Note: alright, how many story tropes can we fit into one fanfic? jk… kind of, not really.
here i was, thinking i'd be able to finish Rites of Passage before starting a new story, but alas... i've had this idea in my head for quite a while and it just wouldn't leave me alone, so here we are!
i wanted to write an OC that's the "opposite" of Jason Todd/Red Hood and everything the two represent — the rich girl and the guy who came from nothing, the heiress and the vigilante, privilege and power and crime-fighting and masks. obviously, this isn't meant to be black and white since i intend to explore the gray areas, so let's see what kind of chaos we create, and i hope you're along for the ride!
before you ask, yes. there will be eventual romance because of one of our favorite tropes: enemies-to-lovers, of course.
oh, and expect mature themes, including but not limited to strong language (Jason), sexuality, violence, drugs, alcohol, etc. Warnings will be noted accordingly as they come.
hope you enjoy!
1: WTF is a Red Hood?
This isn't the first time he's been contacted regarding his… services, but it's definitely the first time anyone has ever asked him to do this.
"Like I said, Mr. DeKnight, I'm real flattered you thought of me, but it's just not my thing. I prefer to be more, ah, forward and intentional with my methods. Standing around and waiting for action isn't exactly how I like to spend my time, you know?"
Red Hood sits in front of the webcam, only dressed from the waist up in his gear with briefs and no socks on. (Not like the other guy would know.) The exasperated, green eyes are displayed on one of many bright screens before the vigilante, but even from here, Jason is also getting a good look at the man's surroundings.
It's expected that Ariel DeKnight has a fantastic view of New York City behind him in the fancy little office he called from, considering his net worth is about two-hundred million dollars, and it also shouldn't strike him that his suit looks like something out of Bruce's wardrobe. Granted, Jason did have to do a little research on the guy when he heard someone was asking around about Red Hood and whether he was still freelancing. That was when he got a better idea about who this potential client might be, though he did find it immediately strange that a media proprietor/philanthropist/famous winemaker and overall super-rich businessman wanted Red Hood for a job.
As a bodyguard.
A fucking bodyguard. He's Red Hood for crying out loud; he wields guns, swords, and other weaponry a lot more aggressively than the guy who stands next silently to the U.S. President or some movie star. Hell, he cruises through Gotham wearing a red helmet, pistols on his thighs, and a jacket that's seen better days.
What business does he have protecting some random celebrity he's never really heard of?
"How do you not know who Sabina DeKnight is?" Roy said the other day when Jason brought DeKnight's inquiry up in conversation over breakfast.
"She's literally one of the nation's biggest social media influencers," his friend continued with enthusiasm. "Her parents own one of the world's top wine companies and they actually used to live here in Gotham, but even besides that, she's everywhere. Like, tens of millions of followers on InstantGram, a model… I'm pretty sure I saw her in a hip-hop music video last week."
"None of that was helpful at all," Jason admitted, distracted by the pancakes.
Roy gestured towards him. "I swear you live under a giant rock."
Well, considering he spent a lot of time in their bunker that was technically underground… the redhead wasn't all that wrong.
Then Roy made him look her up on the internet, pulling up a few news articles about the DeKnight family and even more images of her on red carpets and in magazines. This Sabina might be some well-known heiress to a wine empire and sure, she's cute, but so what? Why does she need someone like Red Hood to be around?
"I don't think you understand, Mr. Hood," Ariel says from his end of the video call. He clasps his hands together and adds carefully, "We're willing to pay an additional fifty percent of your asking price. I imagine no one else has done that before."
He's right. No one has.
Which means, Jason muses to himself, there's something going on that makes him this desperate for Red Hood's help.
He sits forward in his chair and gives a mild shrug. "Alright, I'll bite. Tell me everything and help me understand what exactly you're asking me to do."
"Well, full disclosure if you did not know already: Sabina is my daughter."
Ah, yes. The overprotective father figure is always a good way to start off. The lack of domestic bliss in one's life always seems to be a likely culprit. Not that he's speaking from experience or anything…
Ariel explains how life for Sabina has been difficult over the past year. Despite her ongoing rise to the top as a public figure and the daughter of a wealthy family, she's been struggling to keep her head above water, making questionable decisions, having attitude problems, getting involved with behind-the-scenes drama, etc. Recently, there have been several stalker incidents, even a break-in at their home in Italy, and just a month ago, someone hacked her social media accounts to impersonate her and post ludicrous content.
"No one outside of her personal life and trusted circle knows about anything other than the hacking and stalker situations, of course," Ariel sighs, "because we keep a tight lid on anything that can shed negative light on her. Sabina is juggling a lot, and it would bring her team some relief to know someone like you is around if something goes awry. It would help me sleep at night."
Honestly, when Jason did a bit of research on Sabina, he assumed everything he read about the stalking and social media hacks were just typical celebrity life and drama. As ignorant as he might be to some things outside of the vigilante lifestyle let alone Gotham, Jason has a pretty good idea of what fame and money does to people and how it affects their lives. He's seen it from a limited perspective when it comes to Bruce, but clearly, Ariel DeKnight is willing to pay a hefty amount of money to make sure things don't get much worse.
Clearing his throat, Red Hood begins, "Look, Mr. DeKnight, I'm sorry to hear your daughter is having a rough time, but I don't think I'm the kind of help she needs. I run around and chase down criminals—"
"We believe she's being targeted."
"Come again?"
Ariel pinches the bridge of his nose as if he doesn't want to be explaining any of this. "On top of what I just told you, Sabina and her team have been receiving death threats, cryptic messages, all sorts of... worrying things."
"I'm assuming you've contacted the authorities—"
"Let me be frank: Yes, I have, and I regret doing so. They're a bunch of incompetent idiots who can't tell their left hand from their right."
Jason has to hold back a laugh at that.
The man leans closer to the computer and lowers his voice. "Mr. Hood, this has been going on for a while, and the GCPD won't help as much as I know you can. I don't know if you have children, but I'm a man willing to do whatever it takes to protect his daughter."
Even if it means hiring an outlaw, Jason knows he wants to add but won't.
He can almost feel the pleading desperation through the screen as Ariel urges one more time, "Please. The world is nasty out there. I simply want to protect Sabina from whatever might be coming."
Well, the former Robin can't argue with that. The world is pretty nasty, and he's been spending his time fighting it. During moments like this, he even gets paid for it.
So even if this job might be a first in Red Hood's book, that doesn't mean it could turn out to be the most boring and uneventful babysitting gig he's had to do. And hey, considering the price, it might just be worth it.
"What the fuck is a Red Hood?"
Ariel sighs with the exasperation of a man who needs a two-week vacation in some place like Bora Bora.
"Language, Bina."
"Sorry."
Sabina DeKnight follows the tailor's silent gesture to rotate her body a little to the right. She watches the Frenchman pin the elegant dress at her hip in delicate attentiveness for a second before readjusting the wireless earbud in her ear.
"So what the hell is a Red Hood?" she corrects herself.
Another sigh at the end of the line.
"Are you sure you can't stop by my office this week? I'd rather have this conversation with you in-person and not while you're occupied."
"Didn't Troy tell you I'm literally booked up for the next three days?"
The tailor straightens from his kneeled position and makes a twirling motion with his finger. Sabina spins in place slowly, catching her figure in the large mirror across the well-lit room as the gown hugs her skin and accentuates every line and curve. A few other dresses hang in their individual garment bags on the clothing rack in the corner, having been discarded. So far, the heiress hasn't liked any of this year's latest releases, and this one that she's wearing is no exception.
"Girl, that's the one."
Troy, the guy who's been at her side for the past year as an assistant and as a friend for even longer, oohs from where he sits on a stool nearby. A tablet and cell phone lay across his lap, signs that he was working away at more meetings, emails, and other boring stuff Sabina couldn't be bothered with.
Taking a deep breath and pulling back her long, dark hair to better see the upper half of the dress, Sabina examines herself again. Despite the tailor's expert work in making every dress fit her properly so she could see what the final product would look like, it only does so much. It doesn't matter how tight the fabric sits on her skin or what parts of her body a gown shows off because the tabloid headlines and paparazzi photo captions would stay the same.
"We need to straighten this out before Gotham—"
"No."
The answer is both for her father and the stylist who just approached. Mika exchanges a glance with the tailor while Troy's smile falters from behind her.
"Bina, this is not negotiable…"
Her eyes take in the way the designer dress falls too open below her collarbones and says, "I'll try the next one."
"That was the last option," Mika says, crossing her arms over her white leather jacket.
"How many were there?" Sabina asks, brows furrowing.
"Fifteen, Sab. Half of them are exclusive designs they said they'd make custom for you, and some your mother picked out."
"Well, no wonder I hated all of them," she mutters before huffing and turning to look at her reflection once more.
Her father's voice pipes in her ear again. "Sabina, can you hear—?"
It's safe to say that ignoring and hanging up on him won't end well, but whatever. She'll deal with it later. Troy catches the wireless earbud when she tosses it, and the briefest flash of exhaustion appears on Mika's face as she moves closer to Sabina. Her platinum blonde hair peeks above her shoulder in the mirror, which also reflects the concern in the woman's eyes. Or is it pity?
Mika says quietly, "Come on, Sab. Why don't we sort through the others and do some process of elimination?"
Her instinct is to snap, but Sabina sees the look on her face and bites her tongue. Instead, she steps away from the mirror with a dismissive "Fine" when in fact, nothing about how she feels is fine.
Not only do her parents want to return to Gotham, a city they haven't set foot in for over a decade, but they also want a complete stranger to follow her around for some indefinite length of time?
Out of all the decisions they've made on her part for the last decade, this really takes the cake.
Sabina's never been to Gotham. She's only heard stories from her parents because her father grew up there, and the two of them visited while she was overseas in Italy as a child. Then there are the national news stories about its infamous crime rates and big-name crime lords and vigilantes. Gotham has never been anything more than a horrendous headline or offhand confirmation of Ariel DeKnight's "troubled childhood," so her parents' insistence that they return seemed… absurd. It's one thing to want to leave their main home in Spain and cancel the trip to Israel—it's a whole other to pick Gotham as the next destination.
But Ariel and Carmen DeKnight never make a decision that isn't rooted in growing business and maintaining reputation.
So they'll have to forgive Sabina for not believing one bit of the "returning to home roots" and "philanthropic endeavors" spiel. She's had enough public relations training to smell a story as fake as her mother's eyelash extensions. Plus, she's not totally oblivious to the fact that some questionable things are happening out of the public eye despite how unwilling her parents are to clue her in.
They wouldn't be hiring someone like Red Hood to "protect" her if nothing serious was going on because Sabina's had security detail before… but none of them have ever been a freaking outlaw.
The makeup artist is immediately at her side when Sabina walks off the set in the four-inch stilettos and Troy hands her a water bottle. She's in the middle of a swig when her mother reappears, just like she did thirty minutes ago when the crew changed out the props for the next batch of photos. As expected, she is handing over a bluetooth earpiece from where her father's voice is resuming their previous conversation (more like a lecture considering it was one-sided and Sabina didn't say much) about the whole bodyguard thing.
"He's been fully briefed on everything about us and especially you. He should know your day-to-day itinerary as well as your upcoming projects, including the shoot back here in the city," Ariel is saying in her ear while the makeup artist dabs at Sabina's lips and the stylist readjusts the corset's garter straps. He's probably entirely aware of but unfazed by the fact that, on the other line, his daughter is decked out in a full baby pink lingerie set.
"There's a secure line between him and the other members of the detail in case they need to communicate. He'll be with you essentially every moment of the day that you're out and about, returning to his own hotel room once you've gotten back to the apartment safely. That means he goes where you go, no matter what."
"Does that include the ladies' room?"
"I'm sure he'll simply stand outside," Ariel answers with poorly-concealed impatience in his voice.
Sabina nods with feign understanding, like it's totally normal for masked vigilantes to stand guard outside a public restroom. "Oh, right, that'll be no problem at all," she mutters.
She feels someone's hands smoothing over her hair extensions after her mother gestures for them to fix it. Carmen DeKnight presses her lips in an unsatisfied line, stepping closer to do it herself. Sabina nearly wrinkles her nose at the cloud of powdery, expensive perfume she breathes in.
"Sabina."
Using her full name to intimidate her long lost its effectiveness, but it does tell Sabina that her father is not messing around. If she makes another snide remark or anything else that annoys him, she's in dangerous waters.
Waters that could soon drown her.
Ignoring him, she grimaces at Carmen and swats her hands away. "Mom, can you stop? He's got it…"
"This is for your own good. It is absolutely not negotiable and not for forever."
Donna, the photographer, calls her over, and the heiress couldn't be happier to have a reason to walk away. Still, her mother, Troy, and the crew follow her like dogs after an owner. They take a few moments to examine all the shots on the computer monitor, both Carmen and Troy gushing over certain stills while Ariel waits silently on the end of the line. Donna's call for the last batch of photos prompts Sabina to turn back to the set, where the homey, fake living room setting has been swapped out to a bedroom.
"We're continuing this later," her father says before requesting to speak with her mother.
His words are soon lost in the atmosphere that's centered around the model taking her mark at the edge of the bed. Sabina follows Donna's instruction to lean back onto the bed with her hands, aware of her mother giving nods of approval on the side — or maybe she's just nodding along to whatever her husband is saying.
It's just another day of her glamorous life and with her parents, yet the prospect of Gotham and this "Red Hood" remain at the back of her mind like all else that, unfortunately, troubles her. And as always, she pretends it isn't there because that's the easiest way to deal with it.
He was instructed to be at the hangar by 9 a.m. because the jet was supposed to land around 9:20. That was after he met with the private military company, per Ariel's strict direction, to get briefed on protocols and procedures. Except Jason wasn't exactly a fan of being told how to do the job (his job) — doing things his way was usually part of any contract, part of his entire brand as Red Hood, an outlaw, and Ariel had made reassurances that there would be flexibility in how the vigilante chose to protect his daughter. That being said, when the fellow from the PMC gave boss man a call to say that Red Hood wasn't really conceding to the arrangements and instructions, Ariel had to give him a ring to solidify his word.
"Mr. Hood, I perfectly understand your methods and approaches, otherwise I wouldn't have sought you out."
"So why is Jason Statham here rattling off all these rules like he's the one paying me?"
The bald, ex-military man glowers silently as Hood holds the phone to his ear.
"As I said last time we spoke, someone from Darkwater is simply explaining to you how they've conducted operations for me before, especially when my daughter was involved. They're meant to be a resource or backup if you ever find yourself in a situation that requires their assistance."
There was silence, then, "Not that I expect you will need it."
Nice save, DeKnight.
"They know very well that you are an independent… contractor… yourself," Ariel continued, though Hood was already losing interest in the convo at that point. "But if they ever do give you trouble—"
"Trouble? Please, Mr. DeKnight. Everything this guy's told me so far is rudimentary." Another glare, oops. "He'll humor me."
He managed to make it through the rest of Wannabe-Jason-Statham's briefing without making the guy reach for his concealed pistol once, so that was a win. Now, he's just waiting outside the hangar and leaning onto his bike as the small jet plane finally rolls to a stop. Up ahead, a black SUV awaits the passenger who'll exit at any second, a Darkwater operative in the driver seat. Gotham's morning sky is a muted gray with an equally unimpressive temperature that isn't too cold or too warm. Still, Red Hood is decked out in his entire outfit from the infamous helmet to the less infamous jacket, far more accustomed to the city's dreary weather than is the young woman who stepped off the steps with what might've been confusion.
Huh. She looks pretty close to how she appeared in all the images and video clips he's seen of her.
Sabina DeKnight is sporting sweats, casual, name brand sneakers that must've cost more than his few months' worth of an electricity bill, and a blue flannel that's been left open and is revealing some sort of bra. Or maybe it's a separate top, the fuck does he know? All he can tell is that her entire midriff is exposed, the belly button piercing twinkling at him with the lights near the hangar. Wavy, raven hair falls halfway down her back as she stops to examine her surroundings. She glances around as if looking for something or someone, and her gaze lands on him as he approaches. That's when Jason sees the lined eyes shift with something unreadable.
Red Hood comes around the SUV to approach her and catches the once-over she gives him. (Jesus, he can feel the judgment — or is it wariness? — radiating from here.) The heiress covers the remaining distance with a steady but cautious pace, stopping when they're several feet apart.
In a tone that suggests she's anything but impressed, Sabina says slowly, "So… you're the Red Hood."
"In the flesh."
Behind her, the operative in the suit named Miller is fetching two carry-on bags from the pilot and then heading to place them in the back of the vehicle. A young man in matching sweats and a crewneck sweater comes down the plane steps, and Hood immediately recognizes him as Troy Gonzalez, Sabina's childhood friend and assistant. (How that works out, he has no clue.) The spiky, dangling earring and nose ring battle Troy's intrigued gaze for Hood's attention, but the vigilante remains silent as the two look him up and down like—
Sabina, having sensed her friend's presence, turns her face slightly towards him but doesn't remove her eyes from Red Hood. "I kind of expected him to be taller."
Behind the mask, Jason would have been lying to himself if he tried believing she meant to speak more quietly.
It's confusion at first that pinches him and then annoyance when he sees the glint in her eye. What the actual fuck? She moves to get into the SUV while Troy tries and fails to bite back a disbelieving smile.
"Don't mind her, she didn't mean it," he says quickly and waves a hand like it's no big deal that the heiress just insulted him. "I'm Troy! Nice to meet you! We'll see you back at the house."
Troy's eyes dart in Sabina's direction before he flashes him a smile, climbs into the back of the car, and shuts the door.
The SUV's engine rumbles to life, prompting Red Hood to finally budge from where he stood frozen. Eyes trained on the vehicle's tinted, bulletproof windows as he gets onto his bike, he asks himself the one question he'd really, really been hoping wouldn't cross his mind taking this job on.
What the hell did I just get myself into?
Note: you can find me on tumblr only-you-noia where i mostly reblog batfam stuff and occasionally post my story excerpts :D