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Mission 03: Somewhere Else

.ᐟ You decide to launch Operation: Live the Teenage Dream! after a certain encounter with DAMIAN WAYNE—what started as a joke that amused you and irritated him slowly becomes something more when the ‘missions’ stop feeling like missions.

.ᐟ CONTENT: slow burn, bittersweet w a mix of everything, both of them are emotionally constipated tbh, its friends to lovers now, sorta proofread wc: 1.3k+

.ᐟ a/n: took a break from the angst </3 ima be real school is starting in less than a week, i probably won't be able to write as much anymore :') also tumblr wont let me use the dividers grr

School had been over for an hour.

Most of the students had already gone home. Without the usual busy crowds, the campus felt strangely larger and quieter. Too quiet.

You sat alone on the bench, one hand clutched around your bag as you lightly kicked your feet against the pavement. Your phone rested casually in your free hand.

Scroll. Refresh. Scroll. Refresh again.

cowboy au sfw short drabble short ow ref romcom confession scene tooth rotting fluff jason todd has a southern accent fem reader jason todd as your favorite cowboy 8.9k words part one

a/n: next post is a nanami x reader soft angst-fluff fic !

The Texas heat had spent the entire afternoon baking the earth, leaving the scent of dry cedar, sweet alfalfa, and hot leather thick in the air. As the sun began its slow descent, bleeding a bruised purple and gold across the wide horizon, the aggressive humidity of the day finally gave way to a cooling evening breeze.

The only sounds for miles were the rhythmic, heavy thud-thud of Caesar’s hooves against the dirt trail, the occasional, low jingle of the bridle, and the steady, synchronized sound of your breathing as you were seated right in front of Jason, tucked securely between his long thighs on the massive Western saddle.

It was supposed to be a serious training session—his final run-through before the rodeo’s big finale match next week—but the moment he had lifted you up onto the gelding, all thoughts of his own technique seemed to vanish.

Instead, he had spent the last two hours teaching you how to hold the reins, how to shift your weight, and how to find a rhythm with the horse… or rather, that was his excuse to keep you as close as humanly possible.

Every time Caesar shifted or picked up speed, you took it as the perfect excuse to lean back against Jason’s broad chest, letting your spine melt into his solid frame as you wrapped your hands firmly around his biceps.

They were massive, stretching the fabric of his faded flannel shirt, rock-hard and radiating a comforting, steady heat. Slowly, deliberately, you slid your palms up and down the curve of his arms, feeling the thick muscle bunch beneath your touch as you squeezed them just a little tighter than necessary, a quiet, playful challenge, and let a small, knowing smile tug at the corners of your lips.

Above your head, you heard the deep, rumbling vibration of his chest before you actually heard his voice. “Now, sweetheart,” Jason murmured, his thick, slow Southern drawl dragging over the words like molasses. “I highly doubt you’re loosin’ your balance on a straight, flat trail.”

You didn’t let go, instead, you tilted your head back, looking up at him, your smile widening into something distinctly mischievous.

From this angle, you could see the sharp, rugged line of his jawline, dusted with a dark shadow of stubble, and the way the dying sunlight caught the stark, silver-grey patch of hair right at his fringe. He looked intimidating—a mountain of a man built for rough riding and hard work—but the look in his blue eyes was entirely soft, completely captivated by you.

“Oh, you’d be surprised, cowboy,” you cooed, your voice a playful purr. You nudged your shoulder back against his chest, holding his gaze. “This trail is treacherous. A girl’s got to hold onto something sturdy.”

Jason cleared his throat, a sudden flash of heat darkening his tanned cheeks as he looked down at your hands wrapped around his arms, then met your teasing eyes. He knew exactly what you were doing. He wasn’t dense, but the sheer and heavy weight of the puppy-love crush he’d been harboring for months made his heart hammer a frantic, erratic rhythm against his ribs.

“You’re s’posed to be focusin’ on the reins, not usin’ me as a safety blanket,” he teased softly, though he didn’t make a single move to pull away. In fact, he subtly flexed, his massive biceps shifting beneath your palms, giving you an even better grip.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, your eyes crinkling at the corners. “Maybe I like my safety blanket, it’s warm and it has a very nice heartbeat.”

A low huff of laughter escaped his nose, blowing a warm gust of air past your ear that made you shiver. “Yeah, yeah. Loud and clear, sweetheart… but if you keep squeezin’ me like that, I’m gonna forget how to steer this animal entirely. You’re distractin’ the teacher.”

“Am I?” You tilted your chin up just a fraction more, your lips parting as your smile turned soft, intimate, and devastatingly flirtatious. “Good. That was the plan.”

The tension between you grew thick, heavy, and undeniably warm, lingering in the small space separating your faces. Jason’s gaze flicked down to your lips for a split second before he looked back to the trail, his hands tightening on the leather to guide Caesar to a gentle halt under the shade of a sprawling oak tree.

The horse let out a long, shedding sigh, the scent of dust and animal sweat kicking up around you, sealing the two of you in your own private world.

Slowly, carefully, Jason brought his hands forward to adjust your grip on the leather reins. But as his hands hovered over yours, he hesitated as his fingers twitched, hovering just an inch above your skin.

You looked down at his hands. They were huge, scarred, and incredibly rugged—the hands of a man who worked himself to the bone as the skin across his palms and knuckles was thick and severely calloused, rough enough to snag on silk.

You could see the slight tremor in his fingers, a silent testament to the fear that always gripped him in these moments: the terrifying thought that his rough, violent world might accidentally bruise something as soft and precious as you.

“Jay,” you whispered, your voice dropping to a soft, tender note that cut straight through the quiet evening air as you turned your hands over in your lap, palms up, waiting for him. “It’s okay.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t… I don’t wanna scrape you up, darlin’,” he admitted, his accent thick and heavy with a sudden, raw vulnerability that made your heart ache. “Hands are like sandpaper. Ain’t meant for touchin’ somethin’ so gentle.”

You smiled up at him again, a soft, reassuring expression full of affection as you reached up, gently brushing the tip of your finger against his stubbled jawline, tracing it down to his chin. “I like it when you touch me anyway, Jay. Plus, I love your hands.”

With a shaky, hesitant breath, Jason finally let his palms settle over yours as the contrast was immediate—his skin was hot, rough, and violently unyielding against yours. But his touch was unbelievably light, as if he were handling something priceless.

He slid his fingers between yours, lacing them together, guiding your hands back to the leather reins while his chest pressed flush against your back as his heartbeat was a frantic thumping you could feel right through your spine.

He leaned down, his face burying into the crook of your neck. His lips brushed dangerously close to your sensitive skin as he spoke, his voice dropping an octave into a gravelly, heated whisper that sent a delicious shiver straight down your column.

“You’re playin’ a dangerous game with me, you know that?” he breathed, his lips skimming your skin with every syllable.

The tension between you snapped taut, electric and heavy with unspoken desires. “I’m s’posed to be the teacher here. But you’re the one makin’ me forget every single rule I ever learned. If you keep lookin’ at me like that, we ain’t never makin’ it back to the barn.”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, a soft, triumphant smile on your face as you whispered back, “Then let’s stay out here a little longer.”

The canopy of the woods swallowed the last rays of the dying sun, plunging the trail into a cool, shadowed twilight. The air out here was different—crisper, smelling faintly of damp earth, pine needles, and the sweet, lingering musk of horse sweat as Caesar’s hooves made a soft, muffled crunch-crunch against the blanket of fallen leaves, a rhythmic backdrop to the sudden, heavy silence that had settled between the two of you.

But while the woods were cooling down, the space between you and Jason was practically boiling. The playful confidence from earlier hadn’t dissolved; if anything, the shadows of the evening gave you a sudden burst of boldness as you shifted slightly, your hips pressing flush against his lap, and let out a soft, pleased sigh.

Every rise and fall of his chest pressed directly into your back, and the sheer heat radiating off him was enough to make your cheeks burn in the dim light, but you didn’t shrink away. Instead, you tilted your head back, letting your hair brush against his collarbone, and smiled up at him with pure, unadulterated mischief.

Jason wasn’t doing any better, for a man who could stare down a charging bull without blinking, he was suddenly wound tighter than a guitar string. Usually, the city girls who came around the rodeo or the ranch were polite, a little detached, or too timid to do much more than ask for a picture.

They certainly weren’t turning around in his saddle, flashing him wicked little grins that made his head spin as he cleared his throat, the sound of a low, raspy rattle in the quiet woods, and shifted his weight.

His face was burning a deep, dark crimson that even the twilight couldn’t hide, “Just… wanna make sure you’re secure up here,” he mumbled, his thick Southern drawl dropping an octave, laced with a nervous, boyish hesitance that completely contrasted his massive frame. “Trail’s gettin’ a mite uneven, sweetheart.”

“Oh, is it?” you asked, your voice a silky purr. You leaned back just a fraction more, feeling the hard line of his chest. “I hadn’t noticed. I felt perfectly safe. Though, maybe you should hold onto me a little tighter… just in case.”

Jason let out a shaky breath, completely flustered. Slowly, almost tentatively, he brought his right arm around your waist. His bicep was massive, a solid bar of pure muscle that pressed firmly across your lower abdomen.

The sheer weight of it was anchoring, trapping you against him, but he held you with an absurd amount of caution. He was paranoid—terrified that a sudden jolt from Caesar would send you slipping from the saddle, but even more terrified of how good it felt to have you right there as you placed your smaller hands over his massive forearm, your fingers tracing the thick veins that mapped his skin. “See? Perfect fit,” you whispered, looking back up at him over your shoulder.

His heart was hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against your shoulder blade, revealing the truth his tough cowboy exterior tried to hide: he was completely, utterly captivated, and entirely at your mercy.

He bit his lower lip, a nervous, shy smile tugging at his mouth as his blue eyes flicked down to your hands, then up to your eyes, utterly overwhelmed by the electric current humming between your skin and by the time the trail opened up to a small, secluded clearing, the tension had reached a delicious boiling point.

Jason guided Caesar to a halt near a massive, fallen oak log, seemingly eager for an excuse to get his feet back on solid ground before he completely lost his mind.

“Let’s, uh… let’s give the big guy a rest,” Jason murmured, his voice a little breathless as he dismounted as he reached up, his rough hands catching you by the waist to lift you down.

Instead of letting him set you straight on the ground, you lingered, keeping your hands resting on his broad shoulders as your faces were inches apart. You flashed him a slow, dazzling smile, your eyes locked onto his.

Even through your clothes, the heat of his palms seemed to scar, and he set you down so gently it was as if you were made of the finest porcelain. “Thank you, cowboy,” you murmured, your lips brushing dangerously close to his jawline as you spoke.

Jason practically choked on his own breath, a dark flush spreading from his collar all the way to the tips of his ears. He quickly looked away, clearing his throat again as he turned to tie Caesar’s reins to a sturdy pine branch.

You watched him, thoroughly enjoying how much power you had over this giant of a man. He was so sweet, so fundamentally respectful, that your boldness was knocking him completely off balance—and he was clearly loving every single second of it as Jason sat down on the thick log, the bark groaning slightly under his immense weight. He leaned back, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to regain his composure.

The silver-grey patch at his fringe caught the soft moonlight filtering through the trees as he looked up at you, his blue eyes dark and pooling with an affection so heavy it made your breath hitch.

Without a word, you walked over and claimed the space right next to him, but you didn’t just sit as you swung your legs up, draping your calves comfortably across his thick, denim-clad thighs, deliberately claiming his space.

Jason’s entire body went rigid for a fraction of a second, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes went wide, staring at your legs over his lap like he couldn’t believe your audacity.

Then, a soft, helpless, incredibly shy smile broke through his rugged stubble as he shook his head, looking down at his boots, a low, rumbling chuckle vibrating in his chest.

“You are somethin’ else, you know that?” he whispered, his voice thick with a sweet, flustered awe. “Most girls from the city… they’re careful around a guy like me. Afraid of the dirt... afraid of… well, this.”

“Then they’re missing out,” you said softly as you leaned in close, wrapping both of your arms securely around one of his massive biceps, pulling it against your chest. You rested your cheek right against the hard curve of his muscle, feeling the scratchy, warm flannel of his shirt against your skin.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, your smile turning soft and incredibly intimate. “I like ‘this.’ I like it a lot.”

“You’re gonna spoil me, actin’ like this,” Jason teased softly, his voice trembling just a fraction as he looked down at you as he tentatively rested one of his massive hands on your ankle, his thumb making small, hesitant circles over your jeans. The sheer adoration in his eyes was dizzying.

“Just tell me about the ranch, cowboy,” you whispered, tightening your grip on his arm, nudging your shoulder into his side.

He swallowed hard, looking out toward where Caesar was softly snorting and stamping his hoof in the grass, trying to anchor himself. Slowly, the nervous tension began to melt out of his frame, replaced by a quiet, passionate warmth as he started to speak about the thing he loved most.

“Well,” he began, his thick accent wrapping around the words like a warm blanket. “My granddaddy started the place with just three mares and an old, broken-down barn.”

“Took years to break the soil, to make it somethin’ worth keepin’. But there’s a ridge right on the western edge of the property… if you stand there at dawn, the whole valley just opens up. Looks like God spilled gold all over the earth.”

You smiled, closing your eyes and just listening to the rumble of his voice vibrating through his bicep against your cheek as the scent of pine and his distinct aroma of leather, cedar, and tobacco swirled around you, intoxicating and comforting all at once.

“And the horses?” you asked softly, nudging your nose playfully against his arm, leaving a soft kiss against the flannel.

A low, rumbling chuckle vibrated through him, and you felt his grip on your ankle tighten just a bit, growing braver. “They’re a handful. Caesar there, he’s a sweetheart, but he’s stubborn as the day is long.”

“Got a little paint mare named Sarah Kate, too. She’s spirited, rebellious, and reminds me a bit of…” He trailed off, his voice dropping into a husky whisper.

You opened your eyes and looked up. Jason was staring down at you, his rugged face entirely soft, the shyness returning tenfold but overridden by a deep, simmering heat.

His hands—those huge, heavily calloused hands—were resting on his own knees, his fingers twitching as if he desperately wanted to reach out and stroke your hair, but was still too scared of his own rough skin as the silence hung between you, thick, heated, and heavy with everything he wasn’t saying.

The cool night air brushed against your skin, but between the two of you, the heat was suffocating in the best possible way.

“Reminds you of who?” you prompted, your voice barely a breath. You slid your hand up his arm, your fingers brushing the warm skin of his neck, your thumb lightly tracing his jaw.

You gave him a slow, encouraging smile. “Say it, Jay.”

Jason’s blue eyes flicked down to your lips, then back to your eyes, his chest expanding deeply against your side as he finally stopped fighting the pull.

“Reminds me of you, darlin’,” he breathed, his voice dropping to a raw, gravelly timber that sent a shiver straight down your spine. “Beautiful, stubborn, and keepin’ me on my toes so bad I can barely think straight. I swear, you’re gonna be the ruin of me.”

The cool night air seemed to still around the clearing, the gentle whinny of Caesar tethered nearby breaking the quiet of the woods as Jason’s gaze lingered on you, the soft moonlight catching the sharp lines of his jaw and casting a silvery glow over the grey patch at his fringe.

The heavy, sweet scent of crushed pine needles beneath your boots and the earthy aroma of leather hung thick in the air, wrapping around the two of you like a velvet blanket as Jason shifted slightly beneath you, the dense muscle of his thigh flexing under your legs as his expression turned a fraction more serious.

He cleared his throat, a low, gravelly sound that vibrated right through his chest and echoed against your own ribs. “That finale match… it’s only a few days off now,” he murmured, his thick Southern drawl dropping into a quieter, almost vulnerable register.

He looked down at his huge, calloused hands resting on his lap, his shoulders dropping just a fraction. “Fellas from three counties over are comin’ in. It’s gonna be a hell of a fight to stay on that saddle. Sometimes I wonder if…”

Before he could even finish the thought, you slid your legs off his lap and leaned in closer, cutting off his doubt before it could take root as you reached down and boldly grabbed both of his massive, rugged hands.

His fingers twitched in shock at the sudden contact, the rough, sandpapery texture of his severe callouses scraping against your smooth skin, but you didn’t let go. Instead, you lifted his heavy hands and used them to mock-clap together in an enthusiastic, early celebration, flashing him a bright, dazzling smile.

“Stop right there, cowboy,” you said, your voice full of playful, teasing energy as you hyped him up. “You’re the best rider in this whole damn state and you know it… there isn’t a bull or a bronc born that can throw you off.”

“You’ve already won it, so stop doubting yourself!”

A slow, breathless grin began to crack through his stubble, his blue eyes darkening with a sudden, intense warmth. The sheer puppy-love adoration he had for you flared up, making his chest expand heavily under his flannel shirt as he let out a low, rumbling chuckle that sent a delicious shiver right down your spine.

“Is that right?” he teased, his voice dropping into a husky, playful rumble. He squeezed your hands back just a fraction, incredibly mindful of his own strength, though his grip was solid and grounding. “You got that much faith in me, sweetheart? Well now, that begs the question… what exactly do I get if I win that match?”

You let go of his hands and hummed softly, tapping a finger against your chin as you faux-thought about it, letting the silence stretch out between you as the lingering, heated tension in the air grew so thick you could practically taste it. Slowly, deliberately, you tilted your head up to look him dead in the eyes, a smug grin playing on your lips.

You slid your arms up his chest, feeling the rock-hard definition beneath the fabric, and wrapped them securely around his thick neck, pulling yourself close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin.

“If you win…” you whispered, leaning in until your lips were fractions of an inch from his, your breath fanning across his mouth. “I’m going to give you a kiss.”

Jason’s entire body went dead rigid beneath you. His breath hitched sharply in his throat, his eyes widening for a split second before burning with a sudden, fierce heat as his massive biceps flexed against your sides as he fought the overwhelming urge to pull you flush against him.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared at your mouth, completely caught off guard by your boldness.

“Now, don’t you go playin’ with a man’s heart like that,” he breathed, his thick accent wrapping heavily around the words. He leaned a fraction closer, his voice dropping to a gravelly, demanding whisper.

“... On the lips or the cheek?”

You offered him a teasing smile, tightening your arms around his neck just enough to drive him crazy. “That’s a secret until you actually win.”

A loud, breathy scoff escaped his nose, and the tense, electric spell broke into a warm, genuine laugh as Jason raised one of his massive hands, the rough callouses gently scratching against your scalp as he affectionately ruffled your hair, messing up your strands.

“You’re a mischievous little thing, you know that?” he chuckled, shaking his head as he stood up from the log first. He towered over you in the moonlight, a mountain of a man, looking every bit the rugged cowboy as you laughed, standing up after him, smoothing down your hair with a self-satisfied grin.

You felt entirely in control, thoroughly enjoying how flustered and sweet he was. But before your boots could fully grip the dirt, Jason stepped directly into your space as the sudden shift in his energy made your breath catch.

The shy, boyish hesitation vanished, replaced by the sheer, unyielding confidence of a man who handled wild animals for a living as he reached out and caught you by the waist. His huge hands completely engulfed your sides, the heat of his palms burning through your clothes as he effortlessly lifted you into the air. He didn’t just set you down, though.

He held you suspended for a heartbeat, his face level with yours, his blue eyes locked onto your lips with a sudden, intense hunger that made your stomach flip. “You like games, darlin’?” he murmured, his voice incredibly low, a dark, gravelly vibration that resonated right in your chest.

He slid his hands slightly higher up your ribs, his thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts through your shirt. “Because if we’re talkin’ about secrets... I’ve got a few ideas about what I'm gonna do with that prize when I collect it. And I don’t think you’re ready for ‘em.”

Your heart hammered violently against your ribs, a sudden wave of heat rushing to your face as the tables had turned so fast your head spun. Your confident smile faltered, replaced by a wide-eyed, breathless gasp as your own heart raced.

You became acutely aware of how easily he lifted you, how small you were in his grip, and how utterly devastating he was when he stopped being shy. “Jay! Hey— you’re playing dirty now!” you stammered, your voice losing all of its previous swagger, completely flustered by the raw promise in his eyes as he let out a low, deeply satisfied chuckle at your reaction, thoroughly enjoying the fact that he had turned the tables on you.

He hoisted you up onto Caesar’s back, but instead of putting you in the front, he set you down right behind the saddle. “Better get your favorite lipstick ready then, sweetheart, ‘cause I sure as hell ain’t losin’ now,” he whispered, leaning close to press a brief, burning kiss right to the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“That prize is mine.”

Your breath hitched completely, your skin tingling where his lips had grazed you as you sat there, utterly dazed and blushing furiously in the dark, watching as Jason swung his long leg over the gelding, settling into the leather seat in front of you.

This time, he was the shield, and you were at his back.

“Hold on tight now,” he murmured, turning his head just enough to flash you a devastating, crooked grin over his shoulder. “Don’t want you slippin’ off. Unless you want another excuse to grab onto me.”

You bit your lip, still flustered but unable to hide the helpless, captivated smile stretching across your face. You didn’t need to be told twice as you leaned forward, pressing your chest flat against his broad, muscular back, and wrapped your arms tightly around his waist, hiding your burning face against his shoulder blade.

As your hands slid across his midsection, you could feel the rigid, iron-hard contour of his abs shifting beneath his shirt with every move he made as a deep, contented purr of a rumble vibrated through his spine and into your chest as Caesar started a slow, steady walk back through the dark woods, the lingering heat of your promise—and his sudden, breathtaking boldness—keeping the both of you burning hot against the night chill.

The following days passed in a blur of anticipation, the memory of that moonlit clearing lingering in your mind like a fever dream. Every time you thought about the sudden, burning heat in Jason’s blue eyes or the rough, calloused weight of his hands on your waist, your heart would do a frantic little dance against your ribs.

You had successfully turned the rugged, shy cowboy into a man on a mission, and today was the day he was set to claim his prize as the atmosphere inside the massive, indoor rodeo arena was electric, thick with the heavy scent of buttered popcorn, stale beer, trampled dirt, and the sharp, metallic tang of adrenaline.

The air was a swirling vortex of noise—the booming, echoey rattle of the loudspeaker, the thunderous stomping of thousands of boots against the metal bleachers, and the distant, aggressive snorts of the bulls being loaded into the bucking chutes.

You were sitting squarely between your parents on the crowded benches, just a few rows up from the dirt floor, right where the action was closest as your hands were tightly clamped in your lap, your fingers nervously smoothing down the fabric of your jeans.

The sheer scale of the event was dizzying.

This was the grand finale, and the best riders from three different states were packed into the back, waiting to risk their lives on two thousand pounds of furious, bucking muscle.

Suddenly, the arena lights dimmed, replaced by a blinding, spinning array of colored spotlights that cut through the rising dust as the crowd let out a deafening roar as the commentator’s voice boomed over the speakers, crackling with high-voltage energy.

“Alright, Texas! Welcome to the main event! The big show! The championship finale you’ve all been waitin’ for!” the announcer yelled, his voice echoing off the corrugated metal ceiling.

“Tonight, we’ve got the meanest bulls, the baddest stock, and the toughest cowboys in the country ready to leave it all in the dirt! Let’s meet our finalists!”

One by one, the riders were introduced, stepping out onto the dirt under the heavy glare of the spotlights as the crowd went wild for each name, the commentator hyping every single player up to the absolute extreme, rattling off their hometowns, their winning streaks, and the terrifying names of the bulls they had managed to conquer.

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your chest, your eyes glued to the tunnel entrance.

You were barely listening to the names being called, your entire body wound tight with a mixture of intense pride and a sudden, fierce protectiveness, “And next up into the arena…” the announcer’s voice pitched higher, practically vibrating with excitement.

“He’s a hometown favorite, a man built like a brick wall and twice as tough! Riding out of Gotham County… let’s hear it for the one, the only… Jason Todd!”

The crowd erupted, the noise was absolute as a wall of cheering and whistling shook the very bench beneath you while Jason stepped out of the shadowed tunnel and into the bright, harsh glare of the spotlights.

He looked absolutely massive, a towering mountain of a man who completely commanded the space around him. The black protective vest strapped over his chest only emphasized the absurd, broad width of his shoulders, and the sleeves of his dark Western shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing those thick, powerful forearms and biceps you had been squeezing just days prior.

Beneath the brim of his low-slung cowboy hat, the stark, silver-grey patch at his fringe caught the artificial light, a rugged, distinct mark on an otherwise fiercely handsome face as he looked intimidating, a dangerous, unyielding force built for rough riding and hard work, but as he stepped further into the arena, his blue eyes began to scan the crowded bleachers.

He wasn’t looking at the thousands of screaming fans. He was looking for one specific face as your breath hitched as his gaze swept over your section, and then, entirely by instinct, your eyes locked.

The moment he spotted you sitting there, the fierce, focused expression on his rugged face instantly softened. A slow, devastatingly crooked grin cracked through his dark stubble, his eyes darkening with that familiar, intense warmth that always made your stomach flip.

Right there in front of the entire stadium, Jason raised a hand to the brim of his hat, tipped it slightly, and gave you a deliberate, slow wink.

Then, keeping his eyes locked entirely on yours, he subtly tilted his head as his lips moved slowly, deliberately exaggerating the words so you could read them perfectly through the distance.

“Can’t wait for my kiss, darlin’.”

The thick, heavy Southern drawl practically bounced off his moving lips, a private, sizzling promise delivered in front of thousands of people as a sudden, intense wave of heat rushed straight to your face, your cheeks burning a bright, undeniable crimson as your heart did a violent flip.

You bit your lower lip, a helpless, breathless smile breaking across your face as you instinctively gripped the edge of the bench as the confidence you had maintained on the trail completely vanished under the weight of his public boldness, leaving you thoroughly flustered and utterly captivated.

“Well now,” your dad muttered from right beside you, leaning forward slightly as he squinted down at the dirt arena, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

“Who do you suppose he was lookin’ at? Boy looked like he was starin’ a hole right in this direction.”

Before you could even think of a lie, your mom leaned past you, using her elbow to give your ribs a sharp, knowing nudge as she had a massive, triumphant grin plastered across her face, her eyes twinkling with pure amusement as she looked at your bright red cheeks.

“Oh, I think he was just checkin’ out the scenery, dear,” your mom said, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm as she gave you another meaningful look, knowing damn well exactly who that wink was meant for. “Isn’t that right, sweetie? He’s got an awful nice view from down there.”

You couldn’t even answer, your eyes flying back to the arena floor where Jason was now turning toward the bucking chutes, his broad shoulders squared and his massive chest expanding with a deep, confident breath as thelingering, heated tension of his promise hung thick in the air around you, and as the announcer started the countdown, you knew one thing for certain: that bull didn’t stand a chance.

The heavy iron gates of the bucking chutes rattled violently as the pressure in the arena shifted from anticipation to pure, chaotic electricity. All around you, the bleachers shook with a deafening cacophony of sound.

Men with thick Texas accents were leaning over the rails, waving crumpled twenty-dollar bills and shouting over the din to place frantic, last-minute bets. “Fifty on Black Out! That bull ain’t never been rode for eight seconds!” a man a few rows back bellowed, his voice hoarse from beer and screaming.

“You’re crazy, Wyatt! Todd’s got the left-hand delivery down to a science! A hundred says he stays on!” another roared back, slamming a heavy palm against the metal seating.

The air grew thick with the choking stench of kicked-up dirt, stale sweat, and the pungent, raw musk of an agitated animal. Down in chute number three, a massive, midnight-black Brahman bull named Widowmaker let out a low, terrifying rumble that vibrated right through the soles of your boots.

The beast slammed its massive, muscular flank against the steel pipes, sending a shuddering clang through the entire stadium and perched right on top of that furious mountain of muscle was Jason as the playful, devastatingly confident cowboy who had just winked at you was gone, replaced by a hyper-focused warrior. He was tucked down low, his massive thighs gripping the bull’s broad back, his heavy Western boots dug in tight.

His left hand, wrapped in leather and thick rigging rope, was clamped down like a vice. You could see the incredible width of his shoulders tensing beneath his vest, his knuckles white, those severely calloused hands putting every ounce of their legendary strength into the rope.

“Watch his head, Jason! Watch the spin!” someone from his pit crew yelled from the top of the chutes, spitting a stream of tobacco into the dirt.

The announcer’s voice cut through the madness, soaring over the roar of the crowd. “Alright, folks! This is it! The ride that decides the whole damn season! Jason Todd versus the unrideable Widowmaker! Pull that gate!”

The steel door flew open with a violent, metallic crash as the stadium seemed to hold its collective breath for a fraction of a second before exploding into absolute bedlam. Widowmaker erupted out of the chute like a freight train, launching all four of his massive hooves clean off the dirt as the bull twisted mid-air, a violent, bone-shattering contortion designed to snap a rider’s spine.

“Hold on, cowboy!” your mom screamed beside you, completely abandoning her teasing demeanor as she gripped your father’s arm.

Your dad was already on his feet, his jaw set, his eyes glued to the chaos in the dirt and for the first four seconds, Jason was a machine as his massive biceps flexed, the thick muscles bunching beneath his shirt as he countered every brutal, jarring thrust of the bull.

The silver-grey patch at his fringe flashed under the stadium lights as his head snapped back with the sheer force of the movement. He looked unyielding, a force of nature matching the beast dollar for dollar.

But at the five-second mark, disaster struck as Widowmaker dropped his massive front shoulders and executed a brutal, erratic counter-clockwise pivot that caught everyone off guard.

The sudden, violent shift in momentum tore the rigging rope just a fraction out of Jason’s grip as a collective, horrified gasp sucked the air straight out of the stadium. “He’s loose! He’s tracking right!” the announcer shouted, his voice cracking with panic. “Todd is losing his seat!”

Your heart violently stopped as the world slowed down to an agonizing, suffocating crawl. Jason’s massive frame was thrown violently to the left, his center of gravity completely destroyed. His right leg flew out of position, dangling uselessly in the air as the sheer, terrifying force of the bull dragged him sideways.

He was slipping as you could see the raw strain on his face, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles looked ready to snap, his dark stubble drenched in sweat and dirt. “He’s going down!” a man next to you yelled, throwing his hat into the air in frustration. “There goes my money!”

It looked entirely impossible. He was too far gone, his body hanging at a devastating angle off the side of the spinning monster as the bull sensed the weakness, bucking even harder, throwing its massive head back to finish the job and trample the cowboy into the dirt.

Seven seconds as Jason was practically dragging against the bull’s flank, held on by nothing more than the raw, desperate friction of his calloused fingers locked into the coarse rope.

Then, in a spectacular, blind leap of faith at the absolute last microsecond, Jason didn’t try to pull himself back up—he used the bull’s own violent upward buck to launch his entire weight in the opposite direction.

It was a reckless, terrifying gamble that should have broken his arm… but with a burst of pure, unadulterated adrenaline, his massive thighs clamped back down onto the beast’s spine with the force of a hydraulic press as he snapped back into the center of the saddle just as the bull gave one final, desperate twist.

BUZZZZZZZZER!

The horn wailed through the arena, signaling the end of the grueling eight seconds but before the sound could even fade, Jason cleanly released his rope and threw himself off the back of the slowing bull, hitting the dirt in a practiced, heavy roll.

He scrambled to his feet, dust swirling around his massive boots, as the rodeo clowns rushed in to distract the roaring beast as the stadium went absolutely primitive.

Thousands of people slammed their seats, jumping to their feet in a unified, thunderous roar that shook the concrete foundations of the building as the air was filled with flying cowboy hats, spilled beer, and deafening cheers.

“He did it! By the grace of God and a whole lot of grit, Jason Todd stayed on!” the announcer screamed, his voice completely drowned out by the ecstatic crowd. “A perfect ride! We have our champion!”

Your dad was cheering at the top of his lungs, throwing a fist into the air, while your mom was laughing and clapping beside you. But you were barely conscious of them as you were standing on the bench, your chest heaving, your hands trembling with a dizzying mix of relief and pure, uncontainable pride.

Down in the center of the dirt, breathing heavily with his hands on his knees, Jason finally looked up as he wiped a streak of sweat and dark Texas mud from his forehead, his chest expanding with massive, exhausted breaths.

He ignored the cameras, the flashing lights, and the judges rushing toward him as his blue eyes cut straight through the chaos, searching the roaring crowd until they landed directly on you.

As he saw you standing there, flushed and breathless, a wide, triumphant, and devastatingly crooked grin broke across his rugged face. He didn’t say a word, but the burning, lingering heat in his gaze told you everything you needed to know.

The cowboy had won his match—and now, he was coming to collect his prize.

The chaotic roar of the stadium became a distant hum as the judges and a swarm of eager reporters descended upon the center of the dirt arena. Camera crews shuffled frantically, their heavy lenses catching the glare of the bright spotlights as they crowded around Jason.

He was completely surrounded, drowned in a sea of microphones and congratulations, but his eyes kept darting back toward the stands, trying to keep you in his sight. “Come on, Elena, let’s go grab some of those jumbo hotdogs and a couple of cold sodas before the lines get longer than a Texas mile,” your dad grunted, his hand firmly taking your mom’s arm as he began navigating the crowded steps.

Your mom resisted for a split second, casting a knowing, mischievous look back over her shoulder at you. “Oh, but don’t you want to wait for—”

“The boy’s busy gettin’ his trophy, let’s go,” your dad interrupted mildly, completely oblivious as he dragged her away into the concourse.

You stayed behind on the metal bench, a soft sigh escaping your lips as the cool evening breeze from the arena’s ventilation system brushed against your flushed cheeks as the air here still smelled heavily of fried food, trampled dirt, and the electric tang of adrenaline.

You slid your phone out of your pocket, your fingers flying across the screen as you opened a group chat with your friends back at school. ‘You guys will literally never believe the hot cowboy I’ve been hanging out with,’ you typed, a sudden, helpless giggle bubbling up from your chest.

You tapped your foot against the floorboards, a bright, goofy smile plastered across your face as the text bubbles popped up in response as every few seconds, you would look up from the glowing screen, your eyes tracking across the dirt to where Jason was still being pampered and complimented.

He looked entirely out of place among the city slickers with microphones, a towering mountain of a man who looked like he just wanted to escape the suffocating crowd. Even from a distance, you could see the massive width of his shoulders tensing beneath his protective vest, his biceps stretching the fabric of his dark Western shirt as he politely nodded at a reporter.

The distinct, stark silver-grey patch at his fringe stood out proudly under the harsh lights, dusted with a light layer of arena grime as you looked down at your phone again, biting your lip as you started typing out a detailed description of just how big his arms actually were.

“Well now, I surely hope you ain’t textin’ some other fella after what I just pulled off down there.”

The thick, heavy Southern drawl cut through the stadium din like a sharp blade as your attention was violently swayed as you snapped your head up, your eyes widening in surprise. Jason had completely abandoned the media circus as he came jogging right toward your section, a wide, triumphant grin breaking through the dark stubble on his face.

Before the security guard near the rails could even blink, Jason gripped the top of the metal barrier with one massive, calloused hand and effortlessly vaulted his entire body over the railing in one smooth, athletic motion as the crowd nearby gasped and muttered, and out of the corner of your eye, you could see a camera crew quickly pivoting their heavy equipment, lenses zooming in on the two of you as they loudly wondered into their headsets who on earth you were.

Jason didn’t care about the cameras. He stepped up into the bleachers, huffing and puffing from the sheer exertion of the ride, and immediately planted one heavy, dirt-caked boot up on the bench right next to you.

“You were lookin’ so pretty up here, I just couldn’t stay down in that dirt a second longer,” he panted, his chest expanding deeply against his vest as he reached out, his huge hand catching the back of your head, his thick fingers ruffling your hair with an overwhelming, affectionate fondness that sent a shiver straight down your spine. “Lord have mercy, sweetheart, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

You immediately clicked your phone off, completely abandoning your friends to give him your undivided, breathless attention.

You smiled up at him, your hands instinctively reaching up to play with the damp, dark curls at the nape of his neck, your fingers brushing past that beautiful silver-grey fringe.

“You were amazing, Jason,” you congratulated him, your voice full of genuine, soaring emotion. “I thought you were going to fall for a second, but you were so stubborn.”

“Told you I wasn’t losin’,” he chuckled, his voice dropping into a husky, heated rumble. “Had a mighty fine incentive waitin’ for me in the stands. Couldn’t go bitin’ the dust in front of my girl, now could I?”

“Oh, so I’m your incentive now?” you teased, your heart doing a happy little flip at the words my girl.

“Darlin’, you’re the only reason I even held on for the past five seconds,” he murmured, his eyes crinkling at the corners with pure, unadulterated devotion as he backed up just a single step, his teal eyes flashing with a sudden, playful burst of energy.

Before you could even ask what he was doing, his huge, rugged hands reached forward and securely grabbed you by the waist as the absolute heat of his palms burned straight through your clothes.

With a low grunt of effort, he effortlessly hoisted you completely off the bleacher bench, lifting you high into the air as a breathless, delighted scream escaped your throat as he began to twirl you around in a tight circle right there in the stands.

The world spun in a blur of stadium lights and cheering faces, but your hands immediately clamped around his broad shoulders. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, completely ignoring the thick layer of sweat, arena dust, and raw musk clinging to his skin.

Once the dizzying twirling finally stopped, you didn’t let go as you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck and hooked your legs securely around his large, muscular waist, clinging to his massive frame like a koala.

Jason let out a deep, rumbling laugh that vibrated powerfully against your chest as he slowly tilted his upper body downward, leaning back slightly as if he were losing his balance.

“Whoa there, darlin’... hold on tight, I might just drop you right into the dirt,” he teased, a wicked, boyish smirk playing on his lips as he tested your grip.

“You wouldn’t dare, cowboy,” you gasped, a beautiful, radiant smile breaking across your face as you squeezed him tighter with your thighs.

“Nah, you’re right. I wouldn’t,” he whispered softly, his playful demeanor melting away in an instant.

His expression turned incredibly tender, completely captivated by you as those huge, heavily calloused hands—the ones he was always so terrified would scratch your smooth skin—settled firmly against the small of your back, lifting your weight effortlessly, supporting you with an unbelievable, gentle reverence.

He held you as if you were the only thing that mattered in the entire crowded arena and down below, the scene was absolute chaos.

The lead sports reporter, a sharp-faced woman holding a microphone with the network’s logo, stood frozen mid-sentence, her mouth slightly open.

“Cut the B-roll! Get the camera up there, now!” the field producer barked into his headset, frantically waving his clipboard toward the bleachers.

Three separate camera crews moved in a synchronized, panicked scramble as heavy, shoulder-mounted lenses swiveled away from the empty winner's podium, tilting sharply upward to capture the towering champion cradling a mystery woman in the stands.

The red recording lights blazed to life. Boom mics were hoisted high on long metal poles, thrust blindly toward the bleachers to catch whatever private words were passing between you. The stadium’s giant Jumbotron screen flickered, suddenly cutting away from the replay of the ride to display a massive, high-definition live feed of the two of you.

A collective, roaring gasp rippled through the thousands of spectators as they realized the rugged, notoriously closed-off Jason Todd was looking at someone like they were his entire universe but you didn’t wait another second as you leaned down, closing the small distance between your faces, and pulled him directly into a deep, breathless kiss.

The moment his lips met yours, the entire world seemed to go completely silent as the flashbulbs of the camera crew exploded below in a rapid, blinding strobe, capturing every single angle of the embrace, but the glaring lights faded into nothingness.

His lips were warm, slightly chapped, and parting eagerly against yours with a raw, lingering hunger that had been building for months as he let out a low, needy growl against your mouth, completely losing himself in you.

His thick arms tightened around you, crushing you against his massive chest as he returned the kiss with a beautiful, unyielding intensity. It was slow, detailed, and utterly consuming as the rough texture of his stubble scratched pleasantly against your jawline as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his thumbs rubbing soothing, affectionate circles into your lower back.

He was completely unbothered by the fact that their faces were currently plastered across a sixty-foot screen for the entire state to see; in his mind, he was entirely alone with you.

When you finally pulled back just a fraction, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting together. Down on the dirt floor, a reporter was frantically whispering into her microphone, “Folks, we are witnessing an unprecedented moment here at the finale... the champion has completely abandoned his trophy for a mystery woman in the stands!”

Jason’s teal eyes were dark, pooling with a heavy, undisguised adoration as a soft, breathless smile broke through his stubble as he ignored the frantic camera operators shoving their lenses right against the safety railing just a few feet away.

“Best damn prize in the whole state,” he murmured against your lips, his thick Southern accent dragging over the words like a sweet, heavy promise.

He leaned up to press one more soft, lingering kiss to the tip of your nose, his eyes shining with a pure, giddy happiness. “Let ‘em take their pictures, darlin’. I want the whole damn world to know you’re mine.”

You couldn’t help the soft, breathless laugh that bubbled up against his lips, your fingers tightening in his dark curls. “Oh, they’re taking pictures all right… I think we’re currently the main event, cowboy.”

Jason finally glanced down over his broad shoulder, his teal eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the absolute circus below. The camera operators were virtually climbing over one another, shoving their massive lenses as close to the safety railing as they could manage without falling into the dirt.

Flashbulbs continued to pop in a blinding rhythm, casting sharp, dramatic shadows across the metal bleachers as the lead reporter was practically vibrating with excitement, gesturing wildly to her cameraman to get a tighter zoom on your locked hands.

“Let ‘em look,” Jason grunted, turning his attention right back to you, his expression softening back into that incredibly sweet, melting look reserved only for you as he adjusted his grip on your waist, lifting you just an inch higher to settle you more comfortably against his chest.

“They can take all the pictures they want. Ain’t none of ‘em getting a piece of this.”

“Jason, your trophy,” you whispered, though you weren’t making even the slightest effort to untangle yourself from his massive frame.

“The announcer is still calling your name...!”

And it was true. Over the roaring stadium speakers, the announcer’s booming voice was sounding increasingly desperate. “Uh... a spectacular finish tonight folks, and if we can get our champion, Jason Todd, back down to the center arena for the official presentation—”

“The trophy ain’t going nowhere,” Jason murmured, his voice dropping into that husky, intimate register that made your heart do backflips as he leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck for a brief, heavy second, inhaling deeply.

You could feel the rough scratch of his stubble against your sensitive skin, followed by the warm, lingering press of his lips against your pulse point. “Besides, I already told you… I got the only prize I care about right here.”

A cheer erupted from the section of bleachers nearest to you, a group of older roping fans clapping loudly at the sheer, unapologetic romance of it all as you felt a bright flush creep up your neck and into your cheeks, but looking down at Jason—seeing the fierce, protective pride shining in his eyes—any lingering embarrassment completely evaporated.

He slowly began to slide you down his body, letting your feet find the solid metal of the bleacher bench, though he didn’t dare remove his hands from your waist.

Even standing on the bench, you were only just eye-level with him as his large hands remained anchored on your hips, his thumbs rubbing soothing, affectionate strokes through the fabric of your clothes.

“You’re really not gonna go get that giant piece of silver?” you teased, your hands resting flat against his broad, solid chest, feeling the rapid, heavy thudding of his heart beneath the protective vest.

“I’ll get it when I’m good and ready,” he chuckled, a boyish, wicked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he reached up, his thumb gently wiping away a stray speck of arena dust from your cheek with an unbelievable tenderness.

“Right now, I’m busy making sure my girl doesn’t run off with any of those city slickers down there.”

“Not a chance, you big baby,” you smiled, leaning in to press a quick, playful kiss to his chin. “I happen to have a thing for stubborn cowboys.”

Jason’s smile widened, bright and triumphant, completely unbothered by the lens of a camera that was currently capturing every single second of your conversation for the giant Jumbotron above as he looped one massive arm securely around your shoulders, tucking you tightly against his side as he finally turned to face the media circus below, ready to claim his title with you right by his side.

pairing: benjamin "dex" poindexter x fem reader

word count: 2.6k

content&warnings: breaking and entering, threats of violence, swearing, blood/wounds, making out, partial nudity, highly suggestive, dex spinal scar :p, benjamin poindexter. lmk if i missed anything! proofread & may be crossposted onto ao3. like and reblog to support your authors ♡ thank you for reading! dividers by @.honeyluvsw

the first time, of course, is scary—you wake to a masked man in your apartment, in the middle of the night, pointing a gun at you.

"scream, you're dead. got it?" bullseye switches the safety off.

you nod, whisper out a yes. your lungs have stopped working at maximum capacity.

"give me your phone," he says plainly; oh god, you think, he's taking it so you can't call for help while he kills you. wait, do you throw it? or—

"slide it over. on the ground. don't try to move, i can shoot without looking." he sounds less patient this time, though there wasn't much of that in his voice in the first place. gun still aimed at you, he picks it up, examines it.

"okay," he says, putting it in one of his multiple pockets. "you got a first aid kit?"

you nod, speechless, shaking, and that's when you see the way the fabric darkens around his left side. "holy shit—"

he ignores you. "where is it?"

"in the bathroom," you respond, but your mind is moving a mile a minute. "oh my god, you're bleeding, i can't have a dead guy in my apartment!"

"your cat's orange," he deadpans. "your bedsheets are blue."

"what?"

"oh, i thought we were stating the obvious." you're going to throttle this man; now is not the time for jokes.

you swallow, clear your throat, hope your voice doesn't shake as you go into autopilot. "listen, um, bullseye, you should sit down. i'll get the kit, okay?"

he stares at you suspiciously, gun still raised as he sinks to the ground. "okay. but you try something—"

"and you'll kill me, i get it. but seriously, something's wrong with you, so let me help, please."

he glares at you; his gloved fingers graze over the bloody patch lightly. "i know there's something wrong with me."

"oh, god." you're just realising what you said a moment ago. "that is so not what i meant!"

"i know." his voice is an agonised rasp as he repeats himself, and also really attractive. now who said that?

you rush into the bathroom to get the rectangular box, hands fumbling as you open it in front of him. the gun's still almost in your face. nervous, you tell him to take the top half of his suit off, and he obliges, but even with the most careful of movements, his breathing quickens painfully. now he's only in his mask, cargo pants and boots, head tipped back against the wall. blood leaks out of the wound just below his ribs, but it seems shallow enough that it can be sutured shut.

you rip open a packet of sterilised gauze; on second thought you put on a pair of gloves before you take one out. he sucks in a breath through his teeth when you press it against the wound, tensing up.

"i—you need to hold it like that," you whisper, and his right hand comes up to cover yours. for a moment, it's strangely intimate, his gloved one absolutely dwarfing yours as he adjusts his hold on it with a groan, before he gives you the okay to let go. incredibly selfishly, you notice just how firm his body is, even now.

he's holding the gun in his other hand, and you jump at the click when he switches the safety back on and quietly puts it down on the ground beside him—it's enough to show that he's trusting you for now, but you're still not completely safe.

when his blood overflows the first piece of gauze, you hand him a second one and he nods in thanks.

but now you actually have to clean and stitch it up, and you're no professional.

you decide to start from the outside, dabbing at the dried blood gingerly; he remains stoic. by the time you get to the actual wound, however, his breaths come in shallow and fast, fists clenched. and when the needle finally breaks skin, you think you actually feel the way his heart rate speeds up. you're repeating i'm sorrys under your breath, hating that you're hurting him, even if he is a homicidal maniac with scarily accurate aim.

"it's fine," he murmurs when you're done, tone unlike anything he used before. "it—i should go."

you stand up from where you'd been kneeling between his legs—which, in hindsight, sounds a lot more sexual than it had been—and dust off your pyjama pants, looking down at the large pile of bloody cotton and gauze.

"uh, yeah, you should…"

you watch as he examines his gear before putting it back on, then holsters the gun across his chest again. he's so built, you think lazily as he stands up in front of you.

he's saying something—

"huh?" you respond, only to realise he's holding out your phone to you. it's mortifying. "oh."

you take it from his hand as he walks back to your open window, then turns back.

"thank you," he says; if it'd been anyone else you'd have thought his voice was gentle. "and lock your window."

oh.

you really don't expect bullseye to come back again, not until he's already in your room, weeks later, swearing and apologising under his breath.

maybe you'd neglected closing the window—just to have something to think about before sleeping at night, okay? it's not a big deal.

this time, he's not as vigilant with the gun, although he's not as roughed up as last time, so you think he might be able to fight you if you try to do something. not that you were planning to, of course. and either you're extremely delusional, or there's definitely tension simmering underneath your interactions, the way your fingers brush against his gloved ones, or the look in his eyes when you catch him staring for a moment too long.

you only realise he didn't take your phone this time when it buzzes from your nightstand moments after you finish washing your hands of his blood. he looks at you enquiringly and you lean over to check; it's your ex-boyfriend. he's probably drunk, you tell him, and he says fuck that, like he's more important, and even though you've only met him twice and you've seen him more on the news than with your own two eyes, you think he might be right.

you offer him water, turning away respectfully when he pulls up the mask. he helps clean up after himself, so meticulous, you think.

"this won't happen again," he says when he's leaving. he's standing right in front of you, and for a moment you're stupid enough to think something will happen. he raises one hand cautiously to brush some hair out of your face; the smallest contact of his glove on your skin is enough to make you feel like a live wire. "and lock the damn window."

"you know i can't," you reply, entirely aware of how stupid how sound right now, and you think he smiles.

"okay, then."

the third time is when you finally get to see his face. you wake at the sound of his boots landing on the floor, and you're awake enough to register who he is, but not enough to realise that he'd already pulled his mask off.

it takes you a second.

he's pretty, for lack of a better word. his hair is messy, dark golden brown, and there's a healed scar dragging across his cheek (you could find home in there). he's not "perfect" in any way, but you think you've never seen something more beautiful. there's crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, something you hadn't noticed before, the slightest shadow of stubble on his jaw. you have to physically tear your eyes away from him.

"what?" he asks, when he realises you're staring. you shake your head, embarrassed, before looking over him for any injuries.

"i'm not bleeding," he inputs helpfully. "just need to hide out for a bit."

"oh?" you say, sitting up.

"task force's being a bitch."

"so the usual." you get out of bed, stretching lightly. "so, um, you want some, um, tea or something?"

you're awkward, this is new.

his lips twitch up at your discomfort; his smile is sharp, the kind to make butterflies erupt in your stomach. "sure."

it's oddly domestic, having a vigilante at your kitchen table like this. there's a pile of belongings on one side, a gun and gloves (his), phone and hand cream (yours). he's as quiet as you'd imagined; neither of you speak much until your phone lights up. you both look at it simultaneously, and you sigh. "it's him again."

"he do this often?"

"fairly."

another text. then another, then—

he reaches over and switches it off, placing it facedown. "why don't you just block him?"

"it's… weird," you say. "i know we're not together anymore, but it's kind of nice to have someone to turn to or think about. occasionally."

"so you're broken up, but not really."

"kind of?" to tell the truth, you haven't thought of him at all since bullseye's world collided with yours.

"you deserve better," he comments.

you lean forward, interested. "like who?"

maybe it's the lack of sleep making you so adventurous today.

he leans back, holding eye contact. the word stays between you, unspoken, heavy. after a moment, he changes his mind. "someone… nicer."

you know you'll regret it as soon as you say it. "you're nice enough."

"you don't even know my name."

"you know you can just tell me, right?"

there's a pause. you tell him your name, and he there's a self-satisfied half-smirk on his face. "i know."

you don't question it, and it's kind of nice that he cared enough to find out.

you can call him dex, he tells you. it's not his actual name—you'd asked—but it's what everyone calls him. or used to.

"okay, dex." you like how it rolls off your tongue. (and he does too.)

then, when he's leaving, he looks at you like this meeting, like you had been a moment of weakness. "this was a mistake."

"no," you respond vehemently; it's the first time you've really gone against him since the two of you met. the fire in your eyes intrigues him.

"no?" he tilts his head to one side, amused. his mask is still in his hands.

"i'm a grown ass woman," you argue. "i know what a mistake is and what isn't."

"is that so?"

you stride up to him, pulling him down to your level by the front of his shirt. "yes, dex, it is."

his hands automatically come up to cup your face, mask forgotten—he's not wearing gloves, you realise. are they still on your table? was he planning to leave them behind?—and his thumb smoothes across your cheekbone, gentle. you cannot imagine these to be the hands of a killer, though you've seen the carnage he's left in his wake firsthand. "you're going to regret this."

"don't care—"

he kisses you. it's fast; you don't see it coming until it's already happening—not that you mind, of course. your hands fly the back of his head, the nape of his neck. he closes the window with one hand (your body screams at the loss of contact) before it comes back to you again, thumbing at your jaw, then lower, finding your pulse point. you whine into his mouth; he grins into yours as he walks you backwards towards your bed. you let go of him long enough to sit down, taking the opportunity to finally catch a breath. he sinks down between your legs; this time, he's yanking you down to kiss him again, hand on your thigh like puzzle pieces fitting together.

"don't you dare regret this," he pants, leaning back on his haunches. you laugh, breathless; you know you won't.

you scream when dex pulls his mask off. the lower half of his face is covered in blood, the origin appearing to be his nose. he winces at the noise. "don't panic, it was just one good hit. nothing's broken."

you're clambering out of bed, already headed for the bathroom. "i still need to clean you up!"

"it can wait."

you pause at the sound of his voice. it's different—deeper, more intense than usual somehow. you can tell he's not in the mood to be bossed around.

"what?"

"c'mere," he says. not exactly an order—but you do as you're told. "you mind the blood?"

you shake your head, no. if anything, he looks good, in his natural habitat—covered in the bloodshed he spends most of his time in. when he kisses you, you're already reaching back to unclip his holster; there's blood in (and smeared around) your mouth when he pulls back to unlace his boots, shedding the rest of his gear in quick succession until he's only in his boxers.

you're lying on the bed under him now, breathing hard. he places one hand over your heart, feeling the elevated pulse. "excited?"

you roll your eyes, propping yourself up on your elbows so he can kiss you again. when his knee slides between your legs, you let out a choked noise, and he takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, greedy. your hands pull at his hair in the way you know he loves, and he's letting out little whimpers almost subconsciously. he grinds down once, twice; he's the excited one, you think.

"how come you still get to keep everything on?" he demands, whiny. you like when he gets like this, all hooded eyes and swollen lips and everything that haunts him forgotten because he's so focused on you.

"just a sec, baby." you're about to pull your cami top off when one of his big hands reaches past yours and rips it down the front. you sit up, outraged. "dex, that was my favourite!"

you cut yourself off with a gasp when his teeth sink into your neck; he licks over the spot before moving lower, and his words are slurred, running into each other when he speaks. "mm, i'll buy y'one, no, ten more, m'kay? lemme have this—"

he doesn't even bother to finish his sentence before sucking a bruise into the space right under your collarbone; from the way he's holding you, you know there'll be marks from his fingers all around your hips and thighs. not that you mind, of course, not when he'll see them later and be almost possessive of them and of you.

he watches like a hawk, you beneath him, glassy-eyed and panting, voice hoarse. no one else gets to have you like this, no one but him. you're his, and his only, and in return—

"dex, you're mine," you breathe, fingers dragging oh-so-slowly down the scar on his spine. he shudders; a broken sound spills from his lips as he nods into your shoulder, blunt nails digging into your flesh.

it takes a second for him to regain composure before he looks up. there's a foreign glint in his eye—he's never seen you be this possessive of him, and he's not sure how to feel about it. proud? turned on? or maybe both. "that's right, baby, 'n you gotta take care of what's yours, right?"

his lips curve up into a self-satisfied smirk.

—————————————

synopsis: toxic!ex!kal-el x reader, a little after your ‘falling out’ he still can’t seem to let you go. continuation of this

cw: toxicity, kal projecting again, drunk reader, insults and derogatory language hurled at reader,

a/n: im not proud of this one but im planning on making a ficlet to this 👀 maybe yearning…maybe a begging apology…or maybe another part of him being mean….who knows? i have another one jn the chamber guys, plus the ficlet will follow this and then more smaus, am i going too hard on this? yeah probably. will i overdo it. hell yeah

tags♡: @twentytomidnight (hope you like this one gulp)

featuring: batsis prime! and superboy prime shenanigans. a short smau/teaser

Eenie Meenie Miney Mo Edward "The Riddler" Nygma x reader wc: 1196

     He had far too much time on his hands was all you could think as you walked into the library and watched as the brights slowly dimmed. How did he even manage to get these things into place? It had to take major construction, time, and yet somehow… Your thought process cut off abruptly, watching the floor part, mechanics groaning, watching as a cage slowly rose with a mixture of awe and exhaustion. 

“In this room I have hidden the clue to your next destination.’ The speakers made sense, it was easy to believe he could set up a recording that was wired into the sound system. Where the fuck had he gotten tigers?? “Now the riddle.’

     You still weren’t sure this was a good idea, but it’d been a long boring stint in Arkham and he said he needed a bit of brain teasing to get the creative juices flowing. Which apparently meant doing a massive remodel of Gotham Library’s basement, first, and second floor. Small things. Wandering the room, you skimmed the title of books, spun a globe, set a planet into orbit triggering the rest of the orrery into motion. There were a lot of busts here, authors, scientists, philosophers. 

“Who would philosophize catching a tiger?’

     No one in their right mind was the immediate thought, quickly followed by an unnecessary apology. Firstly because he wasn’t even there, though you were sure that he had camera access. And secondly for all his talent at reading body language he was not, in fact, psychic. Continuing on your circuit took you closer to the cage, which was surprisingly clean. They must have been recently placed, unable to resist moving closer at a flicker of light. 

     Collars? Selina. Of course she’d have helped him, she was almost as endeared to causing chaos as the clown. But it also explained why they looked so healthy. Was she here? You head tilting back to look up at the high ceiling, looking for places she could perch and enjoy the show. There were several, but no one there, stumbling back feeling a rush of air from a swipe of a large paw. 

“Keep in mind they are hungry, and you do have a time limit.’ …. He wouldn’t let you get eaten by tigers would he? Was that why he’d told you to wear pajamas without buttons? “Should you fail to answer the riddle, the cage will open and well… Let’s hope your legs work faster than your brain in that case.’

     Bitch.

     The appearance of neon green should not have surprised you, and yet you stared up at the numbers showing four colon fifty-nine feeling not just that but also a little bit impressed. No where near the elaborate trappings offered to the Batman, but then you were some six foot plus furry assaulting the mentally ill. Though if this went badly and you survived, you might be assaulting one yourself. The riddle itself, if it could be called that, didn’t give you a lot to work with. 

     Eyeing the busts of philosophers through the age you felt your teeth grit and tried to suppress your irritation. Tigers, from what you could recall were found in India and Russia, orange and white. And given Edward’s distaste of religion it narrowed it down slightly, moving to read the bronze plates but couldn’t find Krishnamurti, or Gogineni. Chernyshevsky, and Herzen, were also not present. The tigers had to be important, but maybe not as a clue to the origin. 

     A loud chuff pulled your attention from the busts, turning to consider the tigers as their massive paws pressed against the bars of the cage. You hoped it was sturdier than it looked, but then there weren’t many things that would look like it could handle the frustration of a feline that large. You certainly wouldn’t be able to, watching as sharp claws slowly slid free of their sheath as one of the tigers gripped metal and pulled. 

     Three colon twenty-five.

     That was plenty of time to attempt brute forcing an answer, eyeing the closest bust suspiciously. But there was also a high chance that he’d trapped it to avoid you doing just that. Edward took it so personally when people found ways around having to submit themselves to his idea of clever. The last time you’d tried it had left you curled up in a ball on the floor attempting to regain control of your limbs as they’d twitched and flung themselves about after the electric current that had been forced through you.

     So while you were pretty sure you had the time to do so, it would probably be detrimental to your health if you did. Sighing, you read the riddle again. So it was a philosopher, and he had something to do with tigers. You could almost hear the way he mocked you for this being child’s play, so easy he would have cracked it before the sentence had finished. Meanwhile you were going to wind up going eenie meenie miney mo-

     …..

     The idea was so ridiculous that you wanted to strangle him even as you circled the room again. If he wasn’t there you were going to be conflicted. Happy, because the stupid answer wasn’t going to piss you off. Frustrated because you honestly couldn’t think of anything else, and you’d just wanted a fun little scavenger hunt. Except the proffile you could see just ahead looked like the kind of guy that would be name- Fuck.

“Very good!’ Came the patronizing tone over the speak system, your eyes narrowing at the bearded marble that you wanted to pick up off the shelf and throw to the floor. “Did you know it is supposed that the reason Aristocles was called Plato was due to his previous interest in wrestling. It left him rather broad, which the greek word for is platon.’

     Child’s play, toe. He really wasn’t feeling his best if he was resorting to “riddles: like that. It felt clunky, and you were absolutely going to tell him that directly to his face. Turning when you heard a click and whir of mechanics. For a split moment you’d thought that his trap had set itself off by mistake, reaching for the small green envelope that had been beneath the bust. 

     To be fair, you could have forced the answer, if you’d been looking close enough. Plato’s was the only bust that had a disruption in the dust around it. They really needed to clean better…

“Go on, read your next clue!’ You did not flick off the cameras, it took a lot. “I’m looking forward to your solving this one.’

     And the one after that, and the one after that, you were sure. Still, it was probably helping, and later he’d look back on these with shame and you’d get to enjoy the aggressive side of him that he tried to act like didn’t exist. The one that left bruises where no one else could see them that had you thinking about him all day as they ached. As if he didn’t already live rent free in your head just for smiling sweetly at you.

Hal Jordan/Reader, 1.4K

a/n: something i made for myself. enjoy!

cw: flirting, kissing, toxic situationships, Hal's a dog, gn!reader (no description of features/clothing)

masterlist ao3 requests

PREVIEW:

And you're willing to let him convince you. Hal Jordan/Reader

💿 Sugar Talking 💿

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴: 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍!𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝙺𝚎𝚗𝚝

Put your loving where your mouth is / Yeah your paragraphs mean shit to me

Saying that you miss me / Boy do you want a prize? / You're havin' these epiphanies / Big word for a real small mind / And aren't you tired of saying a whole lot of nothing?

Overview: You grew up in Smallville with Clark, earned the same intership as him and then followed down the same career path. Still, that doesn't make you best friends. Just the occasional acquaintance he can share a small-town anecdote with.

Lois thinks differently, constantly teasing the two of you about being the perfect Smalltown Couple. You wished that were true, wished that Clark looked at you the way you looked at him. Unless... Are you just really bad at picking up hints? There was that one time he took you out to dinner, but colleagues do that kind of thing all the time....

wc: 7.9K

a/n: had either Smallville! Clark in mind or Corenswet! Clark, this is a bit too cutesy for a Cavill Superman

“Here you go,” Clark drops your coffee on your desk before heading off to his own.

“Thanks, hun,” you toss at his back. He gives you a brief smile before setting his bag down. Humming, you take a sip and let out a noise of satisfaction.

“Hun?” You hear wheels spinning and then Lois appears at your elbow. You shoot her a flat look that she dismisses with a cheeky grin. “Doesn’t sound very platonic to me.”

“You call me sweet cheeks all the time,” you point out.

Lois sighs, the noise having become far too familiar to you. “That’s because you have a nice ass. It’s objective, nothing else.”

“Well, thank you, but it’s the same with Clark and me.” I wish, you think bitterly. Lois is unconvinced, as always. But she’s got deadlines to meet, same as you, so she leaves you alone and rolls back to her desk. You let out a sharp sigh and try to continue the article you were working on.

It’s hard to focus when your eyes keep getting drawn back to Clark. You almost wish you had a cubicle just so he wouldn’t be such a hindrance to your work.

narcissus, oil on canvas (and on the phone)

「 tws + notes: unedited, potentially ooc, riddler shenanigans, heavily inspired by batman: the audio adventures, lowkey silly but i couldn't resist 」

「 male!reader, romantic relationship <3 」

↳ ft. mr. e himself

(aka edward nygma)

author's note: rubbed my hands together deviously. this is such a fun idea to get to write!! a little less flirty, a LOT more banter-y... but trust he was twirling that telephone cord and smiling on the other end.

while no day is a dull day in gotham, recently, the world has decided to put you through the wringer.

your routine is consistent:

stare at computer monitors until the blue light makes your eyes hurt.

answer the calls from worried citizens around gotham.

get the gcpd (batman too, if you’re really unlucky) on the random villain who decided to be active this month.

there’s an absurd number of calls concerning previously inactive rogues — so much, in fact, that your coworkers have started betting on which one going to pop up next. (your money is on crazy quilt).

just last week, an early winter decided to hit the city, courtesy of mr. freeze. you had your hands full with calendar man later, because of course, batman day is a day which requires chaos.

but the ongoing issue at hand?

“missed me?”

the voice is unmistakable. you’d know that nauseatingly smug tone from anywhere.

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synopsis: toxic!ewb!kal-el can’t keep his hands to himself, knowing you give in every time

cw: swearing, toxic relationship, superboy prime is an asshole, made on a whim while listening to toxic by bs lol, at the end he projects his feelings because of course he does,

a/n: a non batfam post??!! woah what happened, hes eating away at my brain thats what happened LMAO, i need him so bad but also i need to kill him, ill stone him istg, with kryptonite. also new format kinda just to see

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Synopsis: Death and Destiny are star-crossed lovers, they're bound for eternity but are subjected to Fate and her imposing presence. You were once an admirer of Fate, the idea of a inescapable future buried a sense of security within you. That was until fate decided it had other plans for you.

Gosh... you hate being OMNISCIENT.

In which, a technological prodigy gets isekai'd into a world she viewed as fake. Using her skills in engineering and physics, will she be able to bend fate's will?

The Dead Dance

01:43 ━━━━●───── 03:50

⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻

ılıılıılıılıılıılı

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮

“Now I'm haunting your air,

 your soul, your eyes”

Like always, sleep did not come to you peacefully. But instead of the emptiness that greeted you every night, you were floating in an endless black void. Usually you wouldn’t mind the kind of silence that came with the void, but there was something off about the darkness. It felt like something was lurking in its shadows, and it made you uneasy. You tried to move your limbs, but you felt locked into place. You weren’t even sure if your eyes were even open anymore. The more you struggled, the stiffer you became. It started to feel suffocating, like invisible strings attempting to squeeze you like a ripe banana. Suddenly, you were let go. Eventually falling far enough to hit what seemed to be a wooden floor. 

You began to realize your state of paradoxical sleep. As the dream doesn’t start, it arrives. There was no warning, barely even a fade-in. The only thing keeping you company was the static that rang in your ears. Like a cassette rewinding itself too fast. Then it went silent, until it didn’t. You could only hear your breathing. The dim light flashes on as it reveals the hallway you stood in. A hallway you knew shouldn’t exist. Every door along the hallway looked the same; White, sterile, humming faintly like theyre alive. The air around you smelled metallic, and you couldn’t tell if it was blood or a memory. 

You jump at the faint sound of faint dripping, your head and eyes darting around to try to find the source. Only to look down and see a puddle gathering at your feet, its dark color was black, vicious, and slowly crawling toward your shoes like it’s trying to spell something. You try to move, but it holds your feet down in a vice. You then blink, the puddle is gone. But it was replaced by familiar marble floors. You had looked up, you were back at the gala. But instead of the bustling murmurs of Gotham’s higher class, emptiness and silence greeted you warmly. The lights around you began to flicker, now it was Iceberg lounge, then it was the Daily Planet, and then it was nowhere. Everywhere you turned, everywhere you attempted to move, the world had reset. Every time you breathe, the sound echoes wrong. Sometimes too loud, other times too hollow. Like someone else was breathing through you.

Then you hear it, a voice. Not human, not divine, just familiar.

“You shouldn’t be here” you grit your teeth. “Like I don't already know that?” you try to speak, but your voice was silent. You kept your guard up as you kept your head kept on a swivel. You found no one, as what greeted you back was a spotlight. It shined on the mp3, its digital screen showing the tapes spinning. You take gradual steps towards the light, like something would bite you if you took a wrong step. You slowly kneel, picking up the mp3 player. The engraved words subtly shining in the light. As your fingers graze the shell of the music player, a button clicks and the voice continues. 

“You keep looking for invisibility, for illusion. But neither of those options want you” the walls around you pause, the ink from before crawls faster. But this time instead of it being around your legs, it was crawling on the pristine floors around you, up toward the walls like bars trying to cage you. You try to move out the way, but your limbs feel like they were underwater; heavy, slow, wrong. The voice spoke through again, but softer. “You promised you would remember, that you’d keep it safe” the voice almost sounded hurt. You knew that you’ve heard this voice before, somewhere… maybe in another life. Then, faintly, under your rips, a heart beat that wasnt yours.

You wake up gasping, hand clutching your chest and nails digging into your skin. The sound of the tape still echoed in your ears, even though it isnt there. And for a moment, you could feel the ink crawling up your arms. You glance at the mp3 player, it’s position unmoving on the night stand. You reluctantly move to pick it up, only to recoil like it burned you. You were scared of whatever was behind the future seeing objects that have been gifted to you. You think back on the card that came with it. Lyra, the name that was signed on the little love note inside. You remember before that Lyra was the name of the lyre constellation. 

You shot up, there was a library nearby that maybe you could do some research in. You brushed your hair messily and put on your shoes. Answers have been the only constant want you had in this world but never could fully get. So the opportunity to find any backstory or context clues was a game changer. Luckily you woke up late enough that the library was already open. So you rushed into it’s old oak doors and straight toward the astrology section. The air around you smelled like musk and old books, but that didn’t deter you. Once you found the astrology section, you took out the first big book that you thought had explanations. Of course, things werent that easy as many of the books you had picked up only talked about location and the science of it. Eventually, after around 30 tries in, you found a book on mythology in the section. You were quick to see the name in the table of contents and flipped to the page.

According to the book, the Lyra constellation was the known to be the lyre of Orpheus, the musician who lost his lover to the underworld. Orpheus, being a son of Apollo, was given the lyre by his father. Although many believed his music was a talent of his own, his lyre was actually the main key. It was more than just a vessel of music, but a tool of revelation and persuasion. As the melody emitted from the stringed instrument could bend trees, charm inanimate objects, and even move the gods. Due to it’s strong influence, it was one of the greek symbols of… omniscience because of it’s ability to penetrate worlds for knowledge. The revolution dawned on you. Omniscience. The book. You remember the fancy scribble on the inside of the hard cover. “The Oracle’s Ledger”. Oracles were often priests of Apollo. And Lyra was a gift from Apollo. You weren’t sure where you were going with this, but it was clear there was a correlation between these gifts and the greek god of sun and music.

You take your old style phone and take a couple low quality pictures of the pages. Right now, all you could do is document until you got the full page. If you had the money, you would start a clue board. But since you didn’t, so documentation would have to suffice. You would do more research, looking at the time it had dawned on you that you might be late to work. You only had thirty minutes to change and get to the gazette before Percy would scold the living daylights out of you. So run you did, but it cost you your dignity. As you sprinted out the library and pushed through the crowded streets of Gotham. You were met back at your shady apartment in the entrance of crime alley. Not wanting to get into anymore trouble than you could take in a day, you rushed around your apartment like your life depended on it. 

You dropped a multitude of items as you stumbled around and out of your apartment, but you couldn’t really care less for it. Your biggest priority at the moment was to not get fired. You found yourself at the front of the gazette building with less than five minutes to spare. Your blouse and hair were windswept and you heaved like you ran a marathon. Through your rush, you were able to pick up the mp3 player and shove it in your bag before leaving. So far, it had proven its use to you in a multitude of ways. And with it’s functions, you thought you’d have more access. Before you walked in, you straightened your blouse and hair to seem more professional. You strode in through the glass doors with confidence you knew you didn’t have. As always the lobby was empty, excluding Annalise and the occasional delusional Gothamite. The latter greeted you with her knowing smile as you passed by. Of course, being you, you nodded and went to your cramped cubical by Erin.

It had been a little while since you’ve actually talked to your superior, not that she seemed to want to talk to you. As always, beside your desk, was Erin hunched over her cheap laptop with papers scattered in the way you see in detective movies. She seems to pay you no mind as you settle at you desk. Speaking of, on your desk was a small stack of articles that seem to need to be proof read. You let out a deep sigh, you hated reading anything that wasn’t fanfiction. But fanfiction unfortunately doesn’t get the bills paid, to you focused on the task at hand. As you picked up your first paper, you notice the subtle shake in your hand. You hadn’t realized how much that dream had scared you till now. The rush gave you that brief adrenaline that made you forget. Your knee bounced and your heart pulsed at eighty miles per hour. It only worsened when you heard something clank on the floor. Your head snapped toward the sound and realized it was just your coworker dropping their stapler. 

No matter how many reassurances or breathing techniques you did, panic and fear coursed through your veins. Now that you were outside of the safety of home, you felt like you had no choice but to stay vigilant. You’re gazed snapped back down to the papers on your desk. You figured maybe working through the anxiety would calm you down. You’re eyes sifted through the page, but you couldnt focus. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flicking in a rhythm that made your teeth ache. The words on the page beginning to move in both a familiar and unfamiliar way. You tried to write notes but couldn’t do anything but create unsteady lines. 

There was a tap on your shoulder that had almost had you jumping out of your office chair. It was just Erin, who gave you a strange but observant look. 

“You good?” she asked with hidden irritation, “you act like you’re being haunted or something.” her eyes sharpen, trying to find any clue on your condition. You internally huff, your body beginning to feel like static. You might as well be.

“No m’ fine” you say, it was a phrase you found yourself often saying. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah, deliver these to Percy’s office. Please and thank you” Erin pushes a manila folder onto your desk. You shakily receive it with weakened resolve, whatever confidence you had coming into the office was long gone. Replaced with seeping anxiety and paranoia. You get up, the familiar feeling of needles running up and down your legs. Each step you took felt heavy, like a weight was chained to your ankles. As you made your way through the hallway, you couldn’t help but notice how dark it was. The led lights in front of you flickered and the once bright white lights seemed dim. You felt something pass behind you, you turn around and only see a fleeting shadow of a figure. If you weren’t already on the verge of tears, now you definitely were. You quickly knock on Percy’s door, afraid that if you stayed any longer, whatever breezed past you would beat the shit out of you.

Time seemed to stretch as it felt like an eternity before Percy had opened the door. He had greeted you with a smile and offered you inside. You politely decline and gave him the manila folder Erin wanted you to give him. He was quick to thank you and you went off your merry way. Before you could fully make your way back into your cubical, the fire alarm began blaring over head. You heard panic and footsteps reverberate through the gazette you were pushed and shoved as you fell to the floor. You began to smell the smoke, suddenly you were pulled forward and shielded away from the bustling crowd all rushing to get out of the probably on fire building. You try to look up through the building smoke. You couldn’t tell who it was. Eventually you made it out of the building safely, the grip on you wrist faded. You try to get a glimpse of the person who grabbed you but they were no where to be seen. 

You turned back to the building, you noticed the villain Firefly spreading his fire like it was the truth. Your brows furrow, you knew Firefly had arsenonist tendencies but he usually had a reason or pattern. He usually liked to burn down buildings or people depending on his revenge motives. But right now, you couldn’t really tell what his motives were. Maybe the gazette wronged him. Or maybe he just wanted to burn something. You had no clue, nor did you want to know. Luckily, or unluckily, the batfamily was quick to show up. Minus Red Hood, of course. You watched Batman and Nightwing attempt to get Firefly down while fire trucks begin to pull up. You’re eyes dart around, trying to find Tim. With your current relationship with the latter, you would rather avoid him at all costs. 

You than notice Robin Junior staring down at you from a nearby building. One thing you do note is that he looks a little older than how he appears in Supersons. Maybe around 16? Regardless, he seemed to be almost glaring at you. At first you assumed that it was his normal intimidating exterior. But the longer you stared at him, the more it was clear that there was more of a reason. Before the staredown could hold out longer, he seemed to jump into action with his father and brother. Percy was quick to gather the attention of the Gazette. Stepping up on a nearby concrete step.

“Alright, everyone… go home. The building’s not safe, and it won’t be for a long time. We’ll update you about remote work once we know what’s left of the office. For now, clear the area. So keep an eye on your pagers so me and the rest of HR can get into contact. Stay safe everyone” you silently rejoice, more time in your apartment and more time for your research. You looked back toward the raging fire in front of you, it was calmer. You still couldn’t understand why Firefly would do this. Maybe you’d never find out, and maybe this was one of the answers you were okay not having. 

It had taken a bit to get Firefly down and in cuffs, seeing as he takes to the sky. Fortunately he was easily apprehended with the help of Tim flying down. After processing him properly and confiscating his amour, the Waynes took Firefly in to investigation. It turned out [Name] wasn’t the only one who found his sudden arson to be strange. Currently Firefly, or better known as Garfield Lynn, was handcuffed to the table. A scowl seemed permanently burned on his face, around him was Tim Drake and Dick Grayson. Meanwhile, behind the glass, was the rest of the Wayne peanut gallery. Which included Bruce Wayne, Barbara Gordon, and Damian Al Ghul. 

Normally, Bruce would be leading the investigation. But Tim had insisted this case might have something to do with some research he’s been doing. Bruce wasn’t necessarily opposed to letting him, but it wasn’t wrong to say he was curious. Similar could be said about Barbara Gordon, she had heard some details through Dick. She had done some of her own research, she had found as much as Tim did. Three bank statement and a really poorly put together 401k. She agreed with Tim that it was strange she had practically no digital foot print. But she digresses, this was Tim’s case, and she was happy to stay out of it. Unless it get’s more interesting than it already is, than she’s so investigating this girl.

Back to the case at hand, Dick leant against the wall as Tim sat in front of Garfield. The smell of ash and gasoline polluted the interrogation room. Tim opened the case file in front of him, spreading out photos of his previous operations. Many of them having a clear pattern. Such as the fire houses about two to three years ago, during the whole Scarecrow debacle. Surprisingly, Garfield was the first to beak the silence.

“It was the perfect place, you know” an unsettling grin begun to adorn the pyromaniac’s face, “Did you know that buildings remember fire? They whisper through the smoke” neither detectives react.

“Garfield, we’re not here for poetry” Dick objected, but the former’s smile turned maniacal.

“Then you shouldn’t have brought the quiet one,” his head slightly cocked in Tim’s direction. “He listens too well.” Tim’s jaw tightens. Taking the initiative to continue, Dick takes a few steps forward.

“You burned down the Gazette, we want to know why” Garfield tilts his head, studying Dick like he’s a candle flame.

“Why does anyone burn anything? To see whats left.” 

“Be honest. Why the Gazette?” Tim’s voice was cold, his hands interwind in a contemplated way. Garfield stared at Tim, like someone who knew too much.Tim unfolded his fingers, pushing forward a picture of one part of the Gazette building. It was untouched, no ash or burnt brick in sight. “You hesitated before lighting the west wing.” he pointed to the unburned part of the building.

“Did I now?” the villain’s mouth twitches upward.

“You saw someone.” Garfield’s eye’s flick up, too fast, too sharp.

“Maybe I did.”

“Who?” Garfield leans back in his chair, his handcuffs not allowing much freedom. 

“Funny thing about fire… It makes shadows dance. Hard to tell who’s real and who’s just smoke.” 

“Garfield. Someone was inside. Someone you recognized.” Firefly stopped humming, the silence was heavy. Only the sound of the AC filling the room. 

“Didn’t say that.” 

“You didn’t have to.” Firefly’s gaze snaps to Tim; laser‑focused, unsettlingly lucid. 

“What are you saying, detective?” The arsonist’s smile was sharp. He pulled out another picture, this time from his work bag. It was your Gazette ID photo. He pushed it toward Garfield,

“Do you know this woman?” The villain just stared blankly at the photo, providing neither detectives a clue on for investigation. He seemed to contemplate what he wanted to say. 

“Do you?” this answer seemed to irk Tim. 

“Answer the question.”

“Not particularly, no” Garfield played with the chains around his wrists.

“You’re lying.” Dick pushed himself off the wall, walking up to the table with a contemplative look.

“Oh bird boy, you’re asking the wrong man the wrong question” He grinned.

“Fine, what was your motive behind burning down the Gazette?” 

“And why should I tell you?” Tim sighed through his nose. 

“We’ll cut you a deal” Dick shot Tim a look, it wasn’t normal for Tim to be thinking about sending a criminal anywhere but jail or arkham asylum.

“You’re not the one who usually bargains” Firefly noted.

“Garfield Lynns. You’re facing twenty-five to life. Arson. Endangerment. Attempted murder. You want a deal? Start talking.” Tim growled.

“What kind of deal?” Tim paused for a bit, he wasn’t sure what came over him. But he was too far deep to back out now.

“Transfer to Blackgate instead of Arkham Asylum or Gotham State Penitentiary. Supervised therapy instead of a cage.” This seemed to catch the villain’s attention.

“You’d do that for me?” Firefly offered a teasing smile, seemingly noticing this was out of character for the detective. But that grin faltered slightly at the sight of Tim’s dark look, so he took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking up. “I was pointed”

“Pointed?” DIck repeats. “By who?” Firefly looks from Tim to make eye contact with Dick.

“You know who.” silence echoed through the small room, before Tim cleared his throat.

“Penguin…” Firefly’s grin came back, as manic as ever.

“See? Smart.” DIck’s jaw tightened.

“Why would Penguin want the Gazette destroyed?”

“Well. that’s not a the full story…” Tim’s fist clenched, it was clear his patients was running out. Firefly leaned in. “You boys ever wonder why there was a recent influx of armed crimes among all the crime lord’s territories?” both Tim seemed to raise a brow, he remembered looking briefly into it when he first met [Name]. Dick, on the other hand, was still confused.

“Garfield. We’re here about the Gazette.” 

“Oh, the Gazette was just the grave marker.” He taps the table, “a warning.”

“To her?” Tim’s face had gone serious.”why would the Penguin want to give a warning?”

“Why do you think?” Firefly leaned foreword. “What do you think a crime lord, that is most associated the arms deals, would want to??”

“But what does the Penguin have to do with this woman” Tim probed.

“He wanted to erase a problem”

“Elaborate.”

“That girl,” he points to [Name]’s picture. “Use to supply them.” Tim’s breath stutters. 

“Well technically, she only supplied the Penguin. But knowing ol’ Cobblepot, he resold and expanded her business.” Firefly continued 

“Supplied what?”

“She made their guns, toys, the things they used for their wars.” Dick’s voice stayed steady.

“She was an arms dealer…”

“Not just any arms dealer, the best they’ve ever saw. Her weapons were clean, reliable, untraceable… and best of all, revolutionary.” Tim’s heart stopped.

“What?”

“You know the best thing of this? They made a pact.”

“Elaborate.” Tim repeated again

“The Penguin, Falcone, and Maroni. Even the ones too small to matter. They had agreed to temporary peace, no wars while the flow of arms is consistent.”

“And when she quit?” Garfield shrugs.

“Pact shattered, everyone wanted her part of their system. Or her head. Either worked really.”

“Then why you? Are you a part of this whole operation?”

“Lord no, im proud of my gear, i dont need some desperate engineer doing my shit for me.”

“So one of them hired you.” Firefly nodded.

“Clean up job. Said she took something.” Firefly shrugged. Tim was getting tired of this back and forth, so he just glared. Fortunately, firefly got the memo.

“A list.” firefly paused. “A list went missing, one with every weapon, every buyer, and every deal that was involved with her arms.” Tim’s eyes darkened, she was more dangerous than he had initially thought.

“But then why burn the building? Why not just make her disappear the traditional way?” Firefly’s grin came back, but instead of maniacal it was smug.

“Because the pact is broken, and when the peace dies… everything burns” that was how the interrogation ended. With many loose ends and a group of unsatisfied waynes.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the glass, the wayne gallery was theorizing. Damian was stiff, his fists clenched and jaw tightened. Barbara Gordon was intrigued, this case went from interesting to full on mysterious. And Bruce looked as nonchalant as ever. 

“That explains the lack of conflict between those groups” Bruce hums, the gravely voice filled with hidden interest and seriousness. 

“It also explains the lack of source for those weapons with the emblem.” Barbara agrees. “Every time we tried to trace them, the trail just… stopped. Like someone cut the wire.” Damian’s eyes narrow in contempt.

“Tt. Or someone never left a wire to begin with.” Bruce doesn’t respond, but the silence was telling. Hard. Babara pulled out her laptop, attempting to find any digital trail of this pact. Surprisingly, she did. Layed out in tables and charts, dating back to late September.

“She unintentionally build equilibrium..”

“On blood” Bruce commented

“That’s why the crime rate spiked that year. Why the families started stepping on each other’s territory again. We thought it was coincidence.” Bruce shakes his head.

“But it wasn’t.” Damian growled, “it was a deliberate”

“What about that list he mentioned? Is it in those files?” Bruce asked

“Unfortunately not, but if it is as serious as Lynns made it sound. Then Cobblepot is going to send more than firefly. Nor would it just be Cobblepot after her.” Barbara concluded, Damian stepped forward.

“Then we strike first.”

“Damian…” Barbara shot him a look

“I meant the crime lords.” Damian’s eyes narrowed at Firefly, “as much as she poses a threat, our biggest priorty is to prevent the lords from banning together. Against her.” Bruce hums in agrement. 

“We’ll need more than just you and Dick. And we can’t send Tim, He’s compromised.” Barbara nods in agreement.

“He’s not thinking like a detective, as much as he want’s to deny it… he’s more attached to [Name] than he admits.”

“This works in our favor. Grayson, Todd, Drake, and I were meant to confront her tonight. This gives us a proper reason that isn’t speculation.” Damian explained, Bruce’s eyebrows were raised. It was clear he was unaware of the case that was building against the Gazette worker.

“If that is so. Then proceed with caution.. She has too many undetermined variable around her to predict.”

“I shall not fail you, Father”

Today seemed like a luckier day for you. On your way home, you had found a discarded cork, board about the size of a flat screen tv, outside a old department store as well as some discarded computer parts near the Best Buy down the road. Things were really lookin up for you today, and you were glad. Even if it was just temporary. Your wall was cluttered with prints outs of the clue’s you’ve been documenting. Not that there was much on there, you knew it was only just the tip of the iceberg. On the other hand, you were able to construct a barely working laptop with the parts you had found. It was kind of slow, but you were desperate and you knew it could do the job (bare minimum).

As promised, Percy and HR had reached out to everyone regarding the burned building. In person work shall resume within the next month. During that time, all operations shall be moved online with zoom calls. You shivered, it reminded you of the COVID days. Hopefully the virus never hits the DC universe, you cannot imagine Gotham vigilantes fighting with their cowls AND a medical mask. You open up you dingy laptop, which looked more like a cyber deck, and decided to get to work. The quicker you finished your tasks, the quicker you could get to researching. In the safe space of your questionable apartment, you were calm. You worked through papers, underlined questionable statements, fixed grammar. The last few hours seemingly having no affect on you.

Once you emailed Erin, you closed your laptop and stretched. You felt utterly refreshed, the fear from before was completely drained out of your system and replaced with comfort and anticipation. You got up and walked toward the cork board, it’s bare surface littlered with one or two text articles. You humored yourself with the belief that one day this conspiracy board will be like Chloe Sullivan’s Wall of Weird. You reopened your cyber deck in search for some other articles on the matter, only to turn up with nothing of relevance. There was the occasional myth article on greek gods and their stories and the boring science journal on Lyra. Nothing pointed to the idea of omniscence. You grit your teeth, maybe you were looking in the wrong place. But you really didn’t want to go to the library, not only out of laziness, but because you didn’t want to risk anyone seeing you or face another villain confrontation. Lord knows how much of a trouble magnet you’ve been recently.

You take a deep breath and just stare at your wall. You felt crazy, like you were loosing your mind. Each day was draining you more and more, and you didn’t know how to stop it. Sure, you had your sweet moments. Like third wheeling Percy and Annalise, it was clear those two were good for eachother, not that they knew. Or coffee dates with Erin, just talking about her passion for journalism and writing. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have assumed she was a New York Time’s author or something. But the rest of the days were mundane, dry, and lacked the color that you had in your old home. Just think of it made you homesick. Sometimes you had wished you were thrown into this universe with a system, maybe… just maybe you would have the hope of finding a way home. But sadly, you didn’t. And you resent the world, and possible fate, for that. 

You lay down on the floor, it was no use dwelling on it now. As your father always told you, you had to face the world with your head up. So you could see the world change and adapt to any of its short comings. Lord, did you miss him. Your head snapped up toward some tapping at your window. You see a pastel pink dove, it had a small pink aura around it. And attached to it’s leg was a rolled up note. You furrow your brows and sat up, never breaking eye contact with the bird. You slowly open the window, expecting it to lowkey fly into your face and take your eyes out. Only for it to softly land on your window sill, its beady black eyes staring unblinkingly at you. It gently cocked its head to the side, the pink shiny feathers gleaming. Your hands approach it wearily as you slowly untie the letter from it’s leg. It let out a soft chirp before disappearing in a cloud of familiar pink sparks. 

You unroll the parchment paper, curious of the writing inside. “I felt your name in someone else’s rage today. They are searching. You must not be where they expect you to be” - your Star Sapphire.

You raise a brow, you didn’t know any Star Sapphires. You try to search your memory for this name, only thing you could remember is the pink lantern Star Sapphire: Carol Ferris. You’ve never met her, so this note could not be from her. You weren’t an avid fan of the lanterns, so you don’t know much on how they work in general. You only knew that there were different colors of lanterns and that the green lanterns had a whole company behind them. You werent sure if the same could be said with the other colors though. As you finished reading, the note burned through pink flames. This irked you a lot, why does everything pink keep disappearing in sparkles.. And leave residue? Regardless, this note made you nervous, but it also brought a sense of familiarity. You feel like this had happened to you before, you just couldn’t remember where or when. Curse you goldfish memory. 

In your pondering, the mp3 player began to vibrate in your discarded work bag. At first, you didn’t notice it. Your mind is too distracted with past and present events. Than it got louder, a clear buzz began to echo throughout the walls. You dug through your raggedy work bag, a glorified tote bag, and pulled the music player out. It was hot, like it was overheating. It’s screen was on, but it was dim. Suddenly, the screen flickered. Switching from it’s cassette screen saver to random symbols and signs. Then it froze, it’s screen having an arrow pointing toward the left. Where the door leading to the outside would be. As you turned, so did the arrow. You figured you were suppose to follow it. But you were reluctant. What if it put’s you in danger? At least for the book, you could expect what was coming. In this tool, it seemed to only play the present. 

The object began to become scalding hot, making you almost drop it. You wrap it in a napkin to block the transfer of heat. It seemed you had no choice. Cause if you leave it, the heart it was producing could cause a fire. So you followed the directions. Walking out of crime alley, through the busy streets of central gotham, past the slightly burned building of the Gazette, and finally past the intersection into China Town. Those thirty minutes of walking lead you to stand in front of the Elliot Memorial Hospital. The mp3 went cold, dead even. You exhaled shakily and stepped inside. The lobby was too quiet for a Gotham Hospital, it was almost like it was abandoned. There wasn’t a nurse at the desk, no patients in the chairs. No sound except the hum of fluorescent lights. Your stomach dropped, this wasn’t a hospital visit. This was a set up. You turned– but something sharp bloomed at the back of your skull, and the world snapped to black.

You came back to consciousness slowly, like surfacing through thick water. The lights above buzzed faintly. The air smelled like antiseptic and dust. You were no longer in the lobby, but in a empty patient room. Thankfully your wrist werent tied, but your escape route was blocked. Horizontally blessed Jason Todd blocked the doorway out, Dick leaned against the window with his arms folded, and Damian stood the closest with his posture straight and gaze sharp and unblinking. The one who clearly knocked you out. You pulse spiked. Your eyes dart between the three of them. You note the recognition in Jason’s posture, even with his helmet covering his face, it was clear he recognized you from that book store all those months ago. 

“What.. happened?” you wince, slowly sitting up. 

“You were ambushed in the lobby, we got there before anything could happen” Dick explained, his posture straightening as he pushed himself off the window. “You’re safe. For now” Damian cut through

“But someone knew exactly where you would be and when.” he scowled, it was clear he already didn’t like you. With a gentler voice, Dick spoke up again.

“Someone was following you. Specifically since you left crime alley. Do you know anything about it?” you stiffen, someone was following you.. That was unsettling. You slowly shook your head no. but you had a feeling they knew. 

“Well, whoever sent them wasn’t trying to meet you. And this wasn’t something random either” Nightwing spoke softly. You couldn’t bare to meet his gaze, your eyes settling on the unsettlingly quiet Red Hood. who seemed to just stare you down the the whites of his helmet. He didn’t need to speak, his stillness was louder than any accusation. A chill crawled up your spine. Damian than stepped closer, his hand resting on your shoulder with a tight grip. A reminder that you were on thin ice, and any slip up that signaled you were dangerous would either send you to the slammer, a mental institution, or six feet underground. 

“And we want to know why” your spike pulsed as he tightened his grip once more. As a warning, a boundary, a promise of consequences. The room began felt smaller, hotter, and impossible to breathe in. you swallowed hard. 

“I don’t know why someone would follow me..” you sputter. Red Hood finally moved from his spot at the door. The slow tilt of his head was like he was examining a puzzle piece that didn’t fit.

“See.. thats the part we’re stuck on,” his gruff voice pierced your silence, “because people don’t just tail random civilians through the city. Not with that kind of coordination” Dick seemed to shoot Jason a look, silently telling him to stop scaring you. He than focused his attention back onto your expression. Before he could speak, Damian spoke sharply.

“You’re hiding something” the Al Ghul cut straight to the point.

“Im not-” you were quick to defend yourself, but Damian wasn’t having it.

“Do not insult us.” 

“We saved your life tonight. The least you could do is tell us what the hell is going on” Jason growled, his patients running thin. You resorted to just frantically shaking your head. 

‘I dont know anything. I swear” Dick exhaled, not frustrated. But disappointed

“Then help us understand. Because someone out there knows you. Someone out there wants you. And they were almost close enough to take you.” Dick tried to parent you, and it was lowkey pissing you off.

“So either you tell us what you’re mixed up in..” Jason leaned in, helmet inches from your face “or we find out the hard way” you almost audibly gulp, but relented due to how humor would not get you out of this situation. But you stayed silent, determined to bring whatever secret they’re trying to find to the grave. Damian brushes Jason off with a sharp exhale, stepping back enough to reach into his belt. When his hand came up, he wasn’t holding a weapon. He was holding a communication device. It was fancy, stained in blood, and bat themed. Of course. 

“Tt. be that way. “ he opened up the phone, its black screen flickering to life. Pointing the screen toward you, you see your face staring back at you as well as a multitude of lines. Columns, serial codes, component descriptions, weapon classifications. All under your name. “This was found in Penguin’s database. Seeing as the person who was following you was a penguin goon” you went rigid. 

“Recognize it?” Jason questioned. You did, of course you did. It was the list that was on the penguin’s desk the night he kidnapped you. The evidence that linked you to the arms deals that was mysteriously burned. Dick had stepped closer, voice soft but unyielding. 

“This isn’t something penguin would throw around loosely. It was guarded, tucked with his other important files” 

“Your name was written all over it. Literally.” Jason piped, your breath hitched.

“I dont know how my name got there…” Jason’s helmet tilted, making it seem like the white lenses narrowed

“Funny. Because this isn’t the kind of thing that just happens to anyone. Especially in Gotham” Jason’s gaze sharpened, eyes cutting straight through you. 

“This list is specific, precise. It details the weapons used by multiple crime syndicates. Including Cobblepot’s.” your blood ran cold. Dick’s voice lowered, study but heavy.

“Someone out there thinks… no, knows you are connected to this.” you panic.

“I swear its not me…” you're eyes darted around the room. “You can look it up, i don’t have the education for this kind of operation” Jason barked a laugh, menacing and unbelieving.

“You don’t even have a profile” you wince, caught. Damian then held up the list to your eye level. His expression was unreadable, but his voice razor sharp.

“Explain whey your weapon schematic were on a hired operative” You shook your head, your shoulders relaxing. You give up. You don’t have the energy for this.

“I don’t work for them, not for months.”

“That’s not a answer.” Damian cut through

“We’re not here to punish you. We’re here because someone is hunting you. And they’re using your past to do it.” Dick tried to emphasize the severity.

“Im serious when i say that I dont know. The deals weren’t even deals. It was just me pawning off my gadgets.” you huff, exhaustion leaking through your voice. Sure you were still scared, but you had honestly made peace that you were cooked. Damian and Jason didn’t seem to believe you, but relented. Seeing that it was your only answer. Having no choice but to give up, the three went into the hallway. With Jason standing outside the door to prevent you from leaving.

The three use damian’s communication devise to contact Tim, who was benched, and Barbara.

“Boys,” Barbara greeted. “Got anything?”

“Unfortunately not. She did confirm about being an arms dealer. But was unaware of whatever sting operation is happening around her” Dick updated. Tim muttered a curse. 

“That makes things a lot easier” the latter said sarcastically.

“Tt. you’re telling us” damian crossed his arms. “She is still hiding something from us.”

“Regardless, our main priority is to take down this growing pyramid” Barbara consoled. 

“What’s our next steps, Oracle?” On the comm, Barbara’s typing intensified: sharp, rapid, purposeful. Tim’s screen shifted as he leaned closer, eyes narrowing at whatever data he was pulling.

“First priority is identifying who’s pulling the strings. Seeing as the pact is still semi-in tact. We need to see who has a bounty already on her head.” Tim muttered something under his breath, not quite a curse, but it was close.

“If the Penguin is involve, that narrows it down. He doesn’t move unless there’s profit or panic.” Jason scoffed at Tim’s words

“Yeah, well, he’s not the only one who used her toys. Half the city’s scum had their grubby hands on her gear at some point” Damian’s eyes narrowed at Jason, silently agreeing with the latter’s words.

“Which means the list that we found is incomplete. Some curated it. Selected specific weapons. That implied intent” Barbara hums in agreement.

“Exactly. Someone wants her alive. Scared, and isolated.” Dick’s shoulders tensed.

“They almost succeeded.” Tim rubbed his temple, feeling an incoming headache.

“We need to assume she’s being watched. Her movements, her contacts, her routines. All compromised.”

“So what? We babysit her?”

“We protect her. Ahd we use her as bait.” Barbara responded. 

Behind the door, you held your breath. How did this escalate? Your eyes dart around the room, your gaze locked on a open window. You quietly walk towards it, looking down. You were on the second floor. Which wasn’t bad, but would still cause damage. You check your pockets for anything useful, you notice the mp3 player was gone. You take a quick glance around to find it on a stand next to the medical bed. You were quick to grab it before looking back at the door. You assumed they were almost done with their conversation, and you needed to stall for time. So you took a spare chair, prompted it under the door knob, and didn’t look back. You slowly climbed out the window, holding onto the hospital’s ridged structure to hold you up. Adrenaline was pumping through your veins. You use the building’s architectural design to slowly climb down, your foot or hand occasionally slipping. As you moved, you heard yelling from above. It has seemed they had finally noticed your disappearance. And they were certainly not going to be happy if they found you.

Finding no where else to latch on, you took the leap of faith. You fell into a small portion of pushes that did not cushion your fall. The movies lied to you. You got up with a groan, you were fifty percent sure your arm was dislocated. But that wasn’t your main priority right now, you ran. Far and fast, taking turns randomly. Somehow, you ended up in front of Annalise’s apartment complex. Scared, injured, and surprisingly alone. You looked around the area, searching for the bird themed vigilantes before going in. you decided to take the stairs to her floor, deeming this whole ordeal too serious to wait around the the elevator. Plus you were still slightly high on adrenaline, so stairs should be nothing. And nothing they weren’t. You heaved at the top of the stairs, taking a couple deep breathes before dashing toward Annalise’s door. You frantically knock. It took a couple moments before you heard shuffling. 

Behind the door, a sleepy looking Annalise greeted you. But that drowsiness was soon replaced with horror when she noticed your scared expression and dislocated shoulder. She looked at both sides of the hallway before pulling you in and locking the door behind you. The two of you sat in silence as she guided you to the couch. You were briefly left alone as she left her living room to get something. She came back with a bulky first aide kit, she opened it with professionalism before treating your brusies and scratches. The silence was deafening, it was clear she wanted to ask what happened but didn’t. As she knew asking you for answers wouldn’t fix any problems. She than handed you a handkerchief, you held it in your good hand in confusion.

“Bite down on it.. This will hurt” you listen to her, biting down on the hankerchief and gripping the edge of the couch. She held your shoulder and upper arm firmly, then suddenly.. Pop. she snapped your arm back into its socket. You clench your teath, your eyes closed with already forming tears in your eyes. It hurt like an absolute bitch. She patted your arm and smiled. “All better, but im still gunna take you to the hospital. Alright?” you flinch, that would cost an astronomical amount. So you vigerously shook your head

“That shouldn’t be necessary… right? Can I just get a makeshift sling and walk it off?” you pleaded with Annalise. But she seemed really firm.

“It is necessary, [Name]. Please… you should be fine financially, the Gazette’s insurance will cover most of it. And i’ll pay the rest.” the two of you kept going back and forth, eventually you won. She couldn’t force you to go, and she knew it. Now it was just the the two of you sitting in silence. You were staring out the window while Annalise opened her book, her face still littered with concern. The silence was almost awkward, before you broke it.

“Thank you.”

“It’s what friends are for.” you rest your head on her shoulder, and she wrapped an arm around you.

“She will not like that” Damian’s jaw tightened at the idea of using [Name] as bait. Tim just sighted

“She doesn’t have to. If she wants to stay alive, she doesn’t have a choice” Jason let out a humorless laugh.

“Great so we’re also running a sting operation. One with someone who doesn’t know she’s a target.” Barbara’s voice softened, but only slightly.

“She doesn’t need to know everything-” she was cut off by Dick

“Uh guys..?” he walked toward the window peering into the patient’s room. “Shes gone” Damian’s head snapped toward the window.

“What.” Damian sped walked toward the window. Only to see a empty room. Jason turned around and tried to enter. Only to find it jammed shut. He wiggled the door knob a couple of times before using his strength to force the door open. The trio was greeted to the sight of a empty room and curtains blowing in the wind from the open window

“Shit” Jason cursed. Damian was the first to move, boots hitting the tile as the crossed the room in three sharp strides. He leaned out the window, scanning the building’s exterior, his jaw clenched so tightly it almost trembled.

“She climbed down. Idiot.” His eyes tracked the faint scuff marks on the wall, the disturbed dust on the ledge. They suddenly heard a loud thump and a groan. “Tt. and jumped.” he scowled. Jason ripped his helmet off, running a hand through his hair in pure disbelief. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me. We turn our backs for like- four- five minutes and she houdinis out a second story window??” he grit his teeth.

“She’s probably hurt now, you heard that thump. No one survives jumping down two stories without some sort of injury” Dick exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that meant he was holding himself together by threads

“Oracle, Red Robin… we’ve got a runner. Keep an eye on her while we tail the trail”

“Figured, looking at cameras now” Barbara responded monotonously. “Last known location was the edge of China town” the three vigilantes dispersed. All three jumping out the window like freaks who don’t know the concept of a door. The three swung, jumped and parkoured through the buildings.

“Oracle? Update? She is no where near China town.” Her clicking intensified.

“Negative Nightwing. Rest of the camera feeds around this time are covered in static.” she said in frustration. Tim tried processing the feeds, only to also groan in frustration. His camera feed showing him rubbing his face aggressively. Jason cursed under his breath.

“Static? All of them?” 

“Every camera within a sic block radius. Someone jammed the feeds” Tim’s voice crackled in, tense.

“That’s not her, she doesn’t have the tech for that” Damian’s jaw tightened

“Then someone is helping her.” Jason scoffed. 

“Or someone else wants her just as badly as we do.” the three landed on the clock tower, all frustrated about losing her track. Dick specifically ran his hand through his hair, scanning the city bellow for any clue of her where abouts.

“She’s injured. She couldn’t have gotten far.” Barbara sighed through the comm.

“We’ll widen the search radius. But for now… let’s assume she’s already off grid.”

“Let’s just hope she’s somewhere safe” Tim added quietly.

“Let’s regroup at the cave and try again” dick spoke up, “we are all clearly tired.” 

“Next time, im putting a tracker in her shoe” he grumbled, Damian didn’t argue. He stared into the dark, jaw clenched and eyes burning with determination.

“Next time… she will not escape.”

OMNISCIENT DATABASE

➟ their intentions aren’t bad 

➟ [Warning]: you have officially been put on the batfamily’s radar. Tim is searching for you, Damian and Jason are pissed off, Dick and Barbara are interested, and Bruce plotting. Be careful.

➟ [Notice]: you have temporarily unlocked [ARCHIVE: 00], a mp3 posing as a cassette tape that plays the past, present, and future.

➟someone familiar is trying to protect you

READERS’ BOOKMARKS

[SYSTEM NOTICE]: …

prev. || next. Master-list

In which: Bruce Waynes daughter, Y/N Wayne is a full time party girl. Club hopper, party animal, hedonist. Whatever you want to call it. To full the void her father left, she turns to nightclubs, dingy bars and basement raves.

Chapter seven. Stay away.

Fic masterlist!

cw: Reader's addictions are a HUGE part of this chapter, unhealthy coping mechanisms, reader has a bad trip (flashback), reader has hallucinations (flashback), codependancy, underage drinking, underage smoking - I DO NOT CONDONE OR SUPPORT ANY UNDERAGE DRINKING OR SMOKING, stay safe stay in school

You’ve never wanted to die more in your life. How the hell did he know where you live? Did he stalk you all the way home?! He eyes you up and down without any subtly before opening his mouth again. “You gonna let me in or what?”

In which: Bruce Waynes daughter, Y/N Wayne is a full time party girl. Club hopper, party animal, hedonist. Whatever you want to call it. To full the void her father left, she turns to nightclubs, dingy bars and basement raves.

Chapter six. Petals

Fic masterlist!

cw: Reader's addictions are a HUGE part of this chapter, unhealthy coping mechanisms, feeling sick is mentioned a handful of times but reader does NOT vomit, reader lowk has a breakdown, underage drinking, underage smoking - I DO NOT CONDONE OR SUPPORT ANY UNDERAGE DRINKING OR SMOKING, stay safe stay in school

When you sit down at the table you hope something terrible happens. A spontaneous fire. Or a flood. Anything to get you out of here. You hate it when Dick comes home. He isn’t mean or anything, but it hurts to be around him. He’s everything you aren’t. Bruce’s golden child. He’s clever, selfless, put together, ambitious and charming. His presence reminds you just how pathetic you are. 

CW - Hurt/Comfort, gunshot wounds, blood and angst

"On your left!" 

You immediately swing left as Dick calls out to you. The goon who was creeping up on you is knocked unconscious. You responding to Dick without question is an ingrained reaction from when you and Bruce patrolled together. 

"You are late Robin!" You grin over at him as he joins the fight. 

"B wanted my help!" Dick defends himself and kicks a goon in the face, making the man stumble back into your field of range. 

You make quick work of knocking the final guy out.

He slumps to the floor in a undignified heap next to the other guys defending the warehouse where you have a suspicion that Two-Face is setting up something. Out of all the villains that have popped up in Gotham Two-Face is the worst to fight. 

prev. || next. Master-list

Synopsis: Death and Destiny are star-crossed lovers, they're bound for eternity but are subjected to Fate and her imposing presence. You were once an admirer of Fate, the idea of a inescapable future buried a sense of security within you. That was until fate decided it had other plans for you.

Gosh... you hate being OMNISCIENT.

In which, a technological prodigy gets isekai'd into a world she viewed as fake. Using her skills in engineering and physics, will she be able to bend fate's will?

What is This Feeling?

01:43 ━━━━●───── 03:50

⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻

ılıılıılıılıılıılı

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮

“Loathing.

Unadulterated Loathing”

You sat on the curb with your face buried in your hands, you were patiently waiting for the GCPD to get your statement. You didn’t know how or when everything went to shit, but it did. You dug yourself into a hole you didn’t know how to get out of. The whole penguin kidnapping still had you shaken up, it didn’t help that Young Justice had come to your rescue. Not that you aren’t grateful, but you thought yesterday’s interaction with Superman and his clone was enough. At this point, there was no turning back. But maybe there was a way, somehow, somwhere. “Yes.. keep deluding yourself.” You sarcastically mock yourself, maybe if you manifested it enough it would happen. You shook your head and focused on the current moment. You noticed the look in Tim’s eyes when he brought you out. It wasn’t concern, it was curiosity. The kind that prompts him to try to find answers no matter the cost. Which wasn’t reassuring, considering that he was one of the best detectives right after his father. 

Eventually, you notice one of the police officers coming up to you, which you assume was to get your statement. You just wanted to go home. Not to your apartment, but to your family. You miss your mother, with her radiant smile and the comforting looks. And your father, his warm hugs and supportive demeanor. You wonder how they’re doing without you, hopefully your death hasn’t affected them too badly. After all, they were strong people. You let out a wet chuckle before composing yourself for the officer. He asked you some basic questions; why, how, when. You said some truths, some lies. Enough to ensure your security and to prevent raising suspicion.

After the officer had gotten your statment, he moved on to the other club goers. Leaving you with your thoughts and worries. Unfortunately you weren’t free to go home yet, you longed for your bed and tools. So you took this time to reflect upon the last two days, a lot has happened. From meeting the two Supes, to the mysterious intention of the golden lined book. You feel gazes burn through the back of your head. You look around and make eye contact with Superboy and Tim. Of course, Cassie and Bart were with them, seemingly talking about something serious. Tim just looked at you with narrowed eyes while Conner winked at you, both then turning back to their fellow teammates. Catching their gaze shift, Bart looked at you with a playful smile and fast nod before being swatted back into focus by Tim.

One thing you felt for sure, was the fact that they will have you under closer surveillance. If Tim didn’t have a reason to investigate you, he sure does now. And you were nowhere near ready for when Tim or any other bat confronted you. Superboy on the other hand, seemed to brush you off. Which you were thankful for, but something tells you he was seeing more than he was showing. That’s when you suddenly remember what Cobblepot had told you.

“And I'll have you know.. I'm not the only one who sees you anymore.” you curse whatever fate or otherworldly being was guiding you, cause what did he mean he wasn’t the only one who sees you. This leads you to ponder Young Justice’s appearance, what brought them to the Iceberg Lounge. From what you could tell from the Young Justice tv show, they would only be dispatched if it was serious. As in, otherwordly or international level dangerous. After all, Batman and Nightwing never wasted resources on something so trivial. If anything, you were expecting Red Hood to save you. Since he looked over the crime lords’ territories. 

After a couple long hours of sitting, waiting, and questioning, the police had finally cleared everyone out and allowed them to head home. Letting them investigate the area, seemingly looking for clues. Before you left, you saw Tim and Cassie holding up a gun in front of a hologram that seemed to have Batman on the other side; inspecting it. You get a glimpse of a familiar emblem, your emblem. You tense, quickly leaving before they could catch you spying on them. This sudden appearance was about you… Well technically it wasn’t you, but what you made. And that made you panic a little, but you couldn’t afford to freak out, not yet at least. Thankfully the Iceberg Lounge was not that far from your apartment, so you got there in no time without any unwelcome interruptions. You kicked off your shoes and slammed your door shut and locked. Then you threw yourself onto the couch, ready to just pass out and sleep away your pain. But you couldn’t sleep, not when you knew something bad would happen soon. That’s when an idea popped into your head, if you didn’t know the future… there was something you owned that would tell you.

So you scrambled up, scrambling around to find the book. You weren’t sure if it would be where you last placed it due to its sudden appearance and disappearance at Annalise’s family home. Nonetheless, you tore up your bare apartment. The book was nowhere to be found, usually its gold lined spine would mock you on its constant seat on your coffee table. As much as you hated that book, you needed to be prepared for whatever Gotham’s vigiliantees have for you. Cause you knew for a FACT that your good friend Timothy-stalker-Wayne would find a way to get something out of you. But after about an hour of searching, you couldn’t find it. The one time you actually wanted- no NEEDED to look at the book, it was gone. You fall backwards onto the couch and sighed. You guessed you had no choice but to rawdog whatever fate had in store for you. Too exhausted to get up, you decided to sleep on the couch. Not that your bedroom had much in it anyways.

The next morning was unwelcoming to your crusted shut eyes, you had not moved from your spot on the couch. Unfortunately your work clothes were soiled with coffee a few days before, you have yet to wash them. Thankfully the clothes Rowan had lent you were professional enough to go to work with. If it weren’t for your stomach, you wouldn’t even bother to get up. You sluggishly walked to your small bathroom and cleaned yourself up, your hair was in knots and there were atrocious dark circles under your eyes. But all you could do was sigh tiredly and splash water in your face, hoping it would wake you up. 

For once in your short life, the day was normal. You got to the Gotham Gazette with no issue, no stalker, and no major interactions. The office was quiet, as quiet as a News station was at least. Quiet keyboards and whispers filled the silence. Your seatmate, Erin, sat hunched over her computer with concentration. It seemed like she was working on the article Percy asked for last time you were here. You looked at your own device, it’s bright but old screen beckoning you to be productive. So that’s what you did, your fingers move over the keys with familiar precision. You channeled your inner strict highschool english teacher and revised with the vigor of an old lady and her knitting project. 

You occasionally took breaks with a long but short distant walk around the block of central street or explored the office building. It passed the time when there was nothing to do. This was how many of your days moved forward for a while. Quiet hours in the office, quick but meaningful conversations with Percy, Erin guiding your writing style, and Annalise being your break from it all. Before you knew it, these hours became days, then weeks. You lived a relatively normal life, no confrontation with Tim, no kidnapping from the Penguin. Your side huslte was almost long forgotten as the relationships you built within the office replaced your need for concealment. You were particularly close with Percy and Annalise, the two were a breath of fresh air. They shared your pursuit of survival, and they supported your creativity. That was not to say your other acquaintance, Erin, wasn’t doing the same. The woman was busy, she was basically Gotham’s version of Lois Lane on espresso and nicotine patches. 

Honestly, you were starting to get used to Gotham. Maybe even as far as to say you were accepting your life here. You were stable, you had a home and friends, and even a bright future. That was until Percy walked up to your cubicle with a guilty smile that screamed “i have a HUGE favor to ask…”, something you learned that he often does. He was a pretty soft man, always prioritizing empathy over urgancy. You lean back in your chair and gazed at him with a raised brow. 

“Lay it on me Carroway.” you cross your arms with a light hearted smile, he seemed to relax a bit at that. 

“The Gotham Gazette was invited to cover one of Wayne's charity galas uptown.” your relaxed expression shifted to terror. “And… I was hoping you would attend?” he gave you a sheepish smile, offering you the fancy sealed envelope.

“And you couldnt get anyone else on this because..?” you grit your teeth, your fists tightening.

“Well- it was addressed to you for one…” you knew who did this. “And I tried getting Vicki on this case but she's too caught up in the Grayson scoop” you raised your brow at this.

“Grayson scoop?” Percy just shrugged.

“Something about his preference for red heads, I dunno. I stopped listening after she said the word drama” you were well acquainted with Vicki Vale, fortunately for you, she wasn’t as Batman obsessed as she was in the comics. Instead she was more mellow, but very goal oriented. Almost like a toned down version of Chloe Sullivan from Smallville. Back to the topic at hand, you gaze at the wax seal wearily. 

“Percy, why would I go? I'm not a reporter.” you scowl and he winced.

“I know.. But please consider it. I’ll give you a bonus” you perk up a bit at the sound of money. 

“And you’re sure there is no one else who would take the case?” 

“Well… technically you aren’t the only reporter attending.” 

“Well if you already have a couple people going, why do you need me to?”

“I think it’ll be beneficial for you to go, please [Name].”you sigh and curse your inner people pleaser and greed before taking the envelope from Percy’s grip.

“Fine, but you owe me more than a bonus.” you roll your eyes sarcastically, Percy just chuckled sheepishly before trotting back to his office. You look at the clock of your computer, it was almost lunch rush. You had promised Annalise you would go out and get lunch with her. So you got up, packing up your modest bag and bidding Erin a farewell. It didn’t take you long for you to find Annalise, the receptionist was just walking out of Percy’s office. The former seemed to light up at the sight of you and greeted you with a warm grin.

“Ready to go?” she offered you an arm like a gentleman, you couldn’t help but play along as you took her arm.

“Always~” the two of you walked side by side throughout the cold winter streets of Gotham. Your patchy winter coat was doing nothing to protect you from the frosty breeze. The both of you walked with purpose till you stood in front of a shabby looking chinese buffet. Then you had paid and sat yourselves in a booth, after a few plates you began to complain. Annalise listened, pushing around the food on her plate. 

“Fantastic. A gala. Exactly what was missing from this week, forced small talk and overpriced hors d’oeuvres.” you grumbled, a hand on your forehead.

“I’m sure it can’t be that bad, think about all the juicy details you’d get” Annalise smiled sheepishly.

“Right.. Nothing says ‘journalistic integrity’ like being shoved into a ballroom full of people who hate reporters.” you rolled your eyes. “I'm not even a reporter- I'm a junior editor.” you complained, realizing you havent even been doing your job. You were just a glorified reporter with the title of an editor.

“Look on the bright side, you could make connections. Maybe evenn…” she wiggles her eyebrows, “meet someone?” you gave her a look of disgust and she just laughed you off.

“I’m kidding, trust me though. Percy wouldn’t insist if it didn’t benefit you in some way.” she smiled at you softly. “Plus, it gives us an excuse to hang out! We need to find something for you to wear. When is the gala?” you look at the bag that holds your invitation. 

“I’m not sure yet… I haven’t opened the envelope yet”

“Well- when you do, text me. I’d love to help you get ready” Annalise smiles at you reverently.

Tim jolted awake from his spot at his computer, it had turned out he had fallen asleep again during his investigations. He rubbed his eyes to get rid of the remaining sleep threatening to gnaw him back to slumber. Looking back at the bright screen of his computer, each tab showed two mocking words; no results. One thing the tabs had in common was the name placed in the search bar, [Name] [Lastname]. That's when night came back to him, he had been attempting to find anything about the girl. But anything became nothing when searches came up empty; no birth certifiate, medical records, not even credit history. It made him suspicious, she was practically a ghost. 

So he did what any reasonable person would, made a timeline. He began to look into camera footage, building a timeline through her interactions and whereabouts. [Name] [Lastname] started showing up on Gotham streets mid September, soon after she settled into a motel on the border between Two-Face’s and the Penguin’s territory. He tried to look into the motel's records, only to find nothing but her name and the duration she stayed, which only came out to less than a month. He did notice she often left the hotel to go somewhere, but when he followed her through the cameras, the footage became static and incomprehensible. 

Tim’s investigation had been going on for almost a month. Specifically, since the night he saved her from the Iceberg lounge. And he's about to lose his mind. It frustrated him to no end how this seemingly mysterious woman left no trace, every transaction made in cash, her newly made bank account fresh and untouched. Nothing pointed him toward any answers he wanted, and he refused to leave it as just an ordinary citizen who was there at the wrong place at the wrong time.

A knock on the door interrupted his work as an older voice spoke through the wooden frames.

“Master Tim? Your father has requested you come down for dinner” Tim tiredly ran his hands down his face and got up. He knew his family would start asking questions, afterall he’s been hauled up in his room for a long while. Not to mention his team, mainly Conner, was questioning his association with [Name]. It wasn’t like he had a choice though, the longer he stayed in his room the more questions they would ask. So he went down, posture as bad as ever and prominent dark circles under his eyes. He sat himself across from Damian. Thankfully, Dick was busy in Bludhaven for whatever reason. Tim couldn’t care enough to know though, it helped him avoid the trouble of Dick being nosey. 

It was just him, Damian, and Bruce tonight. Cassandra was busy doing their own thing, Barabra opted to have dinner with her father, Duke was resting, Jason never really bothered to stop by for dinner anymore, and god knows what Steph was doing. So, it was a quiet dinner. Only the sound of silver meeting porcelain filling the silent void. That was until Alfred stepped in and broke the silence. 

“As much as I appreciate the quality time we are spending here, I regret to inform you all that the Wayne family must once again pretend to be normal. The gala is this Saturday.” Alfred dryly announced, illicting a groan from Tim, a grunt from Bruce, and a scowl from Damian. The trio was not pleased with having to attend such tedious gatherings, but they didn’t have a choice. Fortunately, by then dinner was finished and Tim was quick to depart to his room. 

Sitting back at his desk, Tim buried his face back into his hands. His mind drifted back to the anomaly that was [Name] [Lastname]. He needed to find a way to interact with her more, his timeline and current footage wasn’t enough to decipher any of his questions. Then his mind drifted to the upcoming gala, he had found during his information siphoning that she worked at the Gotham Gazette, something she also mentioned when he had interrogated her that night at Iceberg lounge. It wasn’t uncommon for the press to be invited to Wayne galas, after all they provided positive tension, he just needed to find a way to guarantee that she would be the few to come.

You found yourself sitting in the middle of Annalise’s abnormally large closet, which just turned out that she turned her bedroom into a closet and moved her bed into her living room. Annalise had offered to let you borrow one of her outfits, since she knew you were still budgeting your money. She was sifting through a rack with white garments as she questioned you again.

“Is there a dresscode?” you look at the invite again and softly let out a nuh-uh. Annalise hummed in acknowledgment and pulled out a floor‑length white gown with a beautifully structured bodice and wide, smooth shoulder straps. “Hows this?” you shook your head no, after the coffee spill from Clark Kent you wanted to play it safe. Plus you were ninety-nine percent sure you would somehow get it dirty and feel incredibly guilty afterwards 

“Is there anything err… less bold? Colorwise I mean.” She moved from the white section to black and pulled out a formal ensemble that came together with clean, deliberate lines, polished enough to satisfy the gala’s expectations without slipping into extravagance. The upper layers sat neatly along the shoulders, paired with contrasting elements that added intention without drawing attention. Long, fluid shapes defined the rest of the look, moving with an easy grace that suggested confidence even when none was felt. Not only was it professional looking, but it seemed subtle enough for you. Annalise seemed to catch onto your silent agreement and packed it up in a garment bag. “I couldn’t thank you enough, Anna” she smiled and waved you off.

“It’s what friends are for, speaking of- would you let me help you get ready too?”

“I don’t think it’s that serious..” you smile anxiously

“Cmon~ it’s a fancy party. I can understand why you don’t see any reason to look good, but it's Gotham’s upper class. They’re gunna tear you appart, and you should look good while it happens” you kept on trying to find excuses.

“Oh, I couldn’t take up any more of your freetime.”

“Nono, i like hanging out with you” she sat beside you, throwing an arm over your shouler for a quick half hug, “I know we haven’t known eachother for long, but I appreciate and adore you.” you couldn’t help but smile at her words. 

“So… what about it?” you couldn’t help but smile and accept, you were really getting attached to the people here and you don’t regret it at all. Thankfully you had a night to prepare, it was Friday and the gala wasn’t until Saturday night. So with your outfit in hand you head home with an edge of vigilance. The walk home was nothing short of ordinary, the sounds of police sirens and occasional yelling was what kept you company. When you opened the door to your apartment, you were greeted with the sight of emptiness. Of course, nothing in your home changed or moved, but it was what wasn’t there that bothered you. It lacked the aura of home that you missed so much. You missed your home and friends, and you couldn’t help but feel guilty by the way you were replacing your old life. 

Pushing your thoughts aside, you placed the garment bag in your closet and dug through your partially empty pantry. You couldn’t help but try to find comfort in the emptiness of your home. It was quite ironic actually, all you ever did was utilize escapism as your coping mechanism. Now that you’ve “escaped” you longed for nothing more than for your home. You found yourself picking up the welding set that caught a bit of dust. It has been a while since you indulge in your hobby. All the trouble that has been following you since the day you got your job kept you from enjoying your hobbies. Reluctantly, you pick up the welding pen and a couple of scraps. Knowing what’s in store for you, you had a couple ideas of what you wanted to make. Unfortunately you’d need a computer for the coding aspects of it. A scrambler, by now it was safe to assume that Tim would keep a closer eye on you. So you locked in; drafting a mini blue print, and then you began to build. Connecting metal to metal, and wire to motherboard. Unfortunately, this device wouldn’t be ready till you went to the library to use their old ass computers.

This kept you occupied for the next few hours, by the time you finished, you decided to crash on the couch. Your supplies were half put away and the scraps of metal were scattered throughout your living room. You were too lazy to clean it up though, something about socially impending doom had you losing motivation for the wrong things. This leads you to just moping on the couch, feeling sorry for yourself with the belief that you had time before the gala. Which, in retrospect, you did have a couple hours. Those couple of hours were spent eating cheap snacks and ice cream that you were able to snag at the nearby cornerstore. During your snackathon, a thought itched at the back of your mind. Something was telling you that you were forgetting something. You tried hard to think about it only to end up giving up shortly after. If you forgot about it, it was probably not important at all.

You didn’t really notice that you dozed off until you woke up stiff on the couch the next morning. You sat up with a sugarcrash and a fist full of regret, it didn’t help that you were surrounded by trash. You recalled the day before, not that anything exciting happened. Looking at your surroundings again, you realized that Annalise was supposed to come by in a couple hours to help you get ready. You cursed in your mind as you rushed up to clean your living room, you often recgonized that you were very unorganized; both emotionally and physically. But all you could do to compensate for it was to create the illusion that you had everything under control. It took you less time than you thought to clean up the house as you gazed at the clock, you had at least a few hours before Annalise came over. You decided to go out for a quick breakfast, since your appetite was lowkey ruined by the looming situation and the snacks you devoured last night. 

Your breakfast was short and small, just a biscut and eggs that were way too bland but were all you could afford. With the extra time you had left, you walked to the nearest park. It was no question that Gotham geography confused you, some movies depicted Gotham like a mix of Chicago and New York. Other times the games made it like Rhode Island. Now that you were in Gotham, it felt like a mix of all of them, being more of a Mega city if anything. It had Miagani island from Arkham knight, West End from Gotham knights, and more. The only thing consistent between each of these interpretations, at least from the comics and a few of the games, was Gotham’s China Town. Being a graduate from University of Urbana-Champagne, you were no stranger to Chicago’s China Town. and you were confident that the two were extremely similar and reminded you of the home you built with your friends. 

Your wandering eventually leads you to a park near the Gazette. It was rather empty, the occasional couple and group of friends scattered throughout the grassy land. The playground on the premise was left barren, with only two or three kids climbing its faded colored plastic. This was the first time in a while that you truly were alone in your thoughts. It had not been long since the last time you were consumed with your mind. But this time they were quieter, unlike that time on Annalise’s bike. The thoughts of anger were turned into yearning, you missed your family, your friends… [REDACTED]. You grip your head, you couldn’t remember who you were thinking about, who they were to you… your hand tightened on your hair, fuck, what did they even look like? The more you try to remember, the more your head hurts. It was like you were lobotomized with a chisel instead of an ice pick or needle. 

Eventually your thoughts wandered somewhere else. Deaming it, quite literally, too painful to dwell on. You've decided to focus more on the gala, more specifically, what you plan to not do. Since you weren’t the only press there, assuming that other news sources like Gotham Times or Harold were also invited, you were gunna do the bare minimum. Talk to a couple WE execs, maybe sneak a chat with some of the higher class old ladies, avoid any Waynes, you weren’t exactly sure who would and wouldn't be there but you could never play it too safe. You didn’t want to be there longer than you needed to be. Eventually you made it near your rusty ass apartment. Checking your phone, you realize you only had an hour left before Annalise came over. Being sure to stop by the corner store once more, you pick up some simple snacks as a way to pay back. 

Before you knew it, the door was knocked and behind was the Gazette’s receptionist. With her was a tote bag full of hair supplies, makeup, and whatever she deemed was necessary. You weren’t very big on looks, mainly because currently you cared more about surviving than looking good. Similar could be said about your old life. It did matter to you at some point, but after a while you got really lazy; so you did the bare minimum. The moment you changed and sat down was when Annalise got to work. You sat there patiently as Annalise did her due diligence, you felt like a kid getting ready for picture day with the amount of unintentional hair pulling that was going on. You wished she’d take her sweet time, so it’d take you longer to get there, but time was not in your favor and Annalise was done before you knew it. She clipped something to your formal wear, a badge with a bold label that literally screamed “PRESS”.

“Perce meant to give you this with the invitation. As you can tell, he forgot. So he asked me to do it for him.” you fidgeted with your clothes, “do you need a ride? I can get you there” 

“No it’s fine, I was planning to go by taxi.” Annalise gave you a questioning look, but knew not to insist any further. She gave your clothes a final straightening and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“If it gets too much, you know who to call” you gave her an appreciative smile before the two of you head out. She waited with you till your taxi arrived, helped you in, and wished you luck. It was a dreadful short ride to the gala. Unlike the upper class, you were deposited on the eastern side of the entrance, away from the red carpet and flashy lights. Since it was still a little early, you wouldn't be able to get in until after all the celebrities and honored guests walked down the red carpet. It was a lot like Hollywood and premiers, which you did not appreciate. Once you were let in, you took out a small note pad and pen you brought with you and began to make your rounds. Asking the execs their relation and opinions on the Waynes, probing the ladies on the latest scoop, and interrogating political leaders on their thoughts and plans on Gotham’s corruption. As soon as you finished your interviews, you ran straight toward the dessert table. If you were gonna make it through the night, you needed to get your money's worth in snacks. But before you could make it to the delicious looking desserts, you were physically intercepted. Great. Just what you needed. A Wayne. It was the young CEO himself, Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne. Oh how desperately you wanted to spill food on his expensive looking suit. 

“[Name]” he looked at you with faux surprise, a polite smile adorning his face.

“Oh! Mr. Wayne-”

“Tim is fine, we’re around the same age. And Mr makes me sound too old.” he puts that innocent smile that makes you want to run, scream, and cry. Instead you put up that unconvincing shy demeanor and fiddled with the spine of your note pad. “How have you been?” he asked casually. You akwardly shuffle in your spot, unsure on how to proceed.

“I’ve been well.. For the most part” Tim’s eyes went from your face to the badge clipped onto your top. 

“Press, huh? Didn’t take you for the journalism type.” He teased, a nonchalant smirk on his face. 

“I get that a lot,” you hum, you decided to play along. “This normally isn’t my kinda story but apparently I'm a ‘promising young reporter.’” You raised your hands to do air quotes, pausing before saying, 

“Translation: everyone else bailed.” He huffed a quiet laugh, the kind that barely counted.

“Well… welcome to the circus.” Tim picked up a champagne flute from a passing worker and offered it to you, which you politely declined.

“Is that the official Wayne Foundation tagline?” you raised a playful brow, you were hoping this persona was enough to buy him off. But it was Tim Drake, so you highly doubted it

“Unofficial. Alfred would kill me if it went on the brochures.” Tim joked. You had almost smiled. Almost.

“Alfred?” you questioned, causing Tim to perk up.

“He’s just our family’s butler, someone I hold dear” he gave away, like it was an unimportant detail. The two of you stood in silence, your hands twitched around your note pad. You knew you were being recorded, it was a shame you couldn’t finish your video scrambler in time. But it was no issue, a small amount of footage would not give him enough to unlock any major clues. But then you noticed something,Tim’s eyes lingered a second too long, studying you in the way he studied crime scenes: cataloguing, comparing, connecting dots you didn’t want connected, or were sure didn’t exist.

“You’re staring.” Tim seemed to be slightly caught off guard, surprisingly. He blinked it off, trying to seem innocent.

“Sorry, it’s just… I didn’t think I’d see you again”

“Yeah? Small world i guess…” the two of you stared at eachother, one gaze probing while the other remained unsure. In your stare-off, a waiter passed by the two of you, and Tim stepped closer to avoid being bumped. Too close. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the steadiness, the quiet intensity he carried like a second skin. You hated how much that put you on edge.

“If anyone gives you trouble, let me know.” Tim randomly spoke up, his tone mysterious, cautious even. This made you perk up to attention.

“Why would anyone give me trouble?” you probe, he took a bit to answer.

“The people here aren’t your friends” he quickly retorted.

“And you are?” you almost scowl, but were quick enough to stop yourself from excreting any hostile emotions. Tim, on the other hand, winced at your tone.

“No.” he paused for a beat. “It’s my polite way of saying I’m keeping an eye on you.” he insisted, a fake reassuring smile replacing the look of previous apprehension. Your eyebrows furrowed and your stomach twisted, not with fear but anger. Tim said it like you were an anomaly, like something to be monitored and corrected.

“Should I be flattered or concerned?” You spoke through gritted teeth, your grip on your notepad tightenting.

“Depends.” His eyes softened, annoyingly (but probably falsely) gentle. He was about to say more until he was called over by one of the WE executives. Tim’s polite facade cracked a bit as you saw his eye twitch, but it was quickly masked once more with the charming Wayne persona. “Enjoy the evening… Miss [Lastname].” He walked away, you stared at his parting form with masked contempt. But before he could fully disappear into the crowds of pearls and fancy coats, he looked back. Just once, just enough to confirm you didn’t disappear, just enough to remind you that he wasn't done. And that scared you.

OMNISCIENT DATABASE

➟Something is missing… It's been missing. 

➟[Notice]: the Gala outfit was up to [Reader] interpretation

➟WARNING! The Omniscient Database suggests that whatever you were before Gotham, it no longer matters here.

READERS’ BOOKMARKS

[SYSTEM NOTICE]: these glimpses have [NON-CANON] aspects, looks, and emblems are up to the [READERS]

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dick grayson x secretary!reader's first meeting!

read more here!

dick grayson absolutely loses his mind when he first lays eyes on you. 

you, who exited the elevator while clutching a folder so tightly in your palms that the bottom wrinkled under the pressure. he didn't notice you stepping out of the elevator until it was too late. your body crashed into his, papers from the folder flying around the two of you. 

you immediately dropped to your knees, spewing apologies as you attempted to gather the papers back in their correct order and back into the folder. 

"i'm so sorry, i didn't see you there," you stated again, first day jitters lighting up your body like fireworks. 

dick took a knee beside you as well, handing you a loose paper that strayed near his feet. "don't worry about it, you're all good…" 

your head lifted at the found of his voice, eyes meeting his. 

yeah, he was a goner.

the meeting he was on his way to momentarily forgotten, his sentence trailing off, eyes wide and focused on your form. he swears he didn't drool at the sight of you (he totally did), but your tailored dress pants and fitted black vest over a white long sleeve caused a fuse to blow out in his brain, the only sign of life being the hearts that were replacing his irises.

he smiled at you in an attempt to regain his composure, the tips of his straight teeth peeking from between the curve. your eyes were the first thing he noticed. bold, beautiful, the depth of colour that sucked him in with no chance of escaping, not that he wanted to.

you held your hand out in greeting, adding your name softly afterwards.

his hand automatically lifted to yours, fingers gently curling around your palm with a gentleness that toed the line of professionalism. he parted his lips to speak, to will a sound to come out of his mouth. ideally, he would have a smooth line to woo you, to see if he could fluster you enough to get you to go to dinner with him. 

but no words left his mouth. he was left gaping like a fish. 

another time then. he would have to try his luck next time he saw you.

he didn't miss the way your brow furrowed momentarily before smoothing back in place at his silence. he really wasn't leaving the first impression he wanted to. he internally cringed at the thought.

"can you direct me to, uh, mr. richard grayson? these files are for him. from mr. wayne." 

"dick is fine," 

"pardon? i mean, i don't know him but i wouldn't call him a dick—" 

your confusion only deepened at the sound of his amused chuckle. your hand dropped from his grasp to nudge a stray hair from your cheek before pulling the folder back to your chest. you lifted yourself back up to your feet and dusted your attire off.

he followed, eyes never leaving your face. he couldn't look away. he swore his heart comically beat out of his chest, like he was some loony tunes character seeing the personof his dreams.

well, he was. he was seeing the person of his dreams.

"dick grayson," he held his hand out again in greeting. "no one really calls me richard." 

"okay, well, this file is yours then, mr. grayson," you slid the file into his outstretched hand instead, offering him a tight-lipped smile in return. his eyes flickered down your lips, brain short-circuting again. 

"grank— i-i mean great, thanks!" he corrected himself quickly. his eyes shut tightly for a moment before opening back up. "thank you for the file. this is great. um. you're doing amazing so far." 

he paused for a moment before quickly walking by you and towards the meeting room. embarrassment heated his face like fire. 

"grank?" he muttered under his breath in disgust. "what the fuck is my problem." 

you turned back towards the elevator equally as confused, muttering under your own breath, "weird."

an: despite literally wanting to write vamp!bruce very badly (it's being written slowly but surely), I am really enjoying these small little blurbs?? might keep these going for a while. let me know if you wanna see more dick x secretary!reader lore or more vamp!jason x reader lore