Wit and Whimsy Writing Blog

Batman

Multi-Chapter

Dear Daddy Long Legs - Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Inspired by the novel Daddy Long Legs by Jean Webster. Jason Todd saves you from getting mugged one night and ends up being your mysterious benefactor, funding your college experience. Featuring awkward "zero rizz" Jason Todd and several members of the Bat Family.

Read it in AO3 instead

Status - COMPLETE - 100,086 words

Smoke & Mirrors - Tim Drake x Fem!Reader

When a notable Gothamite winds up murdered, you’re the key witness in the case. The only problem?

The killer is still at large.

Redwing is tasked with keeping you alive, both in and out of the uniform. Easy enough, right?

Wrong.

You and Tim Drake didn’t start off on the right foot. It was probably his fault—definitely his fault. He’ll have to get creative to keep both you and his identity safe.

One-Shots

Show Me How You Like It - Jason Todd x Fem!Reader — 18+MDNI

Jason was less certain about this part. 

While you weren’t his first partner, sex never enticed him the way it enticed others. Don’t get him wrong. He wasn’t completely opposed to the idea of physical intimacy, but it took time for him to warm up to the idea. The moment had to feel right. With the right person. Jason didn’t do casual... well, anything. It had to mean something. You understood that and never pushed him to do anything that made him uncomfortable. 

“Well, it looks like he invited himself.” You shot her an unamused look that went ignored as she slapped the top of the filing cabinet. “Best not to keep him waiting. I hear he gets antsy.”

She left you with the annoying quandary in an oversized suit on the other side of the glass. He had yet to break eye contact; that tight-lipped smile pulled taut across his face. Sighing, you gathered your things and headed over.

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought we could grab coffee,” he said as if that was something you two did often.

And maybe it was becoming part of the routine. As the RCP drew closer, Tim occupied more of your time. Not only did he join on your morning runs, but he was constantly dropping by the office to see you. If you weren’t with him, your thoughts wandered to him, but that was as close as you’d get to admitting that Minnie may be onto something.

Tim continued when you failed to respond, “I have a few late sponsors who reached out this morning.”

“Can’t,” you said sharply, “I have a meeting with our emcee. I’m leaving shortly.”

“Want a ride?”

You squeezed your eyes shut with the flare of your nostrils. Just once, you wanted something to go your way. “I was going to take the subway.”

“And I’m offering you a ride.” He led you toward the door, and for whatever reason, you followed him. Your lack of self-control where he was concerned was astounding. “It’ll be faster this way. I read that the lines are still a mess after Redwing’s fight with Croc. It’s a no-brainer.”

Again, a conversation you’d never thought you’d have to have, but he said it so casually. One would think you two were discussing the weather.

“Don’t you have real work to do?”

His car sat in the fire lane, cautions flashing. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. He would. He opened the passenger door for you, nonplussed. “Define work.”

You slipped into the passenger seat, its smooth leather soft against your bare arms. “Anything that warrants a paycheck.”

“I don’t need a paycheck.”

Insufferable prick.

“Well, aren’t you lucky.”

Tim closed the door and joined you on the driver's side, his shades falling back over his eyes. His engine purred as he turned the key in the ignition. Nineties grunge poured through the speakers, loud enough to drown your thoughts. Tim turned the volume down until it was barely tolerable before margining seamlessly into traffic.

A chain link fence surrounded the outdoor playground connected to the program center. Children ranged from elementary to high school. The former half hung off the brightly colored playsets or drew with chalk on the asphalt. The latter loitered in small groups along the wall. A few attempted tricks on skateboards while their friends filmed. Laughter filled the air. Months had passed and this was your first time seeing the programs RAP offered.

A young woman met you at the gate. Black hair kissed the underside of her chin, strands of faded blue visible beneath. She smiled, rounding her freckled brown cheeks. A small silver piercing glistened beneath her top lip. “Hey, you must be from the office. Kimber said you’d stop by sometime this afternoon.” Opening the gate, she ushered you and Tim into the playground before locking it behind her once more.

“I’m Izzy Oritz, head counselor.”

You introduced yourself. “And this is—”

“Timothy Jackass Drake,” Izzy finished for you as she bumped fists with the jackass in question. Your expression fell as… something flared in the pit of your stomach, but you squashed it as quickly as it came. “The kids’ll be stoked to see you.”

“Pretend I’m not here,” Tim insisted. “I’m just her ride.”

“He insisted,” you deadpanned.

“I’d do anything for the children.”

Izzy snorted as she led them toward the doors. “Well, Dante is excited to meet with you. He’s never been asked to speak in front of a crowd before. When he got the script, he forced me to sit with him to practice for at least an hour. He’s inside going over it again. I always love seeing the kids get excited to talk about their experience with RAP. It does them a lot of good, and I want the rest of Gotham to see this city isn’t all doom and gloom all the time. If we’re lucky, we can sneak in before the kids—”

“Mr. Drake!”

She stopped, a wicked smile curving her lips. “Too late.”

A small group of teens approached with skateboards in hand. Tim flipped his sunglasses on top of his head and grinned, wide and toothy in the way that made him feel less like a pretentious tool. It was almost charming, not that you’d ever tell him that.

“Yo.” He met each kid with a unique handshake. “I was watching those ollies. Looking real sick.”

“You should show them how the pros do it.”

Tim shot a narrow look over his shoulder. Izzy merely shrugged, unfazed by his ire. Okay, you liked this girl.

The boys pumped their fists. “Fuck yeah!”

Izzy cleared her throat.

The one who shouted looked sheepish. “I mean, hell yeah.”

She rolled her eyes as if to say good enough and continued, “Well, are you going to show them or not?”

“Please, Mr. Drake!” One of the boys exclaimed as he offered his board.

Izzy echoed, “Yeah, Mr. Drake, please.”

You peered between Izzy and Tim in disbelief.

Why was she encouraging this? What the hell was happening? This was supposed to be a very basic meeting with a child. Tim wasn’t even supposed to be here. He seemed to sense your bewilderment and gave you what he probably assumed was a reassuring smile, but nothing about this was reassuring.

He turned back to the boys and said, “A quick demonstration and that’s it. My friend here has work to do. Not me though.” He ruffled the scruffy blonde hair of the boy closest to him. “I’ve never worked a day in my life.”

Effortless.

That was the only word that came to mind as you watched Tim navigate the board over various handmade obstacles along the chain link fence. His stunts quickly attracted the attention of others.

He planted his hand on the ground in a one-armed handstand, flipped the board in the air. Cheers ripped through the crowd as he caught it and landed back on the board. You could feel the waves smug pride rolling off him as he moved onto his next trick, and damn, if he didn’t have every right to be smug.

“You may want to pick your jaw up off the ground before he notices,” Izzy whispered in your ear. “Love the guy, but he’s insufferable enough without the boost that’ll do to his ego.”

Your jaw tightened as you forced yourself to look away. No one liked to be caught staring, least of all you. “How do you and Tim know each other? Are you friends?”

“Friends? With that loser?” Izzy chuckled. “My boyfriend lived with Bruce Wayne for a short stint back in high school? He stays in touch.” She nodded to Tim as he glided across a railing, much like a bird rode on gusts of wind. “They play FIFA most nights and D&D twice a month. He plays an undead warlock and makes his pact with a lich everyone’s problem.”

The way Izzy described it made Tim sound so… normal, likeable even. Playing games with friends, learning how to skateboard, taking time to get to know the kids he funded through RAP. It all clashed terribly with the image of the spoiled rich kid you’d crafted in your mind. You struggled to come to terms with the fact that—just maybe—you misjudged him.

“Oh.”

Tim jumped. The momentum flipped the board twice in the air before he landed once more. Another cheer and he was off. Izzy shook her head and said, “A few basic ollies usually do the trick, but he's going all out today.” She gave you a sidelong glance. “Can’t imagine why that would be.”

You ignored whatever she was implying. “No idea.”

Tim stopped in front of you with hands shoved in his oversized pockets. He gave you a quick once over and smirked. “Impressed?”

Your cheeks warmed. “What makes you think that?”

He lowered his voice and said, “I couldn’t help but notice you staring.”

And then there were moments like this, that made you think that maybe you were right on the mark. “Conceited much?”

“It’s hard not to stare. I’m very impressive.”

That sounded more like him. “Are you done showing off?”

“I think so. I caught your attention, so I’ll take that as a win.”

The heat on your cheeks deepened. “Wrap it up. I have other meetings today.” A lie, but whatever. Anything to get you out of this conversation.

“Sure, sure. Be right back.” He left to return the board to the kids, but not before doing another round of elaborate handshakes with each of them.

Izzy had pulled out her phone, thumbs flying across the screen. You shot her a curious look. “Something wrong?”

“Not at all.” She sent her message and pocketed the phone, though the knowing smile on her face unnerved her. “How well do you know Tim? You’ve only been with RAP a few months, right?”

“He’s just my volunteer chair,” you insisted, but even you didn’t believe it. “We’ve been working closely throughout the process, but our relationship is strictly professional.”

Izzy hummed thoughtfully. “Sure.”

Clearly, she didn’t believe you either. “You’ve told me more about him than he’s told me about himself.”

“Yeah, that’s Tim for you. He hates small talk. He’d rather jump straight to the gut-wrenching trauma. It makes him real popular at parties.”

Before Izzy could continue, Tim returned, a healthy flush tinting his cheeks and his hair tousled. “Alright. I’m ready.” He slung an arm around your shoulders and led you toward the door. This close, the woody cologne on his collar nearly smothered you. “Let’s get to business.”

You weren’t sure how Tim convinced you to get food after meeting with your youth testimonial. Your lie about having other meetings quickly unraveled when he started prodding.

Why would you schedule meetings after an offsite meeting?

Seems like poor planning if you ask me.

You didn’t eat lunch, did you?

Everyone needs to eat. I need to eat. Let’s eat.

And so, you found yourself seated in a booth across from Tim in a small diner on the north edge of the Narrows. It reeked of old grease and stale coffee, but Tim didn’t seem to care as he flipped amicably through his menu. “It may not look like much, but this place has the best pancakes in Gotham. Trust.”

You simply hummed as you studied the other diners. While no one stuck out to you, there was always a chance a stranger’s quirk would be the difference between solving a job and watching it fall dead in the water. It was a bad habit, but one you’d learn to live with.

The woman in the far corner was left-handed, evidenced by the way she fumbled with her fork in her right hand as she tapped away on her phone in her other hand. The man in the booth behind Tim was balding on the crown of his head, a suspicious mole visible. He should probably get that checked out. A small group of teens occupied the largest table in the center.

You noted the matching patches decorating their bags or jacket. ‘R’ for... you weren’t exactly sure. Maybe it was the symbol of a local gang? They didn’t seem to be causing any trouble, so you decided not to dwell on it.

“Hello?” Tim waved a hand in front of your face, drawing you back.

“Sorry,” you said, though your heart wasn’t in it.

“You do that a lot, you know?”

“Do what?”

“You disassociate.”

You bristled. “I’m not disassociating. I’m people watching there’s a difference.”

“How do you figure that?”

“It’s more of a hobby, I guess. People fascinate me,” you started slowly. A bead of condensation rolled down your glass, pooling on the varnished wood. You stared at the water to avoid looking at Tim, though you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. “Humanity at its core is both uniquely complex and yet so easily understood when you see the patterns.”

Your knee bounced under the table, bumping his. His expression didn’t change, but the air sharpened with the current fluttering beneath your skin. You tucked your feet under your chair, ensuring it wouldn’t happen again.

“So, you treat people like machines?”

“It makes them easier to understand,” you admitted, though you weren’t sure why you said anything at all. Maybe because you got the sense that Tim related to the disconnect you felt when faced with regular people.

Finally, you looked at him. His bangs fell over his brow, in desperate need of a trim, but he only had eyes for you. “And what about me?”

You swallowed thickly. “What about you?”

“Am I fascinating?”

“Last I checked, you are people,” you answered, unwilling to balk twice.

His head lolled thoughtfully to one side as he swirled the contents of his glass. “Is that all you have to say?”

“I’m not in the business of stroking egos, Drake.”

“I find you fascinating.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Me?”

“Don’t sound so shocked.” He sipped his drink and wet his lips. “I can see it, something in the way you carry yourself. There’s more to you than meets the eye. I just haven’t figured out what that something is.”

“Normal people ask questions when they want to know someone.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I like looking for patterns too.”

“And what patterns have you noticed?”

“I asked you first.”

Stalemate.

He leaned across the table, breeching your personal space as if he could bully the answers out of you, but you’d gotten used to his lack of personal space. Realizing his usual methods wouldn’t get him anywhere, he settled back in his chair and took another swig of his drink.

“So, what’s your favorite part about Gotham so far?”

Wait.

Was he trying to make small talk?

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You told me to ask questions, and now you’re upset when I do. I can’t win with you.” He threw up his hands, clearly fed up. Panic flared in the pit of your stomach. You thought this was all part of the game, but he looked genuinely frustrated now.

Shit.

“Sorry. You’re right. It’s just—“ This fun back and forth made this easier. As long as you both played it coy, you weren’t obligated to share too much, but you’d reached a crossroads. Playing it too coy might make him think you had something to hide, so you cracked the door for him. It was strategic, nothing more.

“I don’t have a favorite part of Gotham,” you admitted. It wasn’t the answer he wanted but it was the truth. “There’s a lot of things I don’t like, if I’m being honest. The cartoonishly evil villains for one, the fact that I can’t count on public transportation because there’s a fight between them and a bunch of masked vigilantes every other week. It’s cloudy all the time and, god, I just miss the sun. How do you live like this?” You shared more than you intended, but you’d been keeping it all in this whole time. You needed to tell someone.

Turns out, that someone was Tim.

Wild.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought of leaving,” Tim said.

You blinked. “You have?”

“Of course. Everyone does, but Gotham is hard to quit. People leave, but they always find their way back eventually.” He shrugged. “I’m no different. There are days I wish I could pack my bags and get the hell out of dodge. I’ve gotten close a few times.” He fiddled absentmindedly with his watch. It was the closest you’ve ever seen him to being nervous. “But it’s never stuck.”

“What keeps you coming back?”

You knew that was the step too far the moment the question left your lips. This moment, or whatever you’d call it, ended, as Tim shook his head. “A lot of reasons. None of them all that important.”

You found that hard to believe. “Right.”

“Besides, if I left, you would have never had the pleasure of meeting me.” His mask shifted back in place, the arrogant Tim Drake returning. You relaxed, realizing you weren’t ready for that level of vulnerability with him—not yet. Probably not ever. “Admit it,” he continued with a smirk, “I’m your favorite thing about Gotham.”

You mirrored his expression. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Pokes head out of the burrow of life*

Has it been a few months already? My bad.

If you haven't heard, I bought a house. So. That's been a bit of a whirlwind and has been occupying a lot of my time and energy.

But look! I finished a chapter, which is more writing than I've done in months. I thank Supergirl for bringing back my DC excitement. Oh, and Batman Knightfall, which will give some much needed Tim Drake exposure.

One last normal chapter before shit hits the fan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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