Hey! Mmmkay, so this was requested by @Annabeth_Chase008 and uses no prompts. This happens after the wedding in the Dick x Reader story I wrote (The Real Thing Part 5). We gotta pretend that a different person married Dick that day, sorry guys! I hope you enjoy and I hope this makes sense!
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(Y/N) Pov
The room should be buzzing with excited chatter, with children running between the rows of chairs in a good-natured game of tag. Then the bride would enter, applause spreading across the room. There should be the scraping of chairs as folks get up to watch the grinning bride walk down the aisle to her soon to be husband. The groom and bride kiss, people would cheer and someone would whoop as they exit the room holding hands. That should be what happens at a perfect wedding, no, at everyone's wedding. Throughout the last few weeks, celebrity weddings have been interrupted by a villain named Cupid. Which I guess, is why Dick Grayson and his fiance decided to have a secret wedding. But the question no one has asked them is...why the fuck would you decide to have a wedding with a psychopath targetting celebrity weddings is running loose in the city?
I shake my head as Cupid is escorted out of the room before taking a picture of her heartbroken face. Karma is a bitch. As bad as I feel for the bride and groom, I still have to do my job as a journalist. I watch Commissioner Gordon and Batman as they have a quiet discussion before turning my attention to a man who looks like a priest.
The man wears a robe that is something like a long-sleeved black dress with black buttons from the neck right down to almost the hemline, where the shiny toes of black boots are visible. Yet somehow it is still manly and the black of the robe looks sharp and crisp, it contrasts with the white of the dog-collar. His hair is jet black with a few white streaks in his fringe. It somehow adds to his attractiveness. Should I take a photo or would that be weird? I mean how much would it contribute to the actual story? Hmm, what dignity do I have to lose? Just as I lift the camera up and take the photo he looks my way, smirking.
"Are you just gonna take my photo or are you gonna ask me to dinner sweetheart?" He calls out.
I look around, unsure of who he is yelling out too. The people around me seem to only be interested in Batman, Gordon and the couple. The reporters that are present do their best to be herd over their competition but no one gets the answer that they want. When I turn my attention back to the priest I notice that the meters that once separated us now turned into centimetres.
"So, is there a name to go with that pretty face?" He asks.
"(Y/N) (L/N), I'm a journalist." I reply.
"Jason Todd, I'm a priest...today," He grins.
"So what are you on the other days?" I ask.
"Single." He flirts.
I feel the corners of my lips fighting a smile, his eyebrows are raised slightly. In a few seconds, that grin of his is on my face too. There is a richness in his tones – luxurious and warm. He must be a baritone in church. God damn, he looks so much better close up.
"Well, the night is young. I know a cute little bar downtown that needs a good hell-raising." I giggle.
"Sounds fun. Just let me get changed first sweetheart," He replies.
He ducks under the police tape and weaves his arm around my waist. He disappears for a moment only to reappear wearing jeans and a black t-shirt as well as a brown leather jacket. His chiselled jaw lifts with a proud, pleasant smile. We exit the building and start our journey towards the bar.
I have walked these streets my whole life, I know them just the same as if they were etched in my head with a sharp knife, scored in deep like some strange work of art. These are the streets I grew up on and for the most part, I'm calm here, at home, on the down low with a steady heartbeat. I lean into Jason's body as we reach our destination. The bar curves into the room, dark in the barely lit room. The smell has changed over the years. Once it was of cigarette smoke only, the perfume that clung to clothing, skin and furniture alike. Now it is stale beer and body odour. There are establishments that are more like restaurants now - all clean with waiting staff. Not here. It has always been a den of debauchery, alcoholism and the great unwashed of the town. It still is. No-one comes here with anything wholesome in mind. I turn towards him and grin mischievously. He smirks before raising an eyebrow.
"I wouldn't have thought a girl like you would hang out at a place like this." He says.
"Every girl has her secrets," I reply with a grin.
There are hundreds of conversations told in loud voices, all of them competing with the rock music that dominates the atmosphere. The crowd is young, students from the university for the most part. I lean against the bar, my (H/C) hair lying over one of my shoulders. I loll my head to one side, pushing out my lips just a little. The bartender is with us to take our orders in a flash, immediately getting the drinks which we ordered.
I eye the amber liquid and the golden glow of the glass-like cubes. Wrapping my fingers around the glass and raise the glass to sip, feeling the keen burn on my tongue and throat- a burn that once made me recoil as a girl.
"So, is the priest thing a full-time job or one-time offer?" I ask.
"Definitely a one-time thing." He laughs.
"You ready to do some hell raising?" I ask.
"Bring it on!" He challenges.