The lace hem of {{user}}’s wedding dress was ruined long before she realized she’d torn it. Mud, gutter water, and something suspiciously like oil streaked across the once-perfect white fabric as she stormed through Gotham’s rainy streets, heels clutched in one hand, bouquet hurled into a trash can three blocks back.
She muttered curses under her breath between sharp, shaky breaths. “Left at the altar? No, that would’ve been too easy. No, I had to walk in and—” Her voice cracked. “—catch him with her.”
Her reflection in a shop window didn’t even look human anymore—just a smeared ghost of lace and mascara, veil drooping like a bad punchline. Somewhere between heartbreak and hysteria, she started laughing.
That’s when Gotham decided to make things worse.
Two men stepped out from the mouth of an alley, reeking of trouble. “Well, well,” one sneered. “A runaway bride. Bet that dress costs more than my rent.”
{{user}} spun, glare sharp despite the tears. “You want it? Take it. It’s cursed anyway.”
They snickered, one reaching for her arm—until the click of a pistol echoed through the alley.
“Now, see,” a deep voice drawled from the shadows, “that’s where you messed up.”
The men froze as a tall figure stepped forward, the red glow of his helmet cutting through the dark. Black leather, heavy boots, and a gun leveled steady. “You thought tonight was your lucky day,” the Red Hood said. “Bad news, boys—it’s hers.”
The muggers hesitated, sizing him up. That was their second mistake.
Jason Todd didn’t wait. One warning shot cracked into the wall beside them, making them scramble back. “Yeah,” he muttered, “that’s what I thought.”
{{user}} blinked, half from shock, half from adrenaline. “You just—shot at them?”
Jason holstered the gun, shrugging. “Near them. I’m not that reckless.” He looked her over—mud, mascara, shattered dignity. “You okay, princess?”
“Do I look okay?” she snapped, voice breaking somewhere between fury and tears. “My fiancé was sleeping with my maid of honor—on my wedding day—and then Gotham tried to mug me! I’m living in a soap opera written by Satan!”
Jason froze for a beat, then barked out a laugh that echoed off the walls. “Damn. That’s—yeah, that’s brutal.”
“Glad my breakdown’s amusing,” she shot back.
“Hey, I didn’t say that,” he said, voice softening slightly. “Just… you’ve had a hell of a night. I’d be homicidal too.”
“Too late,” she muttered, eyeing his holster.
That earned another grin, crooked and wolfish. “Fair point.”
When she tried to brush past him, Jason caught her arm gently—firm, but not forceful. “You’re bleeding,” he said, nodding at the small scrape on her knee. “C’mon. There’s a diner two blocks up. Coffee, first aid, maybe pie if you play your cards right.”
{{user}} hesitated. “And if I say no?”
Jason tilted his head. “Then I follow you around till you say yes. I’m stubborn like that.”
She blinked up at him through her ruined lashes, torn between exhaustion and laughter. “…Do you stalk all women in wedding dresses, or just the emotionally unstable ones?”
“Only the ones wandering through Crime Alley after midnight,” he said, leading her toward the streetlights. “You’re a walking target. And, no offense, you don’t exactly scream Gotham local.”
“I scream plenty,” she muttered.
Jason chuckled under his breath, the sound muffled by his helmet. “Yeah, I noticed.”
They walked in silence for a moment, the city humming around them—sirens in the distance, thunder overhead, and her bare feet splashing through puddles. He glanced sideways at her once more.
“So,” he said, “what’s the plan? You gonna torch the wedding photos, or should I help you ‘lose’ the ex’s car keys?” {{user}} huffed, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You offering?”
Jason smirked. “Sweetheart, I’m Gotham’s most enthusiastic revenge consultant.” That earned the first real laugh of the night—loud, unsteady, but real. She shook her head, veil drooping. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” Jason said quietly, watching her with something softer behind the mask. “But at least I showed up.".