Ak!jason Todd X Reader - Tumblr Posts

Omg.... hes soo.... so 😭💕

(give me a dog and I would be very happy in the golden cage)

A Gilded Cage

You don't know who the Arkham Knight is. You don't know why he kidnapped you from your apartment and locked you away in some penthouse far too fancy for someone with no sway in Gotham.

None of it makes sense. You wouldn't even know his name if you didn't overhear the men dropping off food and necessitates for you talk about him.

They never get too close to you, which eases some of the panic in your throat, but they've only ever spoken to you once. One of the men had dropped a notepad on the marble counter and grumbled something about writing down whatever you need before leaving you to yourself. Being so alone in a gilded cage almost makes you wish they'd say more.

It's not like you haven't tried escaping, but you're on the top floor of some building you only recognized as being in the Diamond District because you can see the glowing symbol of Wayne Tower in the distance. The one time you did try to break down the door, you found out there are in fact guards stationed outside your prison.

You've never been hurt. Never gone hungry or cold. There's a television and more books than you'll ever have time to read. (You try to ignore how many of them are your favorites. It has to be a coincidence.) The kitchen is always stocked and the apartment is always cleaned. (You haven't quite figured out when that happens.) Anything you've ever asked for is delivered and sitting on the glass table when you wake up.

You had only asked for diamonds and pearls once. Curiosity and frustration had gotten the better of you, and when sets of shiny jewels greeted you in the morning, you wanted to faint.

They sit stuffed in a drawer now, and your hands shake when you check to see if they're still there. They sit alongside a note written in messy script, the one asking if you'd prefer a dress or a suit to match the choker made of sapphires. Or perhaps something to match the headpiece encrusted with rubies?

You're starting to think being alone for so long is making you crazy. You wake up sometimes at night, shifting against the soft sheets and feathered pillows and your heart neatly stops at the glowing eyes in the doorway.

Fear stops your voice from coming out and by the time you've worked up the courage to hit the lamp, whatever it was is gone. He's gone. The first time, you told yourself it was a nightmare. The second, a trick of the light. But the third, when you woke to the rough texture of gloves tracing the curve of your jaw, that was real.

You had frozen. Eyes shut tight and heart racing. The touch was gentle, almost non-existent, and if the near silent, rhythmic breathing hadn't reached your ears, you would have believed it to be a dream.

You don't know how long you stayed like that, your kidnappers' fingers brushing your face while you pretended to sleep. The feeling disappears eventually, and you fall back asleep. You lie to yourself when morning comes, that it was something you imagined.

You've lost count of the days, the weeks, it's been like this. You're not even sure what to call the situation. You're not a pet. You're not a hostage. A prisoner? Yes. But prisoners are never treated so lavishly without a reason.

Curiosity gets the better of you. How could it not when 'why' always haunts your thoughts? You pretend to be asleep. Night after night, you wait for him to come again. But it's like he knows. He's aware that you're waiting.

So, you write on the pristine notepad. You ask to be let go.

There's nothing on the glass table when you wake up, but the notepad is empty of words. The day seems to pass in a haze.

By the time night comes again, you're livid. You'd throw things at the glass enclosing the balcony if it wasn't something you tried already.

You stalk your way out of the bedroom, intent on making coffee and staying up until you can finally face the person who's trapped you here.

Your bravado disappears at the sight of the figure standing in the middle of the room.

The glowing lights of the city illuminates his silhouette. The military style gear, the eerily familiar glowing eyes, the guns holstered at his thighs. All your words and curses and questions stick to your tongue.

"You can't go home," a modulated voice tells you.

"Why?" You breathe out, eyes darting over his figure. You're not scared. You can't explain it, but as frightening as he should be, as terrifying as this situation should be, he doesn't feel unsafe.

He doesn't answer, doesn't move. If it wasn't for the slight rise and fall of his shoulders, you'd think he wasn't human. Silence falls for a longer than you know what to do with, "This your home," he says, voice even and factual.

"This isn't a home," your protest, anger flaring, "this is a prison cell!"

He steps towards you, menacing and threatening as he hisses, "This is nothing like a cell. You know nothing. You're safe here. Provided for. I've given you everything you could need."

"I'm alone here!" You snap out, despite your better judgment.

"I'll get you a pet," he says firmly.

"I don't have anyone to talk to," You respond harshly.

"I'll send someone to keep you company," he responds easily, like placating a child. But you don't miss his hands clenching and unclenching.

"I want to go outside," You answer, and you hate how your voice pitches into a whine, a plea, "I want fresh air."

He pauses, studying you, "I'll figure something out."

"Why are you doing this?" You finally ask, tears pricking your eyes. You don't want to cry, don't want to show him any weakness, but you're so tired and he's the first person you've talked to in ages. "I'm not anyone special. You don't gain anything by keeping me here. Please. Please, I wanna go home."

He tenses, then steps towards you steadily. You flinch when he stops just in front of you, turning and ducking your head. He takes your chin in his hand and guides your face back up, carefully wiping the tears that drip down your cheeks.

"You are special. More than you could know," he says quietly, like it's a secret. He says your name softly, like it's important, "You're going to stay here."

"I don't want to," You choke out between tears. He just doesn't acknowledge it, just keeps soaking up your cries with the pads of his glove.

You stay like that until your tears dry up and your body feels shaky. He exhales softly and tilts his head down, resting his helmet against your forehead. You would be eye to eye, you realize, if not for the mask.

"You're going to stay here," he repeats gently.

"Why?" You ask, voice weak.

He pulls back, his hand hesitating against your face before reaching for his helmet. He removes it with a practiced motion, and your whole world freezes.

Your breath catches in your lungs and your heart screams JasonJasonJason.

He doesn't try to explain. You don't have the words to ask. "You're going to stay here," he tells you again, voice low and careful.

"But-" You start, eyes darting over his face, the 'J' branded into his cheek.

He says your name, demanding and firm, "You're staying."

You swallow the rest of your words, and he nods in approval, "I'll get you what you asked for, okay?"

The helmet is back on before you even finished your bewildered nod, gaze locked on him. "Good," he murmurs, voice unrecognizable behind the mask. He's moving away, walking towards the door, leaving you.

You grab his arm, panicked, "Wait–"

He pulls your hand from his arm gently, "I'll come back."

"You haven't explained anything–" You try again, desperate and confused.

"You don't need to understand anything. You just need to stay here, tell me what you want, and let me take care of everything else, alright?" The Arkham Knight– Jason tells you.

You nod weakly, letting your hand drop back to your side.

"Good. Get some sleep," his voice sounds empty through the modulator.

"Will you come back tomorrow?" You ask, voice breaking.

He wavers by the door, "I come back everyday," he admits eventually and sees himself out the door of your prison.

You all but stumble to the plush couch and collapse as the door locks behind him. Jason is alive. Jason kidnapped you. Jason's held you in this luxury apartment for weeks. Jason left you jewels worth more than your entire savings account. Jason is alive. Jason visits you every night. Jason is alive.

Jason is alive. But you're still trapped. Still stuck in a cage with no explanation why and no matter how pretty it is, he's still locked you in here. But it's Jason. Jason wouldn't hurt you. He has to have a good reason.

The thought haunts you until you drift off, drawn to sleep by the soft velvet against your skin. You miss it, when the door cracks open again, and a down blanket is drawn over your body. You don't even twitch, when scarred hands start to trace a familiar path over your face.

being red hood’s girlfriend in gotham 🪩 .

(posting a red hood blurb soon💋 )

RED HOOD - JASON TODD

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Jason Todd who’s act of love is acts of service. He lives for the saying ‘ actions speak louder than words ‘. He loves when he comes home to a warm meal cooked for him, or even when you would spontaneously help him to clean his suit after he comes back from patrol. Sometimes, he returns from his patrols late, so he would never expect you to be awake at 2AM waiting for his exhausted state. But to his surprise, you’re always awake for him. Just the simple things like waiting for him, and that small tired smile that paints across your lips; just heats up his chest, and makes little red butterflies flutter in him.

Jason Todd who hasn’t really been efficient with communication, due to past trauma, so he attempts to show his love for you with actions. Jason yearns for you, and it’s pretty obvious by the way he would sometimes lay sweet kisses on the back of your shoulder or your neck whilst your doing the dishes with him, or he’ll linger around the kitchen, slightly glaring at you whilst you cook up a perfect meal for the both of you. You’d always notice in the corner of your eye how he glared at you in awe. Though Jason tries to hide his emotions, you always see straight through his sharp eyes, and right though his mistreated soul.

Jason Todd who of course, loves you, but sometimes fucks you like he hates you. On nights that don’t really go his way; nights when he comes back with bruised knuckles and a developing black eye, he’ll walk straight into your shared bedroom. You always notice the thump of heavy footsteps arriving into your room, it awakes you. Jason never wasted any time, he immediately strips and hooks his gloved fingers around your shorts waistline and pulls them down, your panties along with it. Ramming into you mercilessly, shoving your face into the pillows below, and you’re always unethically wet; the slick noises filling the atmosphere and the dim lighting from the far billboards and city lights creating a light flare in the room. You just take it as he ignores your mumbles and cries into the pillows, instead he groans pleasurably over your words. Jason doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied, until he’s left his seed dripping out if you. You never realise when he’s done, but you always hear the sound of the shower faucet turning on.

Jason Todd who sometimes fucks you so well, he forgets about his own needs and pleasures. On nights when it’s just you two, romantic and intimate, jason loves to make his favourite girl feel good. Honestly, holding hands, mating press, peppering wet kisses trailing from your throat up to your ear and whispering sweet nothings softly. The night doesn’t end until you’ve had at least 5 orgasms, and he’s ran you a warm bath. He loves doing these things for you, treating his girl like how she deserves to be treated. You always press your head up against his chest when cuddling at nights like this, and he’d wrap his arm around you, securing you like your his prized possession.

Jason Todd who loves blowjobs. And i mean, sloppy, dirty, mouth watering, gorilla gripping, carpet clenching, eye tearing, fanny fluttering head. He’d shove your face into his cock, making sure your nose is touching his pelvis. Your hands fly up, pressing against his thighs for some sort of support as he face fucks you roughly. Your babbling noises fill the room, and as you glance up you always notice the way his eyes roll back and his head is falling back along with it. It motivates you, so you shove your head further onto his length and bring one of your palms up to massage his balls, earning the sluttiest moan you’ve ever heard in you’re whole life. Hell, jason’s sure he’s never felt like that before. Jason looks down on you, it’s degrading, but you can’t deny the hot slick sticking to your panties. He’d even hold your nose and mutter, “—Go on, you can take it. I know you will.” Everything sounds a blur, and he’d pull your head back by your hair and push a finger into your mouth, widening it enough for him to spit clearly into it, using his finger tip to smother the saliva all over your lips. And by the end of it, you’re sleeping like a baby.

Jason Todd who discourages inviting you to his family gatherings. First of all, he believes you wouldn’t be able to keep up with his families drama. But second of all, he does not want you meet his older brother Dick Grayson. The boy scout, the flirt, the sexiest second most sexiest man in the world. Jason knew that if you ever met Dick, you two would get along way too well. And quite frankly, jason doesn’t like you talking to other men that aren’t him. He literally fucking despises when another man so much as looks your way, or checks you out. That’s probably why he always leaves hickeys and marks all over your body, to put on show what’s his, and will always be his.

Jason Todd who loves head scratches and massages. Hear me out, a movie is playing on the TV as you both relax on the couch; the only light reflecting off the TV and the lighting which strikes outside, rain pouring down. Hes got his head resting in your lap as he lays on the couch and you play with his hair while paying more attention to the movie than him. Nothing is more important than him. He’d push his head up into your hand, like a sleepy puppy to gesture his yearn for more as you lose your focus in scratching his scalp with your freshly manicured nails. You’d chuckle to yourself as you notice how needy he is to be in your touch. As you lightly scratch and massage his head and hair, you feel him start to relax under you. That’s when you look down and notice his pale lips slightly parted, and his eyes closed. A small smile paints on your lips when you begin to hear his quiet snores, and you lean down to lay a passionate kiss on the tip of his nose.

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More like Angels

Pairings: Hades!Jason Todd x Angel!Reader.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, mentions of torture (tongue cutting, nudity, etc), forbidden love, possession, minor injuries.

Summary: Jason Todd, one of the most powerful Greek gods, takes a specific liking to a certain Angel.

Jason knew that he was obsessed the moment you had stepped into the underworld, but who was to tell him that his obsession was wrong?

You must have been the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, your soft hair falling over your shoulders in waves and your wings strong and beautiful, dragging along the polished floor behind you with grace. You were adorned in gold jewels from Hera, and a white gown that hugged your curves perfectly and left little to his imagination.

Although your gaze was downcast, stood behind Hera, or otherwise his sister, Cassandra, he could see the innocent curiosity in your eyes as you glanced around his palace. It must have been very different compared to your home in Olympus. When you finally noticed his gaze, you were quick to avert them back to your feet, a deep blush coating your cheeks.

Jason knew then that he had to have you.

Somehow, he had managed to convince Hera to stay longer than intended, meaning that you would be staying, too. Jason would find any pathetic excuse to get you alone, sending the other angels off for tasks but insisting that you stay at his side. For what reason? He never said.

He would make flirtatious comments whenever he could, loving the reaction he pulled from you every time. Your flustered expression would always play in his mind, and it only made him do it more when you had no intention of stopping him. A god and an angel were never meant to be, and Jason knew this very well.

When you had asked him a question about his home, referring to him as Hades, he was quick to correct you almost instantly. It was Jason to you. Only you. Of course, you had been hesitant to refer to him as his proper name, but after consistent reminding from Jason, you had slowly begun to ease into the routine, secretly loving the way his name practically rolled off your tongue.

He found any excuse to touch you, whether it be simply grazing the tips of his fingers along the feathers of your wings, claiming how soft they were, or simply reaching over to feel your flesh against his own. You let him, loving the feeling yourself. No god had ever been this intimate with any angel before, yet Jason planned to change that.

It was no surprise to Jason when he heard the rumors - he would pass his servants within the corridors to which he would hear the quiet murmurs of whispers and burning eyes. Maybe he should have felt embarrassed, afraid even, but he couldn't help the pride blooming within him.

You, however, were much different. You could feel the lingering gazes of people whenever you stepped out of your room, deciding then that it was best to just stay in your room alone until you were personally requested by the gods. You hated the watchful eyes, hated the whispers and false rumors that continued to spread, and it made you fearful of what could happen if the gods were to find out your close relationship to the god of the underworld.

You had to admit that you loved Jason's presence. He was charming, daring, kind (to you, at least), and behind all of his anger, gentle. You refused to admit it to yourself, but you held a strong attraction for the young god.

Jason would always have a close eye on you, watching as you flowed with grace so easily around his home. It was like you had lived here this whole time. He swore that you would purposefully tease him, wearing clothes that were snug on your hips and breasts, talking to him with that sweet voice of yours... and he hated how much it affected him.

Of course, you weren't aware of this until later he had you pinned against your bedroom wall, lips trailing down your neck in pants and open-mouthed kisses, leaving purple marks in his wake. Anything to prove that you were officially his.

It had taken you by surprise, but you didn't hold back from kissing Jason back when his lips finally landed on yours, rough and wanting. His hands were eagerly grasping at the plush of your ass, causing for your mouth to open in a gasp which he quickly used to his advantage, slipping his tongue in.

Jason swore that you were a gift sent to him from heaven, and in a certain sense you were.

"You do this to me on purpose," he rasped against you.

"Do what?" You breathed, your lips chasing after his when he pulled back slightly, eyeing you with what you placed as lust.

So stupid, so naive.

His fingers were brushing against your skin, trailing down from the strap of your dress and over to your wings that fluttered at his touch. You let out a shaky breath when he slipped the strap of your dress off from your shoulders, letting the top of your dress drop down the curve of your breasts. Jason was instantly taking you in, admiring your bare body before him. You felt uneasy under his burning gaze, but before your arms could move up to cover your body or your wings could move to wrap around you, he was pulling you in for another deep kiss.

The both of you stumbled over to the bed, his hands pushing you back as your body landed upon your soft sheets that he ensured the maids laid out for you.

He wasted no time in brushing his nose against the nape of your neck, his lips brushing against the warm flesh. Your scent was arousing to him, like honey and rain. You were so oblivious to him, so oblivious to how much he craved you.

He took a moment, admiring your body laid out before him, your eyes staring back up at him with the same passion he held. The dress still hung loosely on your hips, and he was quick to rip it from your body. Jason's mouth practically drooled once he saw your bare cunt between your thighs.

"Beautiful, my love," he whispered, barely audible, but you heard it.

He knelt down, hands parting your thighs and breath hitting your slit. Any attempt at closing your legs was a fail when Jason kept his hands strong in place.

"Jason?" You questioned, voice like honey to his ears. "I-I don't know if we should do this."

He glanced up, meeting your eye and seeing the evident uncertainty held within them.

"Afraid somebody will catch us?" He teased, though you didn't return his smile. "Let them," he finished, before delving into your pussy.

You couldn't help the moan that slipped your mouth when his tongue flattened out against you, lapping at your juices. His nose nudged at your clit causing for you to gasp, and a single digit slipped into your cunt with ease. Jason pumped his fingers, craving the sounds of your moans and whimpers as you writhed, body shifting and fingers tugging roughly at his hair.

He couldn't have loved it more.

His lips attached to your clit, sucking and tugging at it gently that caused your back to arch, your mouth open in a silent moan. Your eyes were squeezed shut, but Jason tapped your thigh impatiently.

"Eyes on me, angel," he spoke into your pussy, the vibrations causing for another wave of pleasure.

"Jay-" you whimpered, and Jason felt the blood rush down into his pants.

Just as your climax was right at its peak, Jason pulled back with a mischievous smirk, crawling back to hover above you. The tears threatened to spill from your dark lashes, the coil in your stomach beginning to fade. You couldn't help but to buck your hips slightly.

Shrugging off his shirt, he tossed it randomly onto the floor and dove back to your lips, only this time, it was gentle. His hand combed through your hair, feeling it between his fingers. You would have thought it was all innocent and sweet if it weren't for the very prominent budge pressing against your upper thigh.

"Give me your hand," Jason demanded, and you listened. Your hand came up before his face and he grabbed it firmly within his own, brining it down to his pants.

He chuckled at the wide-eyed look you gave him. "Don't worry, Angel. You want to make me feel good, don't you?"

You nodded your head, and he took that as his sign to finally bring your hand down to his clothed bulge, watching you intently as your fingers travelled along his cock. He couldn't hold back the deep moan when you pressed down on him.

Jason wasn't a patient man. He was quick to strip himself of his pants and watch you admire his body. Big, muscled, and beyond anything you had seen before. You wondered what the others would say if they saw you right now - you would be kicked out of your home in Olympus, even possibly killed for your sins! Yet, you paid no mind as you let your hands wander Jason's body, craving to feel it against yours. Your cunt pulsed with need, and Jason knew this.

"Please, Jay," you begged, kissing his cheek and then his lips.

Jason watched you, silent, but then he tapped the side of your hip with his finger.

"Get on your hands and knees."

You did, your ass on display for his view and wings laying neatly over your body. You looked back at Jason as he took you in, his hand squeezing at the plush of your ass. Without another word, he was lining up behind you, cock pressed against you as he unintentionally bucked his hips, causing for the both of you to moan.

"It will hurt," he said, voice gruff yet full of determination. The tip of his cock pocked at your entrance, and you knew he wasn't lying. He was big.

He began to slip in, and you cried at the painful stretch. You were thankful that he had prepared you moments before. A tear slipped down the curve of your cheek the more Jason pushed in, and he hushed your cries when he bottomed out.

His hand laid against your back, following the arch and then caressing your soft wings. For a moment, you both sat still, adjusting to the new feeling of him inside you.

Jason hovered over your back, pressing his lips behind your ear before he began to move. It was small, short thrusts at first, but it soon turned quick and hard. The pain soon turned to pleasure, and your face laid pushed into the sheets as moans spilled out from your mouth.

"Fuck, you know you could get in so much trouble for this, right?" Jason grunted, landing a slap against your ass. You yelped, but he quickly eased the pain by rubbing his palm over the raw skin.

You tried to retort, but a particular hard thrust cut you off with a whine.

"I can't let anybody else have you... You're mine, Angel."

You knew he was right. With the many hickies littering your skin, the bruises that you were sure would show up by the morning between your thighs, you were Jason Todd's.

You breathed out, looking back at him once more with your teary eyes, although full of love. "I'm yours."

For the rest of the night, the room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping on skin, broken moans, and heavy pants. When the time came that you had both grown sweaty and exhausted, Jason had laid beside you with an arm pulling you in close, your body being enveloped by him in warmth.

Jason hadn't seen you as much the past two days.

Though your behavior was normal between the two of you, everybody had just seemed to drag you away from him. First, it would be some of his servants and then the other angels, then eventually his sister was requesting your presence more often too.

It was also strange to him when Cass had insisted on speaking to him - tone blunt and firm.

So here he was, sitting upon his throne as she was stood before him, as well as his two brothers.

"What makes you think that they can enter my home?" Jason demanded, his gaze drawn to his sister in anger, but she remained stoic.

"Jason," his brother, Dick, spoke up. "We know about the girl."

Jason felt his heart rate quicken, though he didn't show it. He remained calm in his posture and only raised a brow.

Hera, or Cassandra, shook her head. "It was already a mistake coming to stay here, Jason, but it was an even bigger mistake to take her innocence."

Jason scoffed. "I haven't seen her for days. Your accusations are wrong," he spoke, but he felt his stomach drop when the three eyed him carefully, the large doors behind them swinging open to reveal your broken form.

You had two people on either side of you, dragging you into the throne room as you wept in their arms. When they tossed you onto the floor before him, he had the chance to properly take you in.

Your clothes were torn and dirty, practically already falling off your body and revealing yourself to cruel eyes. You had multiple cuts and bruises across your body, your wings a messy wreck, and just by looking at you Jason could tell that you were weak and vulnerable. It angered him.

"You dare do this in my home?" He growled, eyes burning with fury as he stood from his throne. "Release her!"

Dick shook his head. "We can't do that, Jay."

"Don't ever fucking call me that!" Jason attempted to walk to you, but his path was blocked. More people began to crowd the room, and the only thing Jason could hear was the horrified whispers and your loud sobs.

"She has broken one of the many laws, Jason. She's a traitor." Hera spoke, pointing to your frame. "She must be punished. If it weren't for your own selfish desires, nobody would be in this current situation."

The murmurs of the onlookers made his fury burn. How dare these people look at you - belittle you - in front of him?

"She should have her tongue cut out," A voice spoke from the crowd. "Hell, even rip her wings from her body!"

The last thing Jason heard was a loud cry and then crimson red blood seeping onto the floor. Gasps and screams filled his palace, and Jason turned to his siblings, the bloodied man below him nothing more than dead flesh.

"You leave my realm at once before I do the same to all of you," Jason began. "If you ever come back, I will rip your limbs from your body myself and feed you to Cerberus."

Jason swore he had never been so angry in his life.

His three siblings looked at him. Was it disappointment? Anger? He didn't care. Not now.

"She's not welcome back. If she does, I'll kill her myself," Cass spoke, before eyeing your form and walking out the door. His two brothers following behind.

Jason rushed to your side, and you didn't hesitate to throw your arms around him despite your pain, crying into his shoulder and his shirt soaking your warm tears.

It was then that Jason decided he would never let you out of his sight. You were his, and he would kill anybody who tried to take you from him.

©x-gabrielle-x. Do not steal, copy or translate my works.

Longest Night (1)

[AK!Jason Todd x Reader]

Word Count: 2520

Summary: When you miss the last evacuation bus out of Gotham in the wake of Scarecrow's threats, you have to come up with a new plan. Meanwhile, the Arkham Knight is searching for someone.

A/N: Finally got up the nerve to post this! Please be kind. I finished the Arkham Knight game recently, so that's where the inspiration comes from. And my chronic Loving Jason disease.

You re-entered your apartment as quickly and quietly as you could, muffling the jingle of your keys in your jacket pocket, finding the right one by touch before pulling them free. The hall was dark, each apartment door uncharacteristically silent. You were Gothamites, through and through. You knew where this was leading the second the city broadcast system crackled to life that morning. Those that were able had packed up immediately, waited in the nicer areas of the city waiting on their phones for the evacuation plans to be officially announced. You estimated that most of the people on your floor were gone, and you were happy for them. Unfortunately, you’d been a few minutes too late. 

You tossed your duffle bag onto the couch, leaving the lights off as you set about securing the door. Your tenuous connection with the Wayne family didn’t afford you a home in the nicer parts of the city - to be fair, you’d never asked - but it did afford you slightly above-average security. Dick Grayson had installed the four additional locks on your front door himself, and most importantly, he’d had the decency not to sneer at the quality of the building you’d ended up in. You were a Crime Alley kid, born and raised. And while your family had clawed its way somewhere marginally more respectable by the time you were a teenager, after everything that happened with Jason, Dick couldn’t pretend to be surprised that you’d made a home for yourself in a place like that. Not quite Crime Alley, which despite or perhaps because of your grief was unlivable for you. But close. And just as dangerous. 

You wedged your security bar into place next, testing the stability with the edge of your boot. You briefly considered moving some of your furniture up against the door as well but determined it would be more trouble, time, and noise than it would be worth. If they could get through the locks and the security bar, an armchair or table wouldn’t do you any good. 

Just as you backed away from the door, trying to slow your heart rate and think your options through, your phone buzzed to life in your pocket. 

Alfred Pennyworth

You flinched a little, involuntarily, but answered anyway, moving deeper into your apartment and speaking softly.

“Hello?”

“Please tell me you managed to get out of the city.” The lack of a proper greeting was the most obvious sign that Alfred was anxious. 

“Bad luck.” The disappointed sigh that followed almost made you smile. “You know I tried. I don’t have the pride or ego to assume I can survive the kind of night that warrants an official evacuation. I was just too late. There was one seat left on the bus, and it was either me or my 70-year-old neighbor. My chances of survival are better than hers, so…”

“If the people I cared about could all be a touch less noble, I believe I’d still have a full head of hair.”

“Funny.” You grabbed a utility knife from the top of your closet, propping your foot on the edge of wood trim to strap it around your ankle, concealing it neatly where the slightly bunched fabric of your jeans met the sturdy leather of your boot. 

“Well. Luckily for you, there is someone quite powerful who owes me a favor or two.”

“Bruce owes you about a thousand favors, but there’s not much he can do for me at this point, Alfred. I assume he made it out safely?”

“Your first option is to flag down a squad car and request refuge in GCPD. At the moment they’re still out patrolling, but I suspect they’ll be driven back before too long.”

You parted your curtains and blinds gently, making the tiniest possible gap to peer through. The streets below were deserted. No cars, no pedestrians, nothing. Calm before the storm, you were sure. Your remaining neighbors were probably doing to same as you were: waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for something to happen that would clue them in on how best to keep themselves safe tonight. 

“I don’t think I have the authority to do that.”

“You’re connected to the most powerful family in the city. Of course you have the authority. It may very well make you a target. That should be incentive enough for GCPD to take an interest. If not, you’re welcome to inform them that Bruce Wayne intends to repay them most generously for their assistance.”

Your chest tightened a little, the way it always did when someone reminded you of your “connection” to the Waynes. Because, to be quite blunt, there wasn’t one. Not anymore. All that was left, you suspected, was an uncomfortable obligation that came from guilt and grief. 

“Alfred…” You cut yourself off. There was no point in having this conversation now. Not again. “I don’t see any movement outside, let alone a squad car. And if I go looking for one, I have a feeling I’ll find trouble faster than I’ll find help.” 

“I see… Well, there is a second option. I’m afraid it’s a touch more… dramatic than the first.”

“Okay…” you said, letting the curtain fall back into place and looking around your dark apartment for anything that might be helpful to add to your bag or your person.

“Can you make it to the roof?”

“Probably.” 

With the duffle bag tossed back over your shoulder, you moved quickly to your bedroom, where the window opened onto a fire escape. Switching Alfred’s call to the earbuds you kept in the nightstand freed up both your hands, and you eased out onto the rusted metal landing carefully, pulling your bag out behind you and closing your window firmly. A quick glance around revealed the street was still deserted, nor were there any signs of life on the fire escape or in the other windows that let out onto it. 

“What’s the plan?” you whispered, moving upwards as quietly as possible. 

“I called in a favor. Someone will be along shortly to escort you to safety. Or as close to safety as we can manage tonight.” 

“That. Is unnecessarily cryptic, Alfred,” you complained, a panicked breath catching in your throat as an unfamiliar  low rumble echoed down the street. 

“You’ll soon see why.”

You gave an unconvinced grumble but were too winded to manage an actual reply, muscles straining as you pulled yourself over the top rung of the final ladder and onto the roof. 

“Move away from the edge. It would be better if no one saw you waiting.” 

“It would be better if no one saw me period,” you agreed, opting to stay low and crawl towards the water tank. You tucked yourself tight against it, trying to merge yourself with its silhouette as much as possible. 

The sun had almost completely vanished, and what was left of its light was heavily obscured by clouds. In these conditions, this roof was probably the safest place to be. Away from the parts of the city likely to see the most action. Not lit in any way, not overseen by the windows of taller buildings. And it didn’t hurt that, as a general rule, the criminals of Gotham had learned to steer clear of rooftops. Setting up shop on any Gotham rooftop was like sending a personal invitation to the vigilantes of the city to come ruin their night. 

You were considering sharing this thought with Alfred, pitching the idea of staying right where you were for as long as possible, saving that favor for later, when a faint rustling sound drew your attention. 

“Please try not to panic,” Alfred’s voice sounded in your ear as you stared into the shadows cast by the stairwell access. Something was moving there.

As you watched, a silhouette separated itself from the rest of the blackness. A very distinct silhouette, one you had never seen personally but could never mistake for anyone or anything else.

“Alfred,” you said softly, still not moving, hardly even blinking. “I hope you plan on telling me how the hell Batman ended up owing you a favor.” 

“In time. For now, we need to focus. Follow his instructions. Call me back when you’ve arrived safely.”

“Arrived where?” You pushed yourself hesitantly to your feet as Batman wordlessly held out a hand to you. 

“Please be careful,” was the only answer you received before the soft click of an ended call. 

*****

The remains of Killinger’s Department Store was a hotbed of activity and chaos. Groups of men in red military-grade body armor were engaged in the business of swiftly repurposing the space into a base of operations for the Arkham Knight and his militia. In a large and once-opulent owners office, the Arkham Knight himself paced restlessly in front of an array of recently-mounted monitors. More and more security camera feeds were becoming available as his men began to set up checkpoints and strongholds throughout the city. They needed to work faster. They needed to be better. Failure was not an option.

A brisk knock stilled him, and he called out his permission for whomever was outside to enter. A militia commander approached, face a solemn mask, betraying nothing.

“GCPD is pulling back their squad cars in response to the drone deployments on all three islands,” he reported. “They still have helicopters in the air over Bleake and Miagani, but enough of our missile defense systems are in place in Founders to keep the skies here clear.” 

“And your other operation?” the Knight prompted impatiently.

The militia commander hesitated for the briefest second. Anyone else may have missed it. The Knight did not.

“The name you gave wasn’t on any of the passenger manifests from the evacuation. She’s still in the city.” 

“But?” 

“I dispatched an APC and two drones to the associated address. No sign of her…” He swallowed uncomfortably. “The retrieval team reported an encounter with the Batman one block from the apartment building in question. In his car, headed the opposite direction.”

“Did they engage?” the Knight asked sharply.

“No, sir. He made no move to engage and evaded pursuit.” 

“Damn it!” The Knight’s fist came down, hard, on the desk. A crystal decanter, left by the office’s previous occupant, toppled over the edge and shattered explosively across the marble tiles. 

In that tank of a car, Batman only avoided a fight if he was carrying a passenger, and an important one, at that. One who wasn’t used to violence. One he didn’t want to scare.

He had her. The one person in this rotted cesspool of a city that was worth a damn. The person he had given his men orders to find and bring in, unharmed, as soon as they entered the city. 

Why, why would Batman take her? Why bother? He couldn’t know that the Knight was searching for her, not already. He couldn’t know anything about the Knight or his intentions. Scarecrow was the only one who had shown his hand. The Arkham Knight had yet to make his first move. So why? 

With hurried steps, the Knight approached the office’s computer system, drawing up the results of the borderline compulsive research he had engaged in before this plan was even fully formed. Images of you, stretching back a decade. The Gotham press adored a tragedy, and when the subject of a tragedy was as beautiful as you? Well, that was a gift that just kept giving as far as they were concerned. There were pictures of you published in the city’s newspapers every year on the anniversary of Jason Todd’s death, looking devastatingly lovely and distraught over the death of your first love, the ward of Gotham’s favorite billionaire Bruce Wayne. A fatal motorcycle accident, the papers’ reported, had turned your star-crossed love story into a tragedy and sent the eccentric and charming remnants of the Wayne legacy, Bruce Wayne and his adopted son Dick Grayson, deep into mourning. 

Bullshit. 

But more than enough reason for the press to chase you instead. You were much easier to catch. They turned you into a symbol, an icon, a tragic figure for the city to rally around once a year and consider the fate of Gotham youth. Of course, you were a grown woman now, but that only added more gravitas to the anniversary stories. Now, the photographers edited your photos in a gauzy black and white that gave you the look of an Old Hollywood star. Isn’t it so sad, the reporters wailed from the headlines, that she’s never moved on? Photos of you in a black dress because you knew the drill by now, crossing a busy street and pretending not to notice the camera flashes. 

But in the past ten years, you’d only been photographed with Bruce twice. 

Batman couldn’t have taken you because of the Knight’s personal feelings. And he certainly didn’t take you because of his own. What did that leave?

The next picture offered a solution. You were sitting at an outdoor bistro table with Alfred Pennyworth, sharing polite smiles and an array of breakfast pastries. 

Alfred. If there was one person whose heart and connections could be trusted, it was Alfred. At his current stage of life, he only left the grounds of Wayne Manor for people he truly cared for. And if he still cared for you that much, he would absolutely make whatever arrangements he could to protect you. Including calling in a very inconvenient favor. 

The Knight turned back to the militia commander, grateful, not for the first or last time, that his helmet concealed his face and voice. 

“Get eyes on every Wayne Enterprises building in the city. I want all angles covered, and I want to know the second someone gets eyes on Batman or that damn car.”

The commander nodded, tilting his head away to relay this information to his team via radio.

“Why’s he taking her to Wayne?” he asked, shifting slightly on his feet when he received nothing but a silent stare in response. “You want us to be able to think the way the Bat thinks, right? I’m not following this one.”

“She has connections to the Wayne family,” the Knight said impatiently, gesturing towards the monitors which were now filled with newspaper and paparazzi photos of you. “And those buildings will have the most state-of-the-art security measures in the city. He may even be able to airlift her out of the city from one of those locations.”

“Think the Bat’s on Wayne’s payroll?”

The Knight sighed in disgust, turning away again. 

“No. But that woman has been made important not just to the Wayne family but to the people of Gotham. She’s valuable. We need her. Unharmed.” 

“Understood.” 

“And commander?” the Knight called as the man made a move to leave. “If she arrives looking anything less than the picture of perfect health, I will be holding each and every member of the retrieval team personally responsible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t want to hear from you again until you have something.”

****

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