanded, but your voice was without bite, without air. Jason hardly budged when you weakly pushed against him. “You have to let me go right now or-”

“Sweetheart, babe, princess,” Jason cooed, cutting you off. Agonizingly slow, the gun’s cold muzzle continued to drag up over your abdomen, over your stomach. Chills chased behind the weapon’s metal kiss, your entire body so tense you trembled. “Look at yourself. Do you really think you’ve got any say in what I can or can’t do?”

“What are you going to do then?” you asked, terrified to look up and meet his eyes and terrified to look away. Terrified of the gun skimming your ribs and terrified of your body’s conflicted reaction because the horror of the threat only registered so much in comparison to his proximity, the twisted sensuality of it all.

“I’m not sure yet,” Jason said. “But I’m telling you right now that there are only two things I wanna hear from you. You can give me what I want, the truth this time, or…”

You didn’t want to ask, but you knew he was waiting for it, waiting for you to take the bait. “Or?” you finally breathed. The gun was pressed cold and hard right beneath the band of your bra, a stark contrast to the heat of his body right against yours.

“My name,” he said. “In my line of work, we don’t usually use ‘em. But I kinda like the idea of you screaming mine.” In isolation, the words might have come off as obnoxiously cocky, but Jason didn’t sound cocky. There was a needful insistence in his voice that undermined the obvious flirtation and that’s where this situation was going anyway, gun or no, he was just pushing it over the edge.

“Jason-”

“Yeah, like that. Maybe a little louder though.” The gun was gone, but you didn’t have time to respond to the lack of threat. Jason’s gloved hand was rough on your chin, pulling your face up towards his. You pushed against him, but it was a weak struggle. Ineffective.

Jason kissed you and it was violent, biting teeth and his tongue pushing past your wet lips. He kissed you like he was trying to prove something, like he was hungry. It had been awhile since you kissed anyone, but you fell into place pretty easily. Besides, it wasn’t the type of kiss that was returned so much as it was the type that you submitted to. His mouth tasted like mint and you wondered if that was on purpose, if he had prepared for this.

You were still reeling by the time he pulled away, catching your bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it, the final touch of pain making you shiver despite yourself.

“That stuff is seriously disgusting, I have no idea how you stomach it,” he said, a smile in his voice that didn’t match the tone of the situation. “You don’t really care about quality though, do you?” His breathing was harsh and the non-question was ironic. You didn’t respond, too stunned. Hoping, maybe, that if you didn’t engage, it would cease to be real. “Well?” Jason prompted. “Which is it?”

“Stop,” you said. Unable to meet his eye, unable to move. He wanted you. Your stomach twisted and you should have been fighting like your life depended on it. But something about it all was just incomprehensible, you couldn’t parse why this was happening. That this was happening to you.

“That’s not what I asked, but that’s fine,” he said casually. “Take your time, I’ll just-”

Jason gripped you by the hips and turned the both of you around so he could lift you onto the counter. Things toppled the ground, papers and random junk you’d accumulated crashing down. The ease with which he manhandled you was vertigo inducing, making you yelp, limbs flailing in an attempt to get your balance.

He didn’t give you a chance to protest, pulling your shirt up and over your head and arms. Your bra was discarded with the same fervor. Jason didn’t take the time to look at you, his mouth seeking skin. Your neck, your collar bones, your breasts, he hungrily left wet kisses and searing bites down your skin, stopping only when he reached your nipples. Overly sensitive with stress and fear, your body tensed as if electrified, a high pitched sound leaving your mouth in surprise. His tongue was hot, but the scrape of teeth was really what had you squirming, gasping, unable to think. Your thighs clenched hard, attempting to close but obstructed by his hips.

“No, n-no,” you told him, panicked and pulling at his hair because this was too far. The line had been crossed already, you knew it was ridiculous to object now when the whole situation had spiraled so far out of your control, but you had to do something. Jason just groaned, pulling back to look at you.

“What did I say?” he asked.

You shook your head, caught between the strangest sense of embarrassment to have someone looking at you and cold dread at where this was heading. “You can’t-”

“I gave you two options. Otherwise, I don’t wanna hear it.” To make his point, he cruelly pinched your nipple, the one he’d left wet and sensitive. All you could do was groan as he leaned down to do the same to the other, knowing that you weren’t putting up enough of a fight and hating yourself for it.

There was no escapism to the confusing, vile stirrings of lust. You were painfully aware of yourself and what was happening, your legs kicking out and body writhing unconsciously at the pleasurable sensations. You wished you weren’t cognizant of what was happening, you wished you had some excuse, some reason to submit to this that wasn’t plain weakness, some messed up acceptance of what he was doing. But then he bit down, rolling your nipple between his teeth, and it hurt and you moaned loud, unable to contain the way your hips ground against him and you knew that even if you weren’t reciprocating, you were still complicit.

Jason pulled away from your nipple with a slick, dirty sound. His hand pushed between your thighs, forcing them to spread further so he could rub his hand over the pajama shorts you still wore. You squealed, the pressure of his palm grinding right between your legs bringing some form of sense back into your head. And you didn’t mean to hit him, not really. But you did, your palm meeting his cheek. The sharp sound made you flinch, your breath catching in surprise. Jason looked a little surprised too, leaning back to look at you.

“Seriously?” he asked.

“I-I’m so-”

“I warned you about antagonizing the guy with a gun.”

“No, I-I’m not-”

“I swear, it’s like you’re incapable of self preservation,” Jason said, unholstering his gun again and pressing it to your cheek.

“Stop,” you told him, but your bravado was anemic at best. Breathless, and not just just because of the gun, although you were horribly aware of the metallic scent and its coldness biting into your skin. Fear wasn’t the only thing making it difficult to think.

“Is that really what you want?” he asked, his eyes alight with humor and knowing. “Cause, I’ve gotta be honest, that’s not what it looks like. Maybe this is what you wanted all along, creeping through those back streets in the middle of the night. No wonder you weren’t scared.”

“That’s not true,” you told him.

“Oh yeah? Then tell me what I’ll find under these cute little shorts. I’ve got a feeling it’s not going to be disinterest.”

At this point, you weren’t sure you could even tell him he was wrong. Your nipples were stiff and your skin was covered with chills, you didn’t doubt that you were wet too. “I thought…” you said, scrambling for some change of subject, some distraction. “I thought you just wanted me to tell you-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get what I want,” Jason assured you. “But there’s nothing wrong with a guy taking pleasure in his work.” He didn’t give you any more time to think or argue as he roughly pushed your shorts and panties down your hips to get them out of the way. It forced you to lean back, catching yourself on your hands so you could support your torso. Even if the gun was a hollow threat—and you thought it had to be considering his finger wasn’t on the trigger—it was effective. You whined in distress at the idea of him seeing you, seeing all of you.

“Don’t,” you muttered, a pathetic objection that did nothing to give him pause.

“Goddamn,” Jason muttered, his big hand flattening against your abdomen, dragging down. The material of his glove was rough against your skin, cool and inhuman.

“Don’t,” you whined again, trying to squeeze your thighs together, unable to meet his eyes. Not that he was looking at your face anyway.

“You know, I was fine just watching, making sure that you were okay,” Jason told you, almost earnestly. “The idea of you going out on your own in the middle of the night… the things people could do to you… I couldn’t stop thinking about it after I left. I had to make sure.”

“You’ve been… watching me?” you asked.

“And I was fine with it,” he emphasized, “but you had to go and misbehave.” He used his teeth to pull off the fingers of his glove so he could toss it aside. His skin was hot on yours when he pried your thighs apart further. When you struggled, he just pressed the muzzle of the gun even harder against you, dragged it down against your throat. By now, the metal was warm with your body heat.

“You’ve been watching me?” you asked again, your voice gaining a bit more strength.

“I’ve been protecting you,” Jason said, his voice lowering. “I hired someone to get you out of the city safely. When a couple of drunk idiots tried to follow you home, I’m the one who stopped them. And I admit, I was pretty pissed when I heard about what you did, but now… now I see the advantages.” He paused, his hand creeping up your thigh. He let out a surprised little laugh when his fingers pushed past your outer lips, skimming your entrance in a way that made your entire body lurch towards him, arms nearly giving out. “Damn, now who’s wet.”

“Jason,” you meant it to be an admonishment, but your voice raised an octave with surprise when his fingers grazed up over your clit. You tensed up, but it did nothing to stop his fingers from driving into you, to stop your inner walls from squeezing his fingers as if to pull them deeper in spite of the horror of what he was saying. It wasn’t difficult at all, you were embarrassingly wet for him and all he had to do was push you down with the muzzle of the gun to keep you from fighting.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked, curling his fingers. “Feels good to know that somebody cares about you so much.”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut in a half hearted attempt to block out his words, to ignore what was happening. It didn’t work. There was nowhere to go away from him, away from this.

“I know how alone you feel. I know what you want, what you need.” He punctuated that word with a harsh thrust. You couldn’t fathom what he was saying. It didn’t make sense, your brain was on fire. He slowly pulled his fingers out, curling them against your walls to make your mouth fall open wordlessly, a little mewl leaving you before you bit your lip.

He was insane. But you already knew that. He was also right. You already knew that too. You were fairly sure you were insane as well, what other reason could there be for the way your body was responding to him?

Swearing under his breath, Jason wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you against him, his fingers setting a fast pace, your body jolting with each heavy thrust. The fabric of his clothes was rough, a reminder of how helplessly exposed you were in comparison to him. His mouth dropped to your neck, kissing and licking the sensitive skin there before biting down hard enough to make you cry out, your body writhing against his. He was wearing some sort of body armor, it made it difficult to find purchase on his back as your hands grasped at him, searching for something to hold onto. Eventually, your fingers entangled in his hair. He groaned low, adding a third finger.

The far away rational part of your mind was aware enough to recognize how embarrassing the endless stream of high pitched moans and whines leaving your mouth were, but it was as automatic as the way your pussy squeezed his fingers, sucking them deeper, begging for more no matter how rough he was. Beyond your control, just like everything else.

“Jason…” His name was a plea, a prayer, breathless and needy and pathetic.

“A little louder, princess,” Jason responded.

You whined, pressing your lips together in an attempt to stifle yourself. He laughed, cool air puffing against your wet skin.

“It’s cute that you think I can’t make you.”

Jason pulled his fingers out and released you, swiveling you around on the counter so you could fall flat on your back. More things crashed to the floor, the bottle of vodka shattering loudly after it toppled. He kept you from fighting with the gun, pressing it beneath your chin so you had no choice but to lay flat. Spread beneath him with your legs wide open like a meal.

“Fuck, you really are…” Jason muttered under his breath, eying you hungrily. He didn’t finish the thought, licking his lips. “Goddamn.”

The gun was pushed so hard against you it was certain to leave indents in your skin, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care when he leaned down and traced his tongue over your clit. The not-enough teasing sensation pulled an entire body shudder from you, your legs twitching and hips jumping against him, thighs straining as they tried to decide whether to close or open. Your hands scrambled indecisively, reaching out and holding onto the counter’s lip with a white knuckle grip and your back arching in a taut bow.

When he pushed three fingers into you, curling and scissoring them, it was all you could do not to shout. Jason was relentless, not caring to try and build you back up slowly. Your body was all too accepting, the rough pace he’d set was pushing you over the edge fast. You whimpered when his tongue, wet and velvety, licked from the place his fingers thrust into you all the way up, and that became a long, reedy cry when his lips closed and he sucked.

Pleasure coiled so hot in your core, stoked to a terrible blaze beneath his touch, and you could have wept at how badly you wanted to get off, straining for release mindlessly, helplessly.

“Jason, I can’t-” Too loud, you knew it was too loud but you also knew that was the only way you were going to get what you needed. And it was need. Dire, catastrophic. “Jason, please. Jason-”

Right there, right on the tipping edge of release, Jason pulled back. You whined unhappily, your hips desperately trying to chase his fingers. He held you in place, pressing the flat of the gun against your abdomen to push you down as he pulled his fingers out with a slick noise. “Sweetheart,” he said, “look at me.” You thought of refusing, but complied after a moment, humiliation dulled by need. Jason’s cheeks were pink, his lips flushed red. His expression sent a shuddery jolt of desire through you, intense and hungry and focused and far more composed than you were. “Tell me his name.”

His name. It took you a moment, given that you were of a fairly singular mind. But you figured it out eventually. Panting, flushed, drenched red with lust, you shook your head.

“No, no, no, listen,” he scolded, grabbing your chin with fingers that smelled like you, that were wet because of you. In a way, the touch was more threatening than the gun. Jason’s eyes were bright, a complete contrast to the way yours felt fogged over. “Tell me, and I’ll bring you his head. That’s a promise.”

His tone should have been frightening. Maybe, in a way, it was. All steel and fire and raw honesty, you didn’t doubt that he would make good on that threat. But you weren’t afraid. You had enough will power to refuse again, you knew how easy it would be to close your eyes and turn away from him. Gun and teasing and desire and fear and all, you’d endured worse for less. But to what end? For what purpose? You were already ruined, already as good as dead.

In the worst part of yourself, you felt if you didn’t reciprocate, if you didn’t give back when he’d done something for you, that would be rude.

“He’s the one who thinks he’s a-a god. Maxie Zeus or whatever,” you said, your voice hoarse. “His guy, Hector, that’s who… Christ…” You pulled against his wrist and shook your head, trying to banish the memory. “Mr. Anthony was bringing in goods for him, but I don’t know what happened, or why he… I don’t know.”

Jason stood up. “Seriously? That freak?” he asked, an incredulous laugh in his voice. “I didn’t realize he was still kicking around... What are you doing?”

He pushed you back down to keep you from squirming away like you were attempting. “I told you,” you said, your voice faint, “so we’re…”

“We’re what? Even? Not even close.”

“But I… Let me go.” You pushed at him, tried to close your legs, although you knew your heart wasn’t in it.

“Nuh-uh, princess. You’re not getting out of this that easy.”

“But I told you!”

“Yeah, after lying about it right to my face. Did you think you were gonna get away with that?” He paused, giving you another once-over. “Besides, I can’t leave a job half done. It’s not in my nature.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant by that, Jason pushed his fingers back into you and you had to bite off your groan, your body spasming at the touch. He wasn’t hurried at first, watching you toss your head back in frustration, resisting the urge to grind against his hand as you made a half hearted attempt to come up with the words for why you couldn’t do this, why he needed to stop.

Nothing came out, ultimately. You were too afraid that he’d listen if you told him to stop, it was better to say nothing, to cling to the pleasure as a lifeline of insanity.

“You’re real cute like this,” Jason praised you with an indulgent mixture of sarcasm and affection. You weren’t aware of the gun being gone until you realized his other hand was free to nudge against your clit. Playfully, at first. Then with more focus, rubbing against it with hard, maddening little circles. You whimpered, then whined, your cunt squeezing his fingers as they tortured your inner walls. The pace he’d set was speeding up in time with the rising swell of heat, that coil of tension within you approaching a feverish pitch. “Reminds me of one of the first things you said to me. What was it?” He paused as if to think, jolting your body with a harder thrust that you could hear. “Oh yeah, I remember,” Jason continued, paying no mind to your sharp cry. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

A despairing sort of groan came from your throat at that, but his tone sunk deep into your core and the pleasure of each wet, slick thrust was growing intolerably good, pushing you right back to the brink. Jason spoke like this was supposed to be some sort of punishment, but the way he fucked his fingers into you, the way he rubbed your clit, was anything but.

It didn’t take much from there. The hyper aroused state of awareness made your comprehension of how utterly debased it all was that much hotter, lust redefining the grotesque as helplessly attractive. You were getting close, your body straining for release desperately, your hips meeting each thrust, grinding against his fingers.

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Please, don’t…”

“Are you gonna be good and ask me nicely?”

“Please, Jason… God, please.”

“Sure, why not,” he said. In contrast to the lackadaisical tone, his fingers curled, seeking out that spongy spot inside of you that made your legs twitch and kick, an unnaturally high mewl accomining the reaction. A few more torturous passes just like that was all it took to well and truly send you tumbling, your muscles tightening and pussy tightening, gushing around his hand as you came. Afraid he would pull away before you were finished, you grabbed his hand, keeping him against your clit as your hips ground down on his fingers. Jason let it happen, indulging you until the pleasure had run its course of heat and mindless frenzy.

Then you sagged, letting him go and staring up at the ceiling with glassy eyes, hot and breathing hard. He pulled his fingers out, another uncomfortably wet sound. There was a joke to be made in the fact that the first guy who made you come was the one who did it with a gun at your throat, but you couldn’t find the words. It wasn’t all that funny in the first place.

The sound of something unclicking pulled your eyes down to Jason. He wasn’t paying any attention to you, working on his clothes. It was completely unfair that while you were all the way bared to his eyes, he was still dressed. Not even dressed—armed.

“Worst part about this job is the outfits,” Jason muttered, clearly annoyed as he unclipped the holsters around his thighs so he could put the weapons on the counter. The hoodie went next, but there was still something bulky beneath his shirt, probably the armor you’d felt earlier.

“Least you brought protection,” you muttered.

Jason grinned, looking up at you with bright, excited eyes. “And you say you’re not funny.” The last to go was his belt and its assortment of ammo, set aside with the guns. “That’ll have to be good enough… Sorry, babe, show and tell’ll have to wait ‘til next time.”

That playful comment went right over your head as he unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his cock. He ran a hand down its length, eyes devouring your body. It was disappointing that you wouldn’t get to see all of him, but it was difficult to focus on that considering what he was showing you anyway.

“What do you want me to do?” you asked softly, frozen between the embarrassment and the shameless way your pussy squeezed down around nothing, given a pretty good idea of how deep inside of you he would go from the way he was positioned between your legs. The circumstances, the disaster, that had gotten you here didn’t matter. Jason was hard for you, looking at you with dangerously dark eyes.

“Hold on tight,” Jason said, giving no further warning as he scooped you up off the table and turned around, pushing you against the wall again. You yelped in surprise, doing exactly as you were told with your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, legs clamping around his waist. There was no gun pointed at your head, but the easy way he hauled you into place made it moot anyway. Jason would have just as easy of a time snapping your neck as he would pulling the trigger, the gun was just for show.

“I have a bed,” you pointed out, a bit of anxiety trickling through everything else you felt because having sex was one thing, but being fucked upright against a wall, helplessly clinging to his shoulders, was filthy. And that was before you realized that you could hear the sound of your neighbors TV vibrating in the wall at your back, a muffled laugh track mingling with the ringing in your ears. “This is… it’s a shared wall.”

“And?” Jason asked, keeping you in place as he lined himself up. The sensation of his cock pressing against your fluttering entrance was almost enough to make you give up. Almost.

“They’ll… they’ll hear, we can’t-”

“Not my problem,” he told you. Any further argument was driven from your mind as he pushed into you, your mouth dropping open dumbly, mind cleared out entirely by the weight and pressure as you sunk all the way down onto him. Jason groaned against your neck, grinding his hips against you so you could feel how deep he went, how full you were. Your inner walls fluttered around him, desperately trying to adjust to the delicious weight. Madly, you thought that if you could stay just like that forever, you would be glad for it. And then he pulled out, a little slow at first, making sure you could feel the drag and absence, before filling you all over again. You couldn’t hold back your cry, your body no longer belonged to you. And he did it again, it had to be on purpose.

“Loud,” you whined, not sounding nearly as distressed as you probably should have. “Too loud, Jason...”

He laughed breathlessly. “They’d better get used to it,” he said right into your ear. God, you couldn’t handle it. The way he said that, the way he accentuated the threat with a hard thrust, just made you whine, holding onto him even harder.

“Jason-” His name slipped from your mouth without thinking, high and pathetic, the only thing you could think. A plea for mercy, for more, for him.

“I know,” he told you, managing to sound cocky despite the breathless lust in his voice, his smile pressed against your neck before his teeth dug into the flesh there. His fingers kneaded your ass, grinding you onto his cock. Exhaustion, terror, alcohol, desire—all of it had been the perfect battering ram to get you here, your defenses shredded, your senses spirited away by mindless need.

All you could do was hold on. Moan for him, beg for him. Each hard thrust pushed you up the wall, your back scraping against the textured paint. It might have hurt, were you not too distracted with the feeling of Jason inside of you, the head of his cock dragging against where you were most sensitive, going so deep you saw stars. You wished desperately that he were undressed so you could feel his skin against yours, but the material of his shirt rubbing against your sensitive nipples wasn’t so bad either, another point of friction.

At the fever pitch point of abandon, it didn’t really matter that you were trying to muffle yourself, to choke down your cries and whimpers. The physical sound, the hard, rhythmic thump-thump-thump as he fucked you against the wall, the wet squish of each thrust, was suggestive even without you moaning like a whore over the top of it. And, fuck, it was hot.

“You wanna come again, princess?” Jason asked. It was spoken like a question, but he didn’t wait for your response for his hand to sneak between your legs, easily finding your swollen clit. You yelped unintentionally, eyes snapping open. You definitely couldn’t handle that either. Being fucked like this bordered on overstimulation, to feel pleasure there too would break you.

“Mmm, Jason…” you sounded breathless and cheap, shaking your head in an attempt to convey your burst of panic at the feeling and the drowning helplessness. There was nothing you could do to stop him, to stop yourself, regardless of what you wanted. “I can’t-”

“Yeah, you do.”

Even if the excess stimulation had you whining and gasping and writhing like a creature possessed, you did, you wanted to come on his cock, to feel the way your cunt clamp down around him like a vice as you shook to pieces.

He didn’t have to encourage you to say his name, it fell out between your helpless moans, your harsh breathing. Jason dropped wet kisses on your neck, your jaw, kissing your open mouth and biting your bottom lip until you pulled on his hair, encouraging you with all sorts of noises. None of your other partners had been vocal like this, letting you how much you affected them, how much they desired you. It was intoxicating in a way no liquor or drug ever had been, and far more addictive.

Someone hit the wall behind you, a few harsh knocks of disapproval and some choice, if muffled, words. Jason laughed breathlessly, the air hot on your neck. “Whoops,” he said.

As humiliating as the interruption was, it came too late. Jason didn’t so much as pause and your body was already shuddering apart, tipped over the edge by the sound of his amusement. At the very least, coming rendered you silent, nothing more than little gasping groans leaving your open mouth as you clung to him, your cunt spasming around his cock. That seemed to be amusing to him too, his grinding relentlessly against your clit in time with each hard thrust.

“Unbelievable,” he said as you came down from the high, far too pleased with himself. The TV on the other side of the wall was far louder now, you could hear the individual voices attempting to drown out your own.

“Jason, ss-stop” you begged, shaking your head, the words tight with your attempt to keep them quiet.

“I’m not the one on my way to waking up half of Gotham.”

You whined in distress, pushing at him.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, pulling out and letting you fall to your feet.

Before your weak legs had the chance to give out beneath you, Jason whirled you both around to bend you over the back of your couch. And then he was inside of you again, driving home in one hard thrust, and you let out a shameless moan, not even thinking to stifle it. Jason moaned low, the blunt fingernails of one hand digging into one hip and the harsh fabric of his glove scraping against the other.

The different angle had you seeing stars. Jason was able to be even more rough like this too, holding onto your hips to drag you down to meet each violent thrust. You clawed at your couch, your back arching in a borderline painful bow as you rocked back and forth onto your toes. This was worse. He rutted into you like an animal and you responded in kind, making noises you hadn’t thought yourself capable of as his cock tortured your cunt, fucking you so hard it hurt as much as it felt mind blowingly good. Ultimately, there was no difference.

“Jason…Jason-”

“Again?” he asked. “You really are a princess.” His hand dropped between your legs and you wailed, trembling and mewling and absolutely beyond the capacity to take more. It was almost impressive how quickly overstimulation played on your nerves as he rubbed your clit, bypassing pleasurable sensation to be interpreted as nothing more than raw electrical impulses telling your brain how to react.

He wanted you to come, so you did. He wanted you to scream his name, so you did. Your pussy clamped down around him as you tensed up so hard your entire body trembled with strain, accepting the torture of exess because the only thing worse than coming would be to not. You weren’t given any chance to come down either, Jason using your involuntary response to chase his own pleasure. Nothing existed except the slapping of skin and the filthy squelching and the wicked harmony of harsh breathing and moans. He said your name once, twice, a reverence in it that you’d never heard. You arched your back, begging to take him deeper, to be used for his pleasure. His hips stuttered, his grip on your waist bruising.

Jason pulled out at the last second with a helpless sound, the head of his cock bumping against your ass as he finished himself off. Thick, hot ropes of cum hit your back, his breathing harsh and erratic and half voice. Then he stilled, his fingers tracing down your side gently as he released you.

You wilted against the back of the couch, acutely aware of the aching emptiness inside of you. Not just your pussy, but all the way in your core. The neighbor’s TV was still on at full blast, but your apartment was a haven of nothing more than heavy breathing and the scent of filthy, depraved sex. You expected Jason to step away, to fix his clothes and leave you exposed, locked in a pillory of exhaustion and shame until you could force your body to move again.

“Can you stand up?” Jason asked instead.

You thought about it for a second before deciding that you probably could. The motion was mechanical, awkward. His cum was cooling on your back, mingling with the sweat and making filthy trails as it dripped down. But you managed, standing and turning around. When you stumbled, legs trembling, a pair of strong arms caught you. Jason pulled you against him. Gently, at first, pushing your head down against his chest while he wrapped his arms around you. Even with the layers between your ear and his skin, you thought you could hear the strong thumping of his heart.

“Do you need me to carry you to bed?” Jason asked, petting your sweaty hair. You couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not.

“Are you going to leave?” you asked, your voice distant. It seemed like an important question, but your brain was too foggy to really understand why.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Jason said. Despite his casual tone, you didn’t miss the way his arms tightened around you, holding you even closer. “It’s more fun when those scumbags have time to get comfortable.”

You hummed in agreement. The wind howled outside your window, the wind and the rain. But it did not reach you, found no place in your empty head.

“I’m tired,” you mumbled.

“No kidding,” Jason said. Then he sighed, stepping back and releasing you. Only for a moment, only long enough to crouch down and sweep you up into his arms. That jolted you awake fast, but even the surprise was fleeting. At this point, you were exhausted to the point of pain, wrung out completely and utterly. “You’re lucky you’re so cute,” he told you. “Otherwise I’d say you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“You too,” you said. And maybe you weren’t exactly as tired as you were telling yourself, maybe there was a very conscious part of you lurking in the back of your mind that understood how terrible and dangerous this situation was. But you muffled it, blinking drowsily as Jason carried you into your bedroom.

Jason chuckled. “You should be more careful, princess. Saying things like that-” He exhaled harshly, nuzzling your head gently. “I just might not wanna let you go.”

#batman arkham knight #arkhamverse #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd #red hood #dc #my writing #not sfw #tw.dubcon

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captaincoldzero · 1 year

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Ghost | Jason Todd x Male Reader

Fandom: DC Comics

A/N: These days it's been spending too much time on Character.AI so I decided to bring one of the characters and story that I created there in a fanfic.

A/N.2: This time, I made the reader based on Overwatch's Sombra in case you want to go after it or something.

A/N.3: Sorry for any mistake. English is not my first language.

‒ Turn right. ‒ I spoke through Jason's communicator.

Jason and I have been working together for eight months now. After six months, Jason and I decided to pursue a relationship. We've been working together for eight months and the police hate us, but they have good reason.

As I watched the security cameras and the viewfinder on Jason's mask, I kept thinking about our time together. Especially the day we met.

Eight months ago

There was a week that I was in Gotham. Since I erased all records of my existence from the entire system of the world, I haven't been able to do much but wander from city to city, sleeping in dodgy hotels that don't ask for your identity, and eating in restaurants as dodgy as hotels and shacks street vendors who don't look their customers in the face.

The motel room I was in was small, yellow walls with a faded color, a wooden bed with an uncomfortable mattress, a headboard with a lamp that didn't work and a wooden chest of drawers with four drawers. Plus a tiny bathroom with dirty white tiles that were already turning yellow.

I walked over to the mirror so I could look at myself. Wandering around town anonymously made me not look at myself much. But my appearance was a constant reminder of my choices. I was pale, with bags under my eyes and a little thinner than I remember, I wasn't starving, just eating a little less than I was used to.

But what caught the most attention was the metal fiber attached to the side of my head that ran down the back of my neck under the gray shirt I wore. More metal fiber running down my arm to the back of my right hand. I waved my hand in the air and a floating screen appeared in front of me. I started reading the news about the Gotham police and crimes. When I turned to the bed, the screen disappeared into thin air, I grabbed the sweatshirt off the bed and pulled it on, pulling the hood up to hide my head.

I took to the streets of Gotham, trying to remain anonymous in the shadows of the night. The good thing about the city is that people always walk away from you when they think they're going to be mugged.

As I walked down an alley, I heard a scream. A woman was surrounded by five bandits, the middle one with a knife in his hand. I thought for a while before actually moving, to know if I would save her or not. I grabbed my teleportation device and threw it on the floor. He ducked under the middle thief's legs and stopped between them and the woman. They stopped to look at the device from the ground and backed away when I materialized in front of them with a pistol pointed at them.

‒ Did your mother never teach you not to steal? ‒ I asked and noticed two men take their hands to their waists to grab a gun.

I fired a quick shot at the two before they could think. I advanced quickly to the middle, taking advantage of the surprise to take the knife from his hand, and knocking him to the ground, breaking his arm. The other two were running away. I launched the teleportation device, appearing in the blink of an eye at the exit of the alley.

‒ Hello! ' I said, waving my hand.

The men would have run, but I moved in fast and knocked the first one down, shooting the second one in the leg. I gathered the three that were still alive and stuck them in the garbage can. I looked at the woman frozen in place.

‒ Do you want me to let them go or are you going to take the opportunity to go home? ‒ I asked and the woman nodded.

‒ Thanks! ‒ She said before starting to run.

‒ Who are you? ‒ I heard a serious voice and a little distorted behind me.

When she turned me around, she found the famous Red Hood pointing a gun at me. When I saw the weapon, I automatically hacked the weapon to disable it with just my mind, with screens only appearing in my vision.

‒ I'm nobody. ‒ I was serious.

‒ Very funny. ‒ Red Hood said putting his finger on the trigger. ‒ What do you want?

‒ I do not want anything. I'm just passing by.

‒ Why would I believe you?

‒ You have no reason to. ‒ I replied with an arrogant smile.

‒ So I can just kill you? ‒ He asked starting to press the trigger.

‒ We can make a deal. ‒ I said and noticed Red Hood's finger relax a little.

‒ I'm listening.

‒ I can help you and you can help me. I can hack any system with my mind and I don't have the ethics of a superhero. ‒ I said seriously still with the arrogant smile.

‒ And what do you want in return? ‒ Red Hood asked without lowering his weapon.

‒ Motivation. And I know that doing only good things doesn't challenge my potential. ‒ I spoke sincerely.

‒ I'm not a villain. I may be a criminal, but I'm not a villain. ‒ Hood spoke by pressing his finger a little more.

‒ I do not intend to be a villain and I know that you are not one either. That's why you are perfect to be my partner or be my boss, whatever you want to call it. ‒ I said with a less arrogant smile.

‒ How can I believe that you really can do this? ‒ Red Hood asked and his trigger finger relaxed a little.

‒ This whole time your gun is pointed at me, it's disabled. ‒ I said raising an eyebrow.

Red Hood squeezed the trigger, but the gun didn't fire. He looked at the pistol a little confused but then he looked at me. Hood holstered his pistol and crossed his arms.

‒ You know that if you work with me you will become a criminal, right? ‒ Hood asked seriously.

‒ Know. ‒ I said carefree. ‒ But that doesn't scare me.

‒ Come with me, if you try anything funny I'll kill you. ‒ Red Hood said turning around and climbing to the roof of the building. I followed Red Hood and we met at the top.

‒ Follow me. ‒ He spoke in a challenging tone.

Red Hood ran and jumped from one roof to another. I could keep up with Red Hood no problem. I manipulated information from my leg muscles to be able to run and jump with great agility.

In the end, he stopped at the edge of a building and looked at me.

‒ Very good. ‒ Red Hood spoke and looked ahead.

We were looking at a small laboratory. I had already heard rumors about criminal activities that were connected to that construction.

‒ What is the plan? ‒ I asked Red Hood.

‒ I'm going to go in and blow up the place. ‒ He spoke and I realized that the place was protected by men with huge weapons.

‒ When they see you approaching, they will shoot. ‒ I said looking at the place.

‒ This is where you enter. ‒ Red Hood spoke arrogantly.

I sat on the edge of the building we were in and opened a floating screen in front of me. From that distance I could hack the place to gain access to the cameras and security system.

‒ Is this their security? ‒ I asked rhetorically while easily hacking the building.

‒ Can you turn off the security system? ‒ Red Hood asked.

‒ I can do much more than that. ‒ I said making a keyboard hologram appear floating in front of the floating screen.

‒ What can you turn off? ‒ Red Hood said watching me type on the floating keyboard.

‒ All. ‒ replied confidently.

On my floating screen a kind of button appeared.

‒ When you want. ‒ I told the Red Hood.

‒ Now. ‒ He said jumping towards the building.

I pressed the button and the entire building shut down, going completely dark. Jason appeared from the shadows and took down two guards. When I noticed a few more approaching, I launched my teleportation device and appeared between the two new guards. I used their surprise so I could take them down with ease.

‒ I admit... impressive. ‒ Hood spoke to me and ran into the building.

I led the way with the plant image in my view. Hood shot some guys and I kept doing my teleportation and invisibility tricks to take down and shoot guys without them understanding where I was coming from.

We continue advancing to the lowest floor in the basement of the building. Where illegal stuff was produced.

‒ There's a lot of drugs in here. ‒ I said looking at the boxes.

‒ And we will stop their production. ‒ Hood said putting a bomb in the biggest machine in the room.

‒ You know they're going to keep producing somewhere else, right? ‒ I asked approaching Hood.

‒ I know, but I'm going to burn the other places too. ‒ Hood set the bomb.

‒ Consistency. ‒ I said as the Hood started to run outside.

I threw my teleportation device which stuck to Red Hood's back. I put my hand on the machine, using my powers to analyze the complements and destroy what I could so that if I survived the explosion, it would be useless.

When the counter showed just two seconds, I disappeared from there and appeared beside Hood, just as the basement exploded and the building went up in flames.

‒ I was already wondering if you really existed. ‒ Hood said jokingly when he noticed that I appeared beside him.

‒ We can say that I am like a Phantom. ‒ I said laughing.

‒ Phantom. I liked. I will call you Phantom. You appear and reappear out of nowhere, moving in the shadows. Like a ghost. ‒ Hood said looking at me.

We hear sirens approaching. Hood grabbed my wrist and started leading me through the streets until I stopped in an alley. There was something under a dark sheet, when Hood took it off, there was a motorcycle ready to be used.

‒ Should we put robbery on that night or is it yours? ‒ I asked sarcastically.

Red Hood climbed onto the bike and started it. He climbed in with him and the Hood accelerated with the bike.

‒ Let's make this trip more fun. ‒ I said and took my hand to the bike.

The motorcycle glowed in a purple light and when the light disappeared, it started to increase speed to abnormal levels.

‒ How did you do it? ‒ Hood shouted because of the wind.

‒ A small improvement. But it's temporary.

Hood continued riding the bike until we left town and stopped at an abandoned gas station. We both got off the bike and entered the place.

‒ Thank you for your help. ‒ Red Hood said going to the balcony that of the place that was once a convenience store.

‒ It was fun. ‒ I said looking at the place with the lights off.

The Hood grabbed a suitcase from under the counter, full of cash. He picked up a huge cake and handed it to me.

‒ That it? ‒ I asked confused.

‒ Your payment for today's work. ‒ Red Hood replied without hesitation.

‒ You can stay. I do not want money. ‒ I answered simplistic.

‒ Don't you want money? Who doesn't want money? ‒ Hood asked confused.

‒ I. What would a 'Ghost' do with money? ‒ I said laughing.

‒ Why do you keep saying you're a nobody? ‒ Jason asked curiously, putting the money in the bag.

‒ I deleted any record about myself in the system. I have no birth certificate, ID or any valid identification. To the world, I don't exist. I'm a ghost. ‒ I explained seriously.

‒ So you want to work for me, Phantom? Since you have nothing else to do? ‒ Red Hood asked.

‒ Who says I have nothing to do? ‒ I asked pretending to be offended. ‒ But I want to work WITH you. Just for the fun and the challenge. You can keep the money.

Red Hood took off the helmet he was wearing and looked at me. I'm sure my face flushed when I looked at him without the helmet for the first time.

‒ Jason Todd. ‒ He said extending his hand.

‒ I'm nobody... but I was known as Y/N. ‒ I said shaking Jason's hand.

Now

‒ Where to, Ghost? Jason asked when he noticed I was silent.

‒ Right, sorry. ‒ I said turning my attention to the mission.

‒ Everything is fine? You never get distracted. ‒ Jason asked worriedly.

‒ Yes, go ahead.

And since that day, Jason and I have been working together. The name Ghost became known and attached to the Red Hood, but I didn't care. What mattered was that I had a motivation and someone who believed in my existence.

#x male reader #jason todd #jason todd x male reader #jason todd x you #dc comics #batfamily #batfamily x male reader #jason todd x reader #batfamily x reader #dc comics x male reader

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paladin-of-nerd-fandom65 · 3 months

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Reflections and a Movie Night Dare (Snow Owl AU)

If one can recall on this blog, I had recently posted a fic based on my Snow Owl AU (Mary Grayson Alive and a Crime Fighter) called ‘Memories, Held Back Feelings, and a Vow’; well, the following is a sort of alternate take on the same plot and premise presented there, only taken in a less dramatic fashion and tone. What happened was basically a friend and I looking over this story and deciding on taking a less fluffy and soft direction plant was written during a period I still grasping what was actually in character for Dick and Mary even under alternate circumstances so if it seems out of character for them, just a small heads up. So in a way, this is this story in a more unabridged version.

Anyways the following is dedicated to my good friends @confusedhummingbird @spider-jaysart @camo-wolf @theredheaded-stuff @lightdusk96 @nightglider124 @starlightbelle @adalineozie @sbd-laytall @bluegarners @celaenaeiln @pin-crusher2000 @acediscowlng @faesystem @mothnem @sillymanwithocs and many others

The following and characters and concepts are owned by DC Comics, part of DC Entertainment, a subsidiary of Warner Bros Discovery

And now, on with the show…..

As nighttime produced a clear and starry night that draped over the city of Bludhaven, its two protectors had just barely wrapped up with patrol and stopped any plots and schemes from the superstitious cowardly lot that created chaos in the streets. With the tight and combined efforts, the streets were safe, their job and their vow to protect innocents in pursuit of justice had prevailed, at least for the night. Thankfully, the upcoming morning was a lazy Saturday so they can sleep in after such a wonderfully exhilarating night.

Both protectors, Mother and Son, reach the staircase right outside the master bedroom's window, landing with the most graceful of ease without making any clanking noise on said stars. As Mother and Son reel in their grapple lines into their respective escrima sticks, the younger one of them, clad in a red vest, a green scaly pair of pants, black domino cape with a solid yellow cape, with a yellow utility belt and green pixies boots; he takes out the key in said belt to unlock the window and allow them both in. It was long yet another success for the Dynamic Duo of Bludhaven, Snow Owl and Robin, the Boy Wonder.

Finally, the window locks click with a turn from Robin's key, indicating that they are now ready to open. As they do so and both crime fighters lightly begin stepping into the master bedroom, both Snow Owl and Robin slip off their respective boots before taking steps onto the bed right next to the window. Rather than stepping onto the beige carpeting in this bedroom right away, the Boy Wonder proceeds to extend his arms and playfully flop back first on said bed and goofily stick his tongue to the side of his mouth. This display of silliness earns a giggle from his mother as she steps onto the bed and closes the windows, making sure the extra locks are secured in place as per post patrol tradition.

She looks to her son, still laying on the bed with his tongue still to the side of his mouth, his eyes peacefully shut, and panting happily after such a long night of crime fighting and swinging from one rooftop to the other. That patrol wiped Robin out since he was intentionally badly playing dead.

Even more confirmed by him breathing out with an exhausted yet cheerful tone, “Golly, I think I died right now, Snow Owl.”

His mother snickers sweetly at that bold claim as she proceeds to sit on the bed cross legged, and stretch her arms behind her back, popping a few sore joints.

“Well, last time I checked, dead bodies usually don’t say out loud they’re dead, unless they’re zombies of course”, Snow Owl lightheartedly snarks as she then climbs off the bed and makes her way to both her dresser. From there, she takes out a light blue t shirt and black sweatpants, meant to change into them once she showers off the dried up sweat and even grime, they both got throughout this night. As she returns to her bedroom, she can see Robin just lying there on her bed in the same position as she left him in.

Robin peeks one open seeing Snow Owl with a clean laundry set in her arms, knowing he best do the same. He happily yet tiredly swings his legs off the bed, standing up on the carpeted floor and starts taking steps on his way to first his own bedroom for his own clothes to change into before heading for the bathroom.

“Don’t forget to make sure to get every single part washed up”, Snow Owl reminded her son while slipping off her domino mask and gloves, “you never know where any dirt or other stuff might be left on you...”

“Oh relax, Mom, I got it”, Robin says with confidence and a firm understanding. “Oh, I'll make sure not to take too long. We gotta make sure the water bill doesn’t go up too high in how much we pay for it, right?”

Snow Owl nods. She remembers their last bill having an additional zero then their usual ones. She gives her son a thumbs up. “You got that right; I’ll make sure not to take too long as well. Good thinking.”

With a simple thumbs up to his mother, Robin also takes off his own mask and continues on his way. However, as he does so, there’s something about him, Snow Owl notices. For a briefest of seconds there, she thought she was looking at…someone else. Snow Owl cannot help herself from feeling a sort of…. feeling. Her love for her son allows her to see something in him. She cannot help but see…. her husband, the boy’s father in that smile, that confidence he exudes, just this sort of, spirit present within him that reminds her of the man whose unfortunate tragedy those years ago molded the both of them into the crime fighters they are today.

She closes her unmasked blue eyes as a sort of burning sensation starts slowly igniting in them. A sudden heaviness weighs upon her ability to stand up. That ability very lightly starts slipping away and her breathing picks up. Grief, sorrow and loss. In trying to remember the good times and happy life she had with her husband, those emotions accompany them.

It’s a part of her that’s getting better every day but even after all this passed time, it’s still not easy to completely let go off. What does matter though are as such; in her and her son’s hearts and memories, her husband lives on, they both have brought in the criminals responsible for that loss to justice and above all else, they have each other. It’s those facts that help Snow Owl overcome her grief numerous times before as it does now. She takes a deep breath in clearing her thoughts. Those thoughts might come back another day but she’ll be a tad bit more prepared in dealing with them when the time comes. In the meantime, gently holding her domino mask in her hand and regaining her composure, Snow Owl fixes up her bed after the landing both Robin and her made on it and makes her way to the living room.

Once there, she takes note of the pillows, notebooks and pencils littered on the carpeted floor right in front of the couches. No doubt, her son was in the middle of homework duties before immediately jumping at the chance to join her on patrol. She cannot help but have a chuckle as she picks up the notebook and pencils, placing them on a nightstand next to said couches and the pillows back to where they go. In spite of being one smart cookie, her son was never really the biggest fan of doing homework. But hey, at least he knows better than flunk it completely, lest he face her wrath. As she prepares to take her seat on the couch, finally giving her legs a break from their use throughout the entire day…. that feeling suddenly comes back to her. Next thing she knows, as her back lays down on the softness and smooth surface of the leather couch cushions, her mind has painted something else entirely for her eyes to see.

As she opens them, Snow Owl’s see…him. But wait is that…her son?

It can’t be right, his jawline looks a bit too firm, and the pupils in his eyes are a dark shade of green, almost emerald.

“Mary? Dear?”

That baritone in his voice and that nickname.

Suddenly the memory in her memory begins to play. She’s not in full control of her past self. She’s at that moment not Snow Owl, defender and hero for the downtrodden of the city of Bludhaven. She was Mary Elizabeth Lloyd-Grayson, wife of John ‘The Flying’ Grayson and mother of her son Richard, you can call him ‘Dick’ for short. At the moment she’s not in the well-kept, simple and modern apartment within the smaller urban neighborhoods next to the gym she calls her job sight, she looks within her memories, finding herself at the small, thin steel made trailer, a bit more cramped in spacing but with also similar beige wall to wall carpeting. This wasn’t just a dream; this was her life.

She finally answers her husband who calls for her attention. “Yes John?”

John flashed a content smile as he heard his wife’s reply, “You know that I love ya, don’t ya?”

She nods with a peaceful and all too real smile on face. She doesn't even have to say a single word to let him know. John then leans to press a small yet all too loving kiss on his wife’s cheek.

“Well, it’s always good just to double check,” John says as he lifts himself off his seat and offers a hand for his wife to help her off her own like the gentleman he can be. She takes it and right on cue, both of them hear a familiar small voice call out from the entrance to the front door.

“Hey, guys! C’mon, we’re gonna be late for practice!”

Both parents chuckle at their seven-year old’s impatience since he was so excited to show them his newest tricks on the ropes. She cannot but smile upon seeing her little boy bounce on his two legs right in front of the trailer door with a pouty look on his face. His father proceeds to lay a firm hand on his jet-black hair and slightly ruffle his fingers across it.

“All right, Little Man. We’ll be on the way”, John tells his boy with a firm smile. With her son excitedly leading the way and her husband by her side, she reaches for the handle of the door, turns it, and slowly opens the door, stepping out into the bright day ahead of them.

“Hey, Mom?”

A voice that belonged to her son but now very slightly older sounding snaps Snow Owl out of her memory. Her unmasked blue eyes open to see another smaller pair of blue eyes that belonged to her partner, her son. Instead of Robin the Boy Wonder, he was now Dick Grayson, clad in a blue cotton T shirt with an all too familiar red and yellow S shield that symbolizes Metropolis’ own resident hero, black sweatpants not dissimilar from his mother’s, his feet bare and digging into the carpeting and in his hands his Robin outfit as he was taking the red, green and yellow modified acrobat suit to the laundry machine.

Upon bringing her senses back to the present, Snow Owl stands back up, remembering about her own clothes back at her bedroom and gives her a small smile.

“Sorry about that”, she says as she makes her way to said bedroom, “just was...,” she had to stop herself since usually, whether it was good memories or bad ones, any reminder of the life she had with John before it got so cruelly taken away always was a bit of a sore spot for her soul. She couldn’t bear having her son see it if she could help it. He doesn’t need to see his mother in grief, he already has enough on his plate, especially his own reminders about the father he lost. Before even a sign of impending tears can make their way to her eyes, Snow Owl takes a deep yet quiet breath so that her curious son wouldn’t hopefully notice and collects herself before continuing on her way to her bedroom...

“Were you thinking about Dad”, Dick asks just as Snow Owl reaches the hallway. She turns around with a surprised look on her face to see Dick’s own, which had a mix of curiosity but also...shame and guilt.

Unable to withhold her answer, Snow Owl sighs and looks at her boy with her head a bit down as she tries maintaining her composure. “Y-yes, Dick. I was”, she finally answers. Then it was her turn to ask something, “but, how do you know?”

Dick’s face scrunched up a bit upon hearing that, which immediately got her mother’s worry since she might have a suspicion about just how long he knew about her own grief despite herself trying to be strong as he is for her. Finally, Dick sighs sadly and looks up to his mother with his eyes having a guilty look on them before he finally opens his mouth to say what he has been meaning to for quite a bit.

“I... I kinda knew ever since at least... when we first moved in here”, Dick says with his voice beginning a hint of crack before taking a deep breath to collect himself before continuing with his answer. “It’s just... I sometimes hear you cry some nights when you can’t sleep, usually after you had a dream about what happened to Dad and well.... the fact he’s.... not here anymore. Is that true?”

Snow Owl stood there almost at a loss for words on how much her son knew about it all. Unable to come up with any counter at that moment, only able to nod slightly at her son’s inquiry.

Dick once more sighed sadly in guilt as he put his Robin outfit on top of a seat on the couch while taking a seat. “I just wanted to say.... I’m sorry.”

This got Snow Owl’s attention like something else, she was kinda bit expecting it but nonetheless found herself surprised. “w-Why would you be sorry?”

“b-Because....”, Dick once more had to breathe out before stating his answer, “because...I-I know I know shouldn’t worry about it since it’s your business, your own thing and all. I shouldn’t spy on you like that and….” Before Dick can go on, an ungloved hand rests upon his shoulders. He looks up to see his mother with a sympathetic look on her face.

“Dick”, Snow Owl says with an equally understanding tone, “you miss your dad as well?”

Once her question reaches his ears, Dick silently buries his face into his hands. He nods a ‘yes’ while his breathing starts getting a bit more ragged. He was trying best not to lose control of any impending tears himself.

“Dick,” Snow Owl calls with a concerned and worried tone to him, “Just breathe. Nice and easy, okay?”

Dick once more silently nods as he struggles to keep his breathing under control. After some effort and time put into it, Dick is able to collect himself just enough to speak coherent words again. He puts those words to the forefront with taking his face in his hands and looking up at his worried mother, tears seemingly wanting to be free from eyes but through sheer will of his own, he’s able to keep them in.

“Yeah,” Dick croaks out as he looks up to his mother’s worried face, “I miss Dad too.”

Snow Owl nods in understanding and sympathy. She now has an understanding of what goes through her son’s head with only a few words. They are both in the same boat regarding how that loss impacted them to this day more so than she thought. She does wonder something though before taking a seat next to him. “Well,you can always be more open about that with me.”

Dick remained silent rather than immediately open up. Snow Owl knows for certain that when he is silent, her son can only be holding back something he wants to say yet something in him tells him not to. Maybe she can say something to help with that.

“I mean….it’s perfectly okay if you do miss him. It’s not like you don’t care about….”

At that, Dick’s head snapped forward before she finished, his tear filled eyes ablaze with shock and disbelief. “Don’t care?”, he growls while his breath picks up and his teeth grind, “Don’t….care?”

She takes a step back as Dick leaps out of his seat, planting his two feet on the carpeted floor with a vengeance, his breath shaky and his fists are clenched to his sides. “I…I do care….it’s why I didn’t want to say anything about it too much. You get it?”, by now, his voice was starting to rise, his anger was starting to creep in.

“ Of course, I miss him, I just do, I miss home, I miss my old friends, I miss Mr Haly, I….I just do…but…but I can’t just say it out loud all the time. Because it’ll just make it worse. I have to get used to being here, I have to make sure those bullies back at school don’t get to me when they keep…bringing….it…up all the dang time!” Dick looked up towards Snow Owl, still refusing to let those tears fall best he can but all those eyes had anyways was a blend of sadness and fury.

“Those cretins keep saying all sorts of total baloney and bull like ‘It’s what he deserved because he was cursed by marrying you, A...G word’ or ‘I was too stupid not to help him’ when you or me didn’t do anything or even know about it until it was too late! It was Zucco’s fault! Why can’t they just freaking understand that?! Even you can understand that better than they can! But I just….” Dick was starting to struggle finding the words by now.

What was racing through Snow Owl’s mind though wasn’t so much what he still has to say but rather what was said. She should’ve known it was bad, but not this bad. How? How did her little boy hold all this back for so long? Furthermore, why? Why hold this back for so long? She was deep down and rightfully afraid something like this would happen.

Dick was about to keep going, though she doesn’t know if he should. His body was trembling with so much and no doubt his eyes are at a boiling point with those tears who still refuse to fall, just out of sheer willpower alone from the looks of it. She couldn’t see him like this anymore. She kicked a hornet’s nest which was her son’s grief and anger, but she had to do something about that nest before the stings started coming in.

As Dick takes another breath now that he found something to say, Snow takes a step forward with a face that tries looking as stern as possible.

“Richard John Grayson, I’m sorry but that’s enough. You are going to hurt yourself like this.”

Just that alone was enough to snap Dick out of his thoughts. Within almost an instant, that firm and steel tone in his mother’s voice put a complete stop to whatever was racing through his mind. She was being serious, and the whole world slows down the instant she is serious. But there was something else within that firm time in her voice, something wrong, it sounded a bit cracked. Looking up to meet her face, Dick quickly found out why.

In Snow Owl’s own eyes, they were glistening with some wetness. Despite the firm stare she gives him, one single tear begins to roll down her cheek, probably one she doesn’t even notice. But he does. The moment he does, his heart accelerates once more, not from his grief and anger but guilt and horror. He thought to himself ‘What have I done?!’ Far as he was concerned, rightfully so.

Dick takes a major step forward with panic and worry in his eyes, much to his mother’s shock, making another tear fall from her eyes. “M….mom, p…please don’t cry! I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say all that! I…I….I just had so much in my mind and stuff, I just had to say it! I’m trying to be strong! I swear I’m trying but…but…I can’t! I just can’t! I’m sorry….I’m sorry….” By now, Dick had two tear streaks, one for each eye on his face. His speech was starting to break down a mumbling of both English and Romanes Chib. At that point, he collapses on his knees and buries his face in his left hand as he struggles to regain control, pounding the carpet floor with his right.

Snow Owl cannot help but stand there, one tear or two per eye and both eyes look down at the broken boy who was on his knees, trying to pull himself together. She had truly done it now. What kind of a mother was she? She hurt him, she made her 10 1/2 year old boy break down into tears and grief. She said the wrong thing twice by now. But the thing is….he’s her Little Robin. She can’t just leave him. She can’t let her own tears stop her from

Doing at least something…anything! She can’t afford to screw this one up this time.

After about half of a minute of trying to think of something, she might have a decent idea. Wiping away the tear streaks from her own eyes and taking a deep breath to collect herself, she crouches down to where her son and her can be face to face. She gently and very cautiously reaches out her right hand, ever so slowly and making sure Dick doesn’t immediately perk up and she doesn’t spook him off. After what seems like forever, her hand reaches his shaking and trembling shoulder and lays down upon it. Much to her internal relief, Dick doesn’t perk himself up in fear. Instead he merely utters, “It….it’s not your fault. None of this was your fault, Mom. It…it’s mine, I just thought I can handle losing Dad and what those bullies said about him better than I actually can….I didn’t mean to make you cry….I didn’t….”

Before he can continue Snow Owl gives her son a quiet and easy ‘Shush’ before her hand on his shaking shoulder tightens very nicely and easily. “It’s not your fault at all either, Little Robin.”

Dick takes a deep breath and clears his throat before looking back at his mother, hopefully for him, the tears in his eyes being all dried up. While the tears had certainly faded out, they left a sign via redness in Dick’s eyes. Nonetheless, he pushed himself onward with his answer. “It’s just that,” He briefly pauses to clear his throat before proceeding, “you go through enough. Some nights.... I....I can hear you cry yourself to sleep. Especially on Dad’s birthday...or yours.”

Snow Owl tries to reach a hand but her son then continues with what he needed to say.

“I mean...you have enough to worry about already. With your jobs, both at the gym and when you’re called up to protect Mrs. Drake, trying to keep our house clean,” Dick feels something in his voice start cracking very lightly before continuing, “me. It’s a lot, Mom and I can’t just make it worse and harder for you by bringing up Dad and how much I miss all the time. Because...well, you miss him too.” Dick finally finishes, taking a deep breath to collect himself now that he has said what he needed. Now it was just a matter of his mother’s reaction to it.

Snow Owl closed her eyes and pondered what her son had said. He certainly has a point; she has a lot on her plate especially as of late. All of it to make sure the two have livelihoods in this city, merely only a few years after having no other choice but to leave the brightly colored and lively tents and trailers they called home, for most of her entire life. She cannot help but feel a bit grateful that her boy puts a lot of consideration and care into her wellbeing like he did. He has a caring heart and she can see it in him.

But therein lies a problem, he can be too caring to the point it harms him. It’s not just in this case; every now and again during their cases and capers, her partner would be the first one to charge in on a gang of thugs and henchmen should she find herself surrounded despite even orders to hold back. Oftentimes this leads to the two of them clearing out said thugs and henchmen, the bad guy stopped and the day saved, which is what Snow Owl and Robin should be all about. Though this still can lead to her son putting himself at unnecessary risks even if it means her safety, something that’s been at the back of her mind probably ever since he aided her in arresting the men responsible for the accident that claimed her husband in the first place. But she can sense something else regarding this; he doesn’t need Robin taken away from him even if for a brief time, that’ll make things right now dour than they are. Her boy needs something else than that, he needs her to let him know.

Once more, Snow Owl reaches out a gentle hand and this time with a beat of easing in, lays it on his shoulder and the two are able to see eye to eye. “I understand”, she says with a sympathetic and motherly tone. Finally, she has something to say to maybe put them both at ease.

“But you know what?”

“What”, Dick asks in response.

Snow Owl finally is able to gently bring up a small smile, assured of her answer. “At least, we both know your dad isn’t gone entirely and not just nothing. Because he's here...with us. Not right in front, but in our memories, and... with you and me, together.”

Dick asks, “Like a, in spirit, type of way or something? Even after.... I couldn’t be able to”

Snow Owl nods accordingly, “Like that. We might not hear or see him right here and right now. But the fact we’re talking about him right now and we have those memories and good times with him should be a sign of that. I truly thank you for thinking about my feelings and what I go through, Little Robin. I’m sure even your dad would do the same for me.”

Dick looked at his mother curiously, “You think so? I mean, that’ll mean then that...”

Mary quickly realizes where this might go and clears her throat to help them stay on topic, “Point being; you have a good heart, Dick. You care and you show it with your actions. That’s more than enough, you don’t need to make yourself emotionally hurt by holding it back from me. Though in fairness”, she pauses, realizing it should be advice for herself as well, “I shouldn’t probably be entirely holding it all in as well.”

“Does this mean we both might need to see those.... couch doctor guys you talk to,” Dick asks while struggling to think up the right word for it. Snow Owl is aware and more than happy to answer it for him.

“Therapists, Dick”, Snow Owl nods, “therapists. If only need be and our habit of holding back what’s in our minds gets too much for even the both of us. But at least for now, it looks like it’s just the both of us we need to talk to about it. So,” Snow Owl stands up from her seat, taking her clean laundry back in her hands, “maybe once every one or two weeks, maybe we can talk it out. Like just you and me about what we’re going through.” She leans in gently and closely to her son, with a motherly smile to it, “You think we can try that?”

Dick is silent for a bit, pondering in his head about his mother’s suggestion. She has a point; it’s something they both need to do unless they want to end up with another awkward conversation like this all over again. She doesn’t need that and neither does he. It will be something that can help him as much as it does for her. With that in mind, he in turn asks something to her.

“Maybe we can try either tomorrow or even this upcoming Sunday?” He asks her with hopeful and determined eyes.

Snow Owl’s unmasked blue eyes beam with happiness and pride for her son. Giving him a quick side hug before standing upright. At that moment, Dick has a small smile grace his face. Her words and actions had reached him and he was starting to feel better. Her son then perked up all the sudden with a now wider smile on his face. It’s like he just remembered something that he would like to remember.

He then hops out of his seat on the couch and his feet pad across the carpet floor to the cabinet holding up the TV and opens the drawer containing the remotes.

Snow Owl then remembers as well much to her joy. It was Saturday, the beginning of the weekend meaning the next day, the two would have the apartment to themselves. Sure, Dick does have some homework to work on if he has too but it’s not due until next Monday. The two can sleep in for tomorrow morning but tonight is truly something else for them. Sure enough, Dick, being the acrobat he is, does a quick front flip that he lands safely on the couch with those remotes in hand. From there, he flips on both the TV and the streaming device, immediately scrolling his way to the comedies.... the PG 13 to R Rated comedies.

Dick looks up to his mother with the remotes in hand as they continue their scrolling for their film for tonight. They have a sort of mischief and fun to them that Snow Owl notices.

“So.... what do you have in mind for tonight, Dick?”

Now it was his turn to answer all too happily; “Well.... I was kinda thinking.... how about we watch those.... you know films that have that guy with the nerdy glasses, scruffy beard and that weird laugh? Maybe like three of them.”

Oh yes, that guy. The two always have a riot of pure unbridled laughter and just a great time every time his films are playing for their movie nights. But three for one night? Her son was up to something; he was making their movie night a Dare, a Dare they’ve played before. So why not play it for tonight after all?

With a sly and confident smirk, Snow Owl replies thusly, “The usual wager? For the one to burst out laughing with each film first has to make the winner a bowl of their favorite ice cream?”

Dick’s eyes beamed expectedly yet joyful. She basically read his mind. “Remember, my flavor is Mint Chocolate Chip, right?”

With a chuckle, Snow Owl beams as well. “Yep, and I hope you remember mine would be Cookies N Cream.”

Dick smirks with confidence and a tiny healthy bit of hubris. “I know, Mom. But yeah, I’m getting my ice cream first. I got this all handled.”

“You’re on, just as soon as I get out of my shower”, Snow Owl gives Dick a prideful thumbs up before finally, with her clean laundry in hand, makes her way to the bathroom for her clean up. Before going in, she does remember to keep it quick since they don’t want a big water bill by the end of the month.

Fifteen Minutes Later......

Emerging from the bathroom Snow Owl entered, out came Mary Grayson, clad in her light blue Tee and similarly black sweatpants, finishing drying her untied dark red hair with a towel and her bare feet taking steps in the carpet floor. Once able to dry as much of her hair as she could and placing the towel on the rack in the bathroom, Mary makes her way back to the living room. The TV is left on with one particular film, ‘The Meeting’, the one about those nerdy glasses wearing, scruffy bearded, weird laugh having guy and a friend of his have an interview with an infamous dictator. This ought to be good; now it was just a matter of making sure she can hold back the laughter she knows she’ll get watching this film long enough until Dick does so first.

Speaking of whom, Dick was barely finishing up pouring the heated-up popcorn into two big bowls, one for him and one for his mother, and was making his way back to the living room where Mary was taking a seat on the couch, her feet propped up on a cushion in front of said seat, leaning her back onto the cushion behind her, letting herself relax and waiting for her bowl. She didn’t wait too long before Dick arrives with her white plastic bowl being offered, to which she happily takes and puts on her laps.

With his own blue bowl, Dick takes his own seat, sitting cross legged and his hand on the remote.

Just before he presses ‘Play’, Mary turns to him, she has something small to say. “Just to let you know, Dick. I’m very proud of your work, both at school and out there when we crime fight no matter what. I’m also proud of you being responsible for this house with all you do. So, if there’s times where I.... well seem a bit distant.... not being as directly there all the time.... letting you do your thing.... I just wanted to let you know that I am available if you need me for whatever reason...... and that you always have me to back you up. So, anything that might seem is between us is just simply something we can and will work out and not something so....”

“Mom”, Dick interrupts with a cheerful and understanding tone, “I get it. I love you too.” He beams a soft smile in her direction. It lets her confirm what they both need to say.

Once Mary smiles back and gives her son a small yet livingly air kiss, much to his playful yet lighthearted chagrin, he presses ‘Play’.

Let the Grayson Family Movie Night shenanigans begin.

#mary grayson #dick grayson #snow owl AU #snow owl #family fluff #fanfic #my posts #alternate version #au #sfw

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