maribat oneshots

what's cookin', good lookin'? | jasonette

Anon: Could you do a 23 Jason x Marinette? I also want to say I really love your fanfics.

23- "What's cookin', good lookin'?"

Of course, it's just her luck that she stumbles across a Gotham vigilante bleeding to death from not one, not two, but three stab wounds in the alley across from the fabric store she's headed to.

And obviously, she's not about to let him die.

So she gets Trixx to cast an illusion so no passerby sees a five foot girl carrying a man who must weigh at least 230 pounds without breaking a sweat through a blue portal, then asks Kaalki to open a portal home.

Marinette scoops up the vigilante, a red bat splayed across grey kevlar and red helmet hiding his features, and enters her bathroom, setting the guy down in the bathtub (because she is not getting blood all over her apartment, okay?), grabbing her medical kit, setting up a blood transfusion because there was a lot of blood in that alleyway (this guy is so lucky she's a universal donor) and getting to work disinfecting his wounds.

Just as she's about to start stitching them up, the vigilante awakens.

Marinette would probably have been more impressed if the first thing out of his mouth wasn't "What's cookin', good lookin'?"

She threads a needle. "Oh, you know, just preparing to sew up the three stab wounds in your torso that made you bleed half to death in an alleyway. Nothing major."

The mystery guy (she's already calling him Red Helmet in her head) hums, still only halfway conscious. "Sounds kinda major to me. Ya shouldn't be sewing stab wounds."

"Well then, maybe you shouldn't get stabbed." Marinette retorts, tying the first laceration shut. "You didn't seriously expect me to just let you die in the alleyway next to my favorite fabric store, did you?"

"This is Gotham, babe. Nobody even blinks an eye here." Red Helmet mutters.

She doesn't really know how to respond to that depressing statement. "That's not right." She finally says.

Red Helmet snorts, then winces. "Tell me 'bout it."

Marinette ties off the second wound. "So, do you have a name, Mr. Vigilante Person? Is it Red Helmet? Because that's what I've been calling you in my head."

"What? No!" Apparently-Not-Red-Helmet protests. "It's Red Hood! And I'm an antihero!"

She waves her non-dominant hand lazily. "Eh, technicalities. Besides, Red Hood is stupid. You don't even wear a hood. I'm going to call you Red Helmet."

"But it's Red Hood!"

"I'm calling you Red Helmet and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it, monsieur." She ties off the third stab wound and leans back, admiring her handiwork. "There. Now I just have to bandage them, and you're free to leave after your blood transfusion finishes, which should be in another two and a half hours."

"Two and a half hours?" Red Helmet yelps, twisting around and finally noticing the IV in his arm. "I can't stay in a civilian apartment for two and a half hours!"

Marinette rolls her eyes. "Will all due respect, Red Helmet, your average civilian doesn't have the medical equipment necessary to set up a blood transfusion."

"It's Red Hood." He barks. "And if you're not a civilian, what are you?"

"Not a criminal, if that's what you're asking." She grins. "You're a Bat, aren't you? Find out."

Red Helmet leans back in her bathtub, grumbling. "How'd you even know my blood type, anyway?"

"I'm a universal donor." Marinette tucks the last of her supplies back into her massive medkit and puts it back in her cabinet, stretching and feeling her spine crack. "Would you like something to occupy the next 150 minutes? A book, maybe? I have a large selection of classical literature."

"Do you have Pride and Prejudice?" Red Helmet asks, somehow managing to look like a cute puppy even with the helmet on, and she smiles.

"Of course I do. I'm not a heathen." Marinette goes to her living room, plucks her copy of the book off of her bookshelf, and returns to the bathroom to hand it to him. He takes it with eager but gentle hands, flipping to the first page and immediately buries himself in the book.

Marinette exits the room and sets a timer for two and a half hours, then settles at her desk to do some designing. All too soon, the timer goes off, and she returns to the bathroom.

"Time's up." She announces, and Red Helmet's head snaps up. "You're free to go now."

"Already?" He asks, taking out the IV with precision that can only come from prior experience.

Marinette nods. "Would you like to exit through the front door, the balcony, or do you have a specific window in mind?"

"Balcony will do, thanks." Red Helmet says breezily, not realizing that she was joking. Sort of. The sarcasm was heavy in her words.

She opens her balcony doors, and lets him out, the cool night breeze ruffling her clothes as she looks out over the Gotham skyline.

Red Helmet whistles, an odd sound when coming through the audio filters of his helmet. "Wow, that's some view you got there."

Marinette shrugs. "Yeah, well, you get paid very nicely when you're Jagged Stone's designer and get commissions from all sorts of big names."

The helmet's eye slits narrow. "Wait, seriously? You're Jagged Stone's mystery designer? MDC? And you're apparently not a civilian, as you said earlier? Who the fuck are you?"

Marinette grins and says nothing, simply booting him off her balcony and giving a cheerful little wave as he curses and fires his grapple, swinging away.

A week later, Minette purposefully runs into Red Helmet along his usual patrol route, handing him a card with 'MDC' emblazoned on it in curling golden script, with a phone number and a smiley face drawn underneath.

That night, her phone buzzes with a text.

Unknown Number: What's cookin', good lookin'?

She smiles as her fingers tap out a reply.

M: That's the second time you've used it on me.

M: You have got to find some better pick-up lines.

Unknown Number: Well, it worked, didn't it?

M: Yeah, I suppose it did.