#i’m just as bad as jason todd when it comes to shakespeare

[luvly-writer]

So i’m a theater nerd (i’m a dancer and did theater for a few years) and idk why ALL OF THE SUDDEN i found Christian Borle and fell head over heals for him (blame legally blonde the musical) and because of that I started watching Something Rotten. As a Shakespeare nerd as well, I FKN LOVED IT!!! But i was one controversial take that might be because im in love with Christian Borles…

When Nick Bottom asks to see the future and see Shakespeare’s next play..he was stealing it FIRST, so when Shakespeare goes to “steal” it, TECHNICALLY he is just taking what it his BACK. Cause it’s been fucking my mind (i’ve seen the musical and heard the sound track more that 17 times last week), when people say “no he stole the play” but wasn’t it gonna be his in the first place? Had Nick not intervened, Shakespeare would have probably written it. Or am i wrong? So TECHNICALLY, even if part of it was Nigel’s work, IT WAS STILL GOING TO BE SHAKESPEARE’S. Think about it, the soothsayer told Nick the play (well half of it because he had a few things wrong) and Nigel wrote of that, so in turn, thanks to Nick, they kinda cheated off Shakespeare. Will is still an asshole, but rightfully so he is still a TALENTED one. He wrote Romeo and Juliet, so the talent was there, he was just getting lazy and going through a rough writer’s block. Nick in a sense just made HIS ideas get to him easier due to the fact that he stole them from the future. Shakespeare didn’t have to start from cero bc Nick unintentionally brought his idea to him so that he could break through writer’s block.

Anyways, maybe i’m reading too much into a silly musical, but i am LOVING “Something Rotten” and Christian Borle and this got me thinking.

[glorified-red]

What would the batboys be like as wingmen? Rank them best to worst.

Thank you for the request!

Batboys as Wingmen

word count: 1180~

warnings: none

My thumb is almost healed you guys :))) Just a lil sore

Jason Todd

Jason is a closeted hopeless romantic

Home boy reads Shakespeare in his free time and probably has a collection of young adult books

So its pretty obvious that if you need to woo someone, Jason has a few tricks up his sleeve

He will easily slip into the role of ‘sarcastic wingman that makes you look good’ or the ‘sarcastically witty best friend’

He can see you ogle from across the room, its not hard to trace your stare to the person of interest 

Tap your foot and tease you about the possible suitor, when you express blatant interest he won't hesitate to give it to you straight

If he knows the person (say its one of his friends) he’ll give you pointers and tips about what they’re into

If he doesn't know the person, give him a few minutes to scout scare them out

From there he will give you no bullshit

Tell you the ups and downs of the suitor and things he’s picked up on

“Really Y/n? Them? Their shirt collar has a stain on it.”

“I wouldn't. They ordered a Jager Bomb, they probably have a shitty tattoo on their ass.”

He has decent pep talks

Sounds like a tired football coach who is one season away from retiring, but decent nonetheless

“Don't slouch like that they’re gonna think your spine is broken.”

“Just go out there and try your best, but if you don't come back with a phone number you have to pay the tab.”

Will laugh his ass off if you fail and will tease you about it endlessly

But if his teasing crosses the line or you're really bummed out about the failed attempt, he’ll treat you to ice cream and maybe go on a tangent about how stupid they are for denying you anyway

Dick Grayson

Dick knows exactly what to tell you for a confidence boost

He can go on about how great you look or how amazing you are for hours until you have just the right amount of pizazz to go woo the suitor

Has the best eye for possible people of interest

“How about them? They have a really good sense of style.”

Nudging your shoulder to make you look at someone because they have pretty hair or eyes

When introducing his friends he’ll always hint at the fact that you’re “single and ready to mingle” with his Dick Grayson charm

Gives perfect advice on how to flirt and will offer to teach you *cough* @internalsealpanic *cough*

Would love to help you get dressed up whenever you see the certain someone

But he’ll always pester you about when you get to see them next

“You should invite them! It’ll be a perfect opportunity or you two to, you know.”

Slap his shoulder please

Has great pep talks, like the soccer mom who brought everyone participation cupcakes and is a little too passionate about their kid sitting on the bench the whole game

If things go south or get too embarrassing for you, he’ll swoop in and rescue you with his charm and make everything flow back to normal until you can slip away

He’s the best at cheering you up if it goes terribly wrong

The worst part about him being the wingman though that places him under Jason, is the fact that he will accidentally make the person of interest fall for him

Without fail, if he’s sitting next to you or standing beside you, he’ll accidentally connect with the person more than you do, so have fun with that

Make him sit somewhere else

Damian Wayne

Damian is unintentionally a decent wingman

He gives solid advice on how to woo someone but it usually stems from body language

“Mirror their posture, it shows interest and respect.”

“Do not stand like that, you look pigeon-toed.”

The definition of helicopter wingman

Whether the person is at the Manor or you’re at a bar, Damian will be your shadow all day just to keep the other person in line

Honestly he might terrify the person of interest if you don't shoo him away

If you shoo him away he’ll stalk, there's no stopping Damian from watching out for you

One look and Damian will step in between you two and ask the suitor to leave, no questions asked

He can guide the conversation into better topics to avoid awkwardness but he prefers to listen so he won’t talk very much so when he does, that’s when you know it’s getting bad

He won't bother giving you a pep talk, his version of a pep talk is to just tell you to go up to them

“You find them attractive, no?” , “I do but I’m not just gonna start the conversation like that.” , “Why not? I see no problem with being blunt about your infatuation.”

Don't chicken out

Don't do it

Damian will take it as a challenge

He will walk up to them and tell them himself, drag you blushy ass himself if he has to

If you fail he is pretty decent at cheering you up in his own way, usually ends up dissing the other person but at least he won't bring up the failed attempt ever again

Tim Drake

Takes him forever to even become a wingman, Jason and Dick jump at the chance and Damian is unconsciously one

Tim just thinks its a waste of time

“Why waste time flirting when you can go to Subway with me instead.”

“I have leftovers at home that I’d rather eat than sit and watch you attempt to flirt.”

Completely make you second guess wanting to flirt or talk to the person

He gets second hand embarrassment way too easily to be a wingman

He will let you suffer just so he doesn't have to intervene when it gets too humiliating or awkward

Will sit in the corner of the room and play on his phone just to avoid that scenario

Shoot him a certain look or an sos and he’ll step in (won't be too thrilled about it cuz ew people) because he’s not heartless

Be prepared to compensate though, food or quality time usually does the trick

Once you two get back to the Manor, Tim will cheer you up with playing some video games or doing self care to destress from the excitement

Makes you a whole plan to execute, whether you two are at a bar or the suitor is a coworker

It's on Google Slides....it has 34 steps

The best at giving coworker advice since he knows how to keep things discreet

“Where that shirt, draws more attention to you.”

He’ll give you a script for every possible situation and if you ask, he’ll make flashcards because the small task will give him a relaxing break from cases

Will offer to run through the script with you or give you pointers on flirting but he’ll get flustered easily and he’s not too good at flirting in general

“Yup, thats good” , “I literally just said ‘hey’ " , “Your point?”

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@bungunz

@red-hood-redemption ​

@missredrobin

[capricorn-stark]

Othello

pairing: jason todd x reader, reader is a psych major because i think the concept of psych majors in Gotham is funny lmao

warning: i wrote this at 1 am, kinda short, swearing

a/n: i got strong feelings towards Othello, The Catcher in the Rye, and Jason Todd, but this one’s for @tadpole-san smirk smirk smirk

part 2

You liked studying at Gotham University’s library for the ambience. 

Whether or not you got any actual “studying” done depended wholly on your mood and whatever being that may or may not have been watching you from above, but even if you somehow managed to procrastinate the entire time you were there, at least you could walk back to your dorm with the comforting fact that you had gotten in your cardio for the day. 

The place itself was gorgeous with its overarching ceilings, long hall lined with pillars supporting a seemingly endless array of books, the cozy golden glow of the lights, and the generally pleasant atmosphere provided by the myriads of students sitting around its tables and lounging on its couches. The entire campus was stunning - but it would only be surprising if it wasn’t thanks to the very generous grants from patrons of the Gotham elite, most notably people like Bruce Wayne.

You had a particular spot you liked near the edge of the library, in a little corner mostly surrounded by shelves with enough space for a few usually-unoccupied couches. Aside from you, the only regulars to sit there mainly just consisted of one other guy who recently had started to drop in every few days or so to listen to music and do his own work. You didn’t mind him - he never bothered you, and you both kept up your mutual solidarity towards maintaining a very comfortable silence.

That was, until one particular day.

“Is that Othello?” You glanced over the book in your hand and saw the guy’s startlingly green eyes gazing right at you over his dark-rimmed reading glasses. He wasn’t wearing his earbuds as per usual, so you figured your agonized sigh of boredom must’ve come out a little too loudly. 

“Yeah,” you finally answered, slowly lowering the book a little. “Unfortunately.” He cracked a slight grin at that.

“What, you’re not a fan of Shakespeare?” 

“I don’t hate him,” you started with a fairly nonchalant shrug, “I just think this book in particular is just kinda-”

“Boring as fuck?” he finished very eloquently, causing you to grin back despite yourself. 

“Yeah. Pretty much.” 

“I can agree with that,” he said with a nod towards the book. “Definitely not one of my favorites, that’s for sure. Good premise, dynamics were pretty interesting, but I couldn’t really get into it either.” The fact that he was discussing Shakespeare’s works in a way that suggested he had fully read the book (without wholly relying on CliffNotes) and that he did perhaps genuinely enjoy some of them suggested to you that he was probably an English major. “And Iago was a bitch-”

“I know!” you nearly exclaimed, throwing your hands up in very evident frustration. “Iago was shady as hell, and I don’t get how Othello never saw it coming from him. Like, no one can be that oblivious, come on. I wouldn’t have listened to him.” RIP to Othello, but you were different. 

He was actually laughing at that point, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“You and me both. You an English major?” You shook your head, holding up your Psychology Twelfth Edition textbook that had been resting on the table beside you.

“Psych.” He raised a brow and you inwardly sighed.

“Jeez - at GU? I’m impressed.” 

Being a psych student at your particular Gotham-based university was both a blessing and somewhat of a curse. The classes were phenomenal and your professors consisted of some of the best and most experienced in the nation - but that also came with the downside that the city you lived in had some of the biggest psychopaths and the largest insane asylum in the nation as well. 

Well, you win some, you lose some.

“It’s not that bad,” you tried to say, but the smirk playing at his lips proved that you weren’t convincing anyone. “Let me guess, you’re an English major.”

“What gave it away?” he deadpanned, chuckling regardless as he closed up his own book and extended a hand out. “Name’s Jason Todd. I’ve seen you around a lot, but we never really talked, huh?” You smiled as you reached out to shake his hand, introducing yourself as well.

“I guess not. You usually look like you’re pretty busy.”

“Something like that,” Jason grinned, leaning back against his chair and sliding off his glasses. Without them, the lights somehow gave them an almost glowing effect. “I figured you wouldn’t want me to bother you.”

Bantering over Shakespeare with a cute boy wasn’t exactly your definition of being bothered, so you shook your head.

“Believe me, that was a lot better than Othello was.”

You saw Jason at your spot again the next day, then the day after and the next, lounging across from your couch and always seeming rather out-of-place with his black leather jackets and ripped jeans, but a welcome sight to you nonetheless. And just like that, suddenly, your visits to the library weren’t just for the sake of cardio and the ambience anymore.

He was surprisingly amusing to talk to, whether it was complaining about more books for your respective English courses or just ranting to each other about the struggles of being a student at GU. It was easy to bond over things like getting your midterms interrupted by random threats from the likes of the Riddler, or arguing over whether or not the city’s latest vigilante, some guy named Red Hood, was actually cooler than Batman himself. 

He had been particularly passionate about that last debate.

Aside from being easy-going and annoyingly attractive, you also figured out that he was ridiculously smart, especially when it came to helping you with your English course. Whether it was explaining the deeper societal message behind a particular reading or helping you research topics for your thesis, Jason had a knack towards figuring out exactly the things you yourself seemed to struggle with. 

“How do you figure all of this out?” You asked one day out of sheer disbelief after he connected The Catcher in the Rye to themes of disillusionment about innocence and one’s childhood, and not just towards the protagonist, Holden, being an ass. “Seriously, I thought I was pretty decent with this stuff, but you blow me out of the water.”

He shrugged it off like it was no big deal, sliding off his reading glasses and setting it on top of the wooden table you were at. You had grown fond of the way they looked on him.

“It’s nothing special,” he dismissed in response, lifting his gaze from the book to fixate it back on you. “You do great by yourself, I just kinda give you a little push with my interpretations.” 

He did that a lot - downplaying the fact that he was actually smart as hell like it really was no big deal. The way your grades had started rising after he started helping you out proved otherwise, though.

“Still, thanks for helping me out,” you insisted, eliciting another slight smile from him. “It means a lot.” 

“Oh yeah?” His tone had gotten cheekier as he leaned closer to you. “How much is a lot?” 

“That’s up for you to decide,” you smirked, moving back and closing up your laptop. “Not me.” 

“You know, if you really wanted to thank me, you should get a coffee with me sometime.” 

“We get coffee together like every week,” you deadpanned and he sighed.

“Not like that. Like a date.” 

It hit you like a truck.

“A date,” you repeated, like you hadn’t heard him the first time. 

“Only if you were into that,” he added, trying to play it cool as he moved to pack his things into his bag. “I’m not working tonight, so I thought you might wanna give it a shot.” That was even more surprising, because he always happened to have a mysterious night shift going on. He never told you what exactly that was, aside from off-handedly mentioning something about motorcycles and Crime Alley every once in a while.

You were still letting it process. 

“...if you don’t want to-”

“No, no - that sounds great,” you interjected, already starting to smile. At the sight of it, he managed another grin himself, an evident hint of relief flashing across his face.

“Right. Yeah. Cool.” He cleared his throat and shot you another grin as he tossed his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s head out. And I’m telling you right now, I’m not letting your broke ass pay for it.”

“Jason!” you protested as he laughed and nudged your shoulder with his, making you join in despite yourself.

At least Othello had managed to lead you to one good thing.

[heyitsani]

Is It the Look in Your Eyes

Word Count: 1,439

Rating: Teen and Up (for the use of the f-word lol)

Warnings: overload of fluff ahead

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson

Summary:  Dick surprises Jason while they're in NYC celebrating an anniversary. Jason has a surprise of his own, too.

Notes: This is for @nerd-by-definition who deserves more fluff in her life than this, but hopefully this will work for now.  Love you, Em!

You can also read it on AO3 here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Roy, I’m supposed to meet Dick in like twenty minutes down the street,” Jason complained, looking back in the direction he needed to be going in.  “Where the hell are you taking me?”  

Jason didn’t even know why he had agreed to follow Roy when they had come across each other on the street. He hadn’t even known his best friend was in New York City currently.  He and Dick had arrived earlier in the day for a weekend away to celebrate their anniversary and it was supposed to be just the two of them.  But Dick had gotten a call from an old friend who asked him to meet for coffee and Jason had said it was fine and that they could just meet at the restaurant.

But now Roy was here, and Jason was being pulled in the wrong direction so the redhead could show him something “amazing”.  Whatever the fuck that meant for Roy Harper.  Probably something explosive.  But whatever it was, it was taking him in the wrong direction and Jason was questioning why he had even agreed to something Roy promised to be “super quick”.

When Roy stopped in front of an old, abandoned looking theater, Jason found himself even more confused.  “The fuck are we doing here, Roy?”  He turned to his best friend, growing even more confused at the smile on his face.

“Trust me, you’re going to love this,” Roy said, opening the door and tugging Jason inside by his jacket sleeve.  Jason, confused as hell, reluctantly followed him and frowned at the dusty theater. There was no signs this place had been used in probably a decade, which was sad because it was beautiful.  He could almost picture crowds of people in their finest clothes coming to see Shakespeare being performed.  The structure looked as thought it was probably built in the early 1900s and he could have spent hours combing over every detail if Roy let him.

Instead, the man pulled him from the lobby into the house toward the stage.  Jason wanted to protest, but he could see something just in the shadows of the stage with the low lighting of the house on and his curiosity was now raging.  If he squinted, he could almost make out a stool.  But he had no idea why there would be a stool on the stage.

“Sit here,” Roy told him, pushing him into a seat a few rows back from the front and directly in the center. “I’ll be right back!”  The man rushed off, leaving Jason to stare after him dumbfounded.

“Fucking Harper,” he muttered, turning back to look at the stage.  Yeah, that was definitely a stool, he thought when the low lights of the house went out and he was plunged into darkness.  “What the hell?  Harper!” He shouted, starting to stand to find his way out, but froze when a spotlight came on.  It revealed the stool he had noticed with Dick seated on it holding an acoustic guitar.  “Uhhh…” Jason glanced around as he dropped back into the seat Roy pushed him into.  “Dick?”

Dick smiled at him, but it seemed off.  Almost nervous and that in turn made Jason nervous.  He knew something was about to happen and he had no idea what it was.  Considering Roy had been involved, he knew it couldn’t be bad at least.  Roy was Dick’s friend, but he was Jason’s best friend.  So Roy could be trusted.

Still Jason held his breath as Dick adjusted himself in the stool and shifted his fingers on the strings before starting to strum.  “It’s a beautiful night, we’re looking for something dumb to do.  Hey baby, I think I want to marry you,” Dick started to sing and Jason felt his heart swoop.  He had heard Dick sing plenty of times before, he was a notorious shower crooner, but he had never heard Dick perform.  And it was a completely different experience from hearing his boyfriend singing a random pop song in the shower while Jason got the coffee brewing and breakfast started.

Not to mention the choice of song.

“Don’t say no, no, no, no, no.  Just say yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.  And we’ll go, go, go, go, go if you’re ready like I’m ready,” Dick sang, never dropping eye contact or that knowing smile.  Fucker.  Jason understood exactly what he was doing.

What he was asking.

And he knew what his answer was without having to think about it.

So he stood as Dick continued to sing, making his way out of the aisle and heading up the stairs leading to the stage, Dick’s amused eyes following him.  

“Is it the look in your eyes or is it this dancing juice?  Who cares baby?  I think I wanna marry you,” he finished off the song, strumming the final strands as Jason closed the distance between them.  And before the final note was done vibrating the strings, Dick was reaching into his pocket and pulling out a red velvet box which he popped open with one hand and let rest in his palm so Jason could see the band resting inside.

It made him want to cry and laugh at the same time because the whole thing was so Dick, showy and unique. But it was also a complete surprise.

“Well?”  Dick questioned, smiling as he looked up at Jason from his stool.  And Jason couldn’t hold back his laugh as he reached in his pocket and dropped to a knee in front of the man, brandishing a black velvet box of his own.  

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”  Roy’s voice shouted from the back of the theater, but both men ignored him to share a laugh between them.

Jason flipped open the box he held and showed Dick the black gold band sitting there, blood red ruby embedded into the band.  He had spent weeks looking for the perfect band that was unique like Dick but also marked the man has his and no one else’s.  When he had found this one, he hadn’t hesitated.  Even if it had cost him a pretty penny.

No one was worth it more than Dick.

“Does this answer your question?”  Jason asked once he and Dick had stopped laughing.  Dick, setting the guitar to the side, slid down to kneel in front of Jason and nodded.  With the hand not holding the ring box, Jason cupped the side of Dick’s face and pulled him in for a kiss.  He kept it simple, mindful of Roy still watching them, but also just wanting to keep it sweet.  “I was going to put it in a glass of champagne,” he admitted when he pulled back.

Dick just smiled and looked down at the ring with bright eyes.  And because Jason knew him so well, he could tell he was trying to compose himself so he didn’t start crying.  “I can’t believe we both planned this out for the same night.”

“I can.  We both knew it was time.  And we both knew this was it for us.”  He smiled at Dick before taking the ring out of the box, holding it up to slip onto Dick’s finger, and holding up his left hand so Dick could slip the white gold band with tiny sapphires blending in with an intricate pattern swirling around the band.  Dick let out a wet chuckle before removing the band and slipping it onto Jason’s finger as he offered his left hand to Jason to do the same.

Once the ring was on his finger, Jason took a moment to look at the delicate pattern and admire the stones. He smiled at the thought that Dick had wanted him to wear his colors just as much as Jason had wanted him to wear his.  “I love you,” he said, looking back to Dick to find the man almost reverently touching the band with his right hand.  When Dick looked up at him, Jason sucked in a breath at the emotion burning in Dick’s eyes. It was startling, the amount of love that shone there.

“I know I’ve done this before a couple of times, but it’s different with you, Jay.  It’s more,” Dick said quietly, face taking on that nervous look again.  “You’re more. You’re everything.  I just want you to know that.  I love you more than I even thought I could.”

“I know, Dick,” Jason cupped his face with both hands and swiped at a tear that fell from one eye. “I’ve always known.”  Leaning forward again, Jason reenforced his words with a kiss.

[barelyalivebutnotdead]

Birds At School Chapter 12  A Warm Meal With Brothers

Chapters: Prologue. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

Dick and Jason sat on the dining table, covered with a bunch of loose papers. There was also two large plates of food, but it went mostly ignored by them. Jason scribbled down on a notebook, trying to figure out a pattern while Dick analysed the locations of operation in Gotham and Blüdhaven. 

“Master Dick and Master Jason,” Alfred said passing by them, “I suggest you both have a proper meal.”

Dick didn’t look up. 

“Uh huh,” Jason muttered mindlessly, striking off another pattern. 

 Alfred did not like that. But then again, he also didn’t like the idea of his sons starving themselves while in the zone. So, Alfred did what he loved doing: take care of his sons. 

He cleared the table of the papers and set them aside to be worked on later. It took him less tan sixty seconds to replace all the mess with a warm meal, it was a routine of his because it was the only way Bruce would eat anything after eighty hours of working. 

“Eat, Master Grayson and Master Todd,” Alfred said in the most polite tone, “It will do neither you nor the children you are trying to save if you lose counsciouness while fighting due to lack of energy.” 

“He’s right,” Dick said, cracking his back. 

“Alfred is always right.” Jason declared, already picking up the spoon to eat. 

“Thank you,” Said Alfred with a smile and exited to finish his own chores. 

“So,” Dick said, taking a bite, “Any progress?” 

“So far, I’ve realized that as much as it pains me to admit,” Jason swallowed the deliscious meat, “Tim is the smart one.” 

Dick chuckled in reply. 

“These guys have somehow managed to stay off the radar while also being incredibly productive. God knows how many children these guys have ruined.” Jason said angrily. It wasn’t an outburst, it was more the frustration at the injustice that he’d suffered and couldn’t stop. 

“I know, Jay,” Dick said calmly, “That’s why we’re doing this.”

“I know, I know,” He relplied and took a deep breath to calm himself. Anger wasn’t going to help them track it all down and Mr Jute couldn’t have saved them the trouble since a low-level network was more of a route to the dealing than the deal itself. 

“What’s bothering you?” Dick asked. 

“This case.” 

“Come on, Jason,” Urged Dick, “Something has been especially bothering you since the other night. You’re never distracted in the field. Talk to me!” 

“Fine!” Jason rolled his eyes, but was secretly thankful that Dick asked, “Remember that kid? The one Mister Jute was going to give all the drugs to?” 

“Uh huh?” 

“I know him.” Jason sounded sad, guilty even that he couldn’t save the boy, “His name is Daniel, we call him Danny.” 

“We?”

Jason sighed, trying to avoid the question. But Dick could get anyone to spill. 

“He comes to me street class every week in the narrows.” Jason mumbled.

“I’m sorry what?” Dick asked with pretended hearing loss, “I’m sorry you need to speak louder.” 

Jason glared at the smirk Dick had. He knew as well as Dick that there was no need to repeat the sentence. But oh well, there are pros and cons of having a brother. 

“I conduct a street class for the children in the narrows, every weekend.” Jason finally said. 

Dick looked down on his meal, trying to hide the smirk and the smile and the laugh on his face. 

“You know,” Jason began as Dick’s shoulders started shaking from the laugh. He was never known to not laugh “Laughing at someone’s good deeds--” 

Before Jason could finish, Dick burst into laughter. “--Is a sin! You’re going to hell!” 

Jason wished he had said a better insult than that. But in all the honesty that he would never reveal to Dick of any of his brothers, he was inwardly laughing too. 

“Oh my god,” Dick said in between fits of laughter, “Jason, I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to mock you!”

Despite the apologetic words, he continued laughing. Jason preteneded to not like it as he leaned back into his chair. But even he couldn’t help crack a smile. 

“I’m just imagining the infamous Red Hood singing the A B C D song and correcting little children’s Os and Es and Rs and Ts and teaching them Shakespear curses!” Dick couldn’t stop laughing.  

“I am sick when I look at thee!” Jason said dramatically offended, “My students do not require correcting their Os and Es and Rs and Ts. Their pronounciation is atmost perfection, besides, they can read dictionaries.” 

“Jason, that’s great!” Dick flicked a tear of laughter from his eye. 

“By the way, it’s not the infamous Red Hood that teaches them, it’s Mister Todd.” Jason smiled fondly. 

“I’m proud of you, little wing,” Dick said softly with a proud smile. 

“So, Danny.” Jason said, the smile was still there but this was important. “He’s eleven years-old. He comes to the class every weekend and he was there last week too. I wonder if he’ll be there this time.”

“He was scared, did you hear what he was screaming?” 

“That the bad man would kill him.” Jason said grimly. Danny was in more danger than they’d assessed. 

“We need to find him then,” Dick declared. 

“Well, I guess Mister Todd’s class is going to have a guest tonight!” Jason flashed a hundred-watt (mishevious) smile at Dick. 

It was going to be a fine evening.

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18 (Final Chapter)

[a-wayne-at-heart-too]

Ask: The 27th of April, the Last (and Long) Part

Bonus Ask:

[Stately Wayne Manor]

Jason: *helping Alfred clear out the dinner table* You think we should’ve asked Harley to stay for dinner? 

Alfred: If you wished to see Master Bruce’s hair turn to grey as you ate dessert, I don’t see why not.

Jason: *burps loudly and fans his breath away* Whoops. Sorry, Alf. Just my way of complimenting your cooking.

Alfred: *carrying the dishes to the kitchen* Then perhaps you should come here more often, Master Jason.

Jason: *following Alfred* I'd rather not cause any trouble.

Alfred: *stops in his tracks and turns to face Jason with a stern expression* And you don't think it troubles me that you feel unwelcome here?

Jason: *takes the dishes from Alfred’s hands, sets them on the kitchen island, and pulls him in for a hug* Alf, hey... I didn’t mean it like that. I know you guys care about me, it’s just...

Alfred: *sobbing into Jason's shirt* We've already lost you once... Once is enough, Jason...

Jason: *tightens the hug and gently plants a kiss on top of Alfred’s head* I know, I know... I'm back, Alf. I'm back.

>>> *** <<<

Dick and Barbara: *sitting on the carpeted floor in the study, enjoying the heat from the fireplace in front of them, going through a stack of photo albums*

Dick: *smiling fondly* Wow, these are old-old.... I should probably scan them before they crumble to pieces.

Dick: *stops at a page and points at a picture of Bruce and Jason on a boat, smiling, and holding up a tuna* Check this out, Babs... Aw, I love this one. I had a few days off from work, decided to spend it here. Somehow Jason convinced Bruce to take break from himself and go fishing.  

Dick: *talking animatedly* So, there we are on Bruce’s huge fishing boat, the Bat-2-Sea -- And Jason’s starting to get seasick because he’s been hanging out by the edge, waiting for a bite for hours -- The persistence on that kid! --  And he finally gets one! A big one, Babs -- *spreads his arms* -- and it was pulling down hard like you wouldn’t believe, but Jason just wouldn’t let go! -- So Bruce drops the glass of wine he’s holding and runs to grab him --

Barbara: What were you doing?

Dick: Who do you think took the picture? As I was saying -- Bruce, he -- he -- *starts to laugh so hard that he tears up* trips over Jason’s line somehow and falls into the ocean! *slapping-the-floor laughing* The World’s Greatest Detective, in his Batwaders, drenched like a wet bird... *sighs happily* You should’ve seen his face!

Barbara: *turns the page* Oh, I can see it now. Still stone-faced, but wet.

Barbara: *stops at a page and giggles* Aw... Will you look at that?

Dick: *looks at the photo Babs is pointing at and chuckles softly* That’s adorable. 

Barbara: Those scaly leotards fit him better than they ever did you, Boy Wonder.

Dick: *smirks* Whatever. But I have to admit, he did look great. He looked really... happy. I wish... I wish I saw more of him in action, you know? *voice breaking* I could’ve maybe trained him the way I did Tim and Damian --

Barbara: *rubs his back comfortingly* Dick...

Jason: *walks into the study* Dickie, I took some of your --

Dick: *clears his throat and wipes his eyes haphazardly* Hey, Little Wing!

Jason: Wait, are those our old family photos?

Barbara: *pats the empty spot beside her* C'mere.

Jason: *sits down and rubs his hands together* Where’s the one where Bruce goes kersplat in the ocean?

Jason: *flips through the pages and grimaces at his photos as Robin* You're not gonna use these to blackmail me, are you?

>>> *** <<<

Duke: *watches as his RPG character explodes for the fifth time in a row and shakes his head* You beat me again! You're so good at this game, man.

Jason: *snorts and puts his controller down* Dude, you weren't even trying. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were letting me win.

Duke: What? Naaaah... That's... Come on, why would I do that?

Jason: *gets up and shrugs, grinning knowingly* I dunno... 'Cause you like seeing me alive?

Duke: Yeah. It’s pretty awesome, actually.

Jason: *offers to bump fists* I gotta pack up. Good game, though. See you around, bro.

Duke: *exploding-fist-bumps with Jason* You too, bro.

Jason: *pats Ace the Bathound’s head as he exits the game room*

>>> *** <<<

Steph: *examining Jason’s face* You look really pale.

Cass: *pointing at various spots on his face* And you have a lot of... scars.

Jason: *sitting on a stool in front of Cass’s vanity dresser, staring at himself in the mirror and absentmindedly running a finger over the shirt-covered scar on his chest* Yeah? That bad, huh?

Steph: *grins* Nothing a little makeup can’t fix.

Jason: *rubbing his chin* You think so? I mean, I just came here to borrow a few weapons from Cass, but if you think I need a makeover...

Steph and Cass: *look at each other and squeal in delight*

>>> *** <<<

Tim: And this *holding up a minuscule gadget between his fingers for Jason to see* generates a force field over your entire body. The more the impact, the greater the energy generated. Schway, huh?

Jason: *nodding his head appreciatively as he takes the gadget and sticks it on the lapel of his leather jacket* Schway.

Tim: *proudly shows Jason a Bat-shaped breastplate * Now, this -- You're gonna love this -- It can turn you invisible to the naked eye for roughly 34.5 seconds, giving you time to do all kinds of offensive or defensive stuff. They won’t know what hit them, Jay. You’re basically gonna be invincible and Joker... Joker, he’s... he’s not... not gonna... *drops the breastplate unceremoniously* 

Jason: *places a hand on Tim’s shoulder* Thank you, Timbo. Really. But I'll be fine out there. You don't have to worry about me.

Tim: Yeah? Can you promise me that? Because I don’t think I can live through another one of Bruce's meltdowns.

Jason: *chuckles softly* Aren't they the best?

>>> *** <<<

Jason: *staring at an empty grave layered with concrete in the backyard*

Jason: *rolls his eyes* I know you're there.

Bruce: *comes out of the shadows and stands next to Jason*

Jason: Why'd you keep it?

Bruce: Because I'm a sentimental old fool.

Jason: This is just... creepy. Even for you.

Bruce and Jason: *stare at the empty grave in silence*

Jason: I've forgiven you.

Bruce: *glances at Jason, who could’ve sworn his adoptive father’s eyes were bloodshot* 

Jason: You know that, don’t you? I mean, I know we’re always going to disagree about Jok-- about him, and a few other things, but... You’ll always be family, Bruce. My family. 

Bruce: *looks at Jason, smiling wearily*

Jason: *grinning back at Bruce*

Bruce: *puts an arm around Jason’s shoulder* Thank you... Son.

Jason: *pulls Bruce in for a tight hug*

Bruce and Jason: ... 

Jason: Hey, remember that time you went kersplat in the ocean?

>>> *** <<<

Damian: *knocks softly on Jason's bedroom door* Todd.

Jason: *stuffing a duffel bag with clothes, homemade snacks, and weapons* Hey, kid, come in. I’m just getting my stuff ready --

Damian: These came from Mother. *drops a pile of books on Jason’s old desk*

Jason: *picking one after the other up excitedly* Tolstoy, Machiavelli, Sun Tzu, Shakespeare, Marx... No way... 

Damian: They’ve been with me for a while. But since you rarely come over, they’ve been collecting dust and taking up valuable space in my room. -Tt-

Jason: *wiping the dust off with his shirt and hugging each one* She kept them... These were my friends back when I was in the League... 

Damian: I didn’t realize we had more in common than just being my Father’s sons.

Jason: Wow. I have no idea how I’m supposed to bring all of these home. I mean, I got here on roller blades, for Bat’s sake -- 

Damian: *thrusts a piece of paper into Jason’s chest* This is for you.

Jason: *gingerly uncrumples it, revealing a painting of him and Damian*

Jason: *reading the writing in calligraphy underneath* “The Second Chance Robins”... *looks at Damian, feeling the tears well up in his eyes* You made this?

Damian: *looking down at his feet* When it’s my day... M-my d-day... Will you come over, too?

Jason: *gets down on bended knee to be at eye level with his little brother* Hey, buddy, look at me. Damian, look at me. Of course. Listen, we’ll do whatever you want. We’ll, um... We’ll take bad guys down together! Pull pranks on Tim! You name it, I got you.

Damian: Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Todd.

Jason: I promise that I’ll do my best, okay?

Damian: You could stay the night, you know. You’re home anyway.

Jason: *ruffles Damian’s hair and grins* I'd like that. As long as you hang out here with me. And I promise I won't tell anybody because it'll ruin our reputation.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

If truth be told, @wingedskyes​ , Jason makes himself available on his Death Day. Because even if neither he nor his family and friends mention it, he knows that they need him just as much as he needs them.

Thank you for this Ask. It was both fun and just a tad bit heartbreaking to write. 

And thank you, @warrior-of-the-blue-moon​ , for the nice addition. 

See: Part 1, Part 2

[stilloutofmyvulcanmind]

A Happy Little Christmas

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Characters: Jason Todd, Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Talk of cheating ex’s, mostly fluff. So much fluff.

Summary: Not many people could say they’re friends with the Red Hood, but you could, even if it came about in an unusual way. But after a shitty start to Christmas, you realize there may be more feelings going unspoken.

A/N: This idea popped into my head over the weekend, and wouldn’t leave until I wrote it down! My first Jason fic!

It started in the new year. You'd been sitting under the small alcove on the rooftop of your apartment building, drinking tea as you watched the snowfall and enjoying the peace when he'd sprung up and landed in front of you. You hadn't screamed, but your tea nearly spilled which earned him a telling off. He had just looked at you, though you swore you heard a chuckle, then took off at a sprint, leaping off the edge and out of sight. 

It happened again a few weeks later. Same scenario, though this time you kept a firmer grasp on the tea. That time he spoke, saying that most people ran away when he appeared. You had shrugged, asking if he wanted something to drink. There had been a moment of silence before he laughed like you'd told the funniest joke. Then he said no and disappeared into the night once again. 

It just kept happening. Sporadic at first. Sometimes he'd appear a few times a week, other times it would be near a month. Each time you offered him a drink. Each time he found the whole thing amusing and declined. 

Until the summer when he showed up out of breath, no doubt near-boiling under his outfit in the muggy Gotham night. You'd offered some of the iced tea, and to your surprise, he'd accepted. 

And that was how you became tea drinking pals with the damned Red Hood. 

Things became a bit more regular after that. No schedule but you nearly always saw him once a week. It was kinda weird. Being friends with the guy the majority of Gotham's underworld was terrified of. 

But with you, he was kind of a dork. 

Proven when he'd spent near two hours ranting about an awful Shakespeare adaptation he'd watched. The fact that you were able to rant with him seemed to just spur him on more. 

You looked forward to those nights. Even if it was barely an hour before he got called away. You didn't know his name, or what he looked like minus the domino mask, but you'd gleaned enough small details about him and given away enough about yourself to see him as a friend. 

Christmas Eve came and you hadn't seen him since the start of the month. He'd been away doing something important, he'd told you as much prior to his leaving, mostly so you didn't end up worrying over a sudden absence. He said he'd be back by Christmas, but honestly, you weren't really expecting to see him. 

You'd learned enough over the months to know that the rest of Gotham's vigilantes were about the only family he had, even if he did seem to be fighting the Bat just as often as he helped him. The history you didn't know, but you figured if he was going to be anywhere, he'd be with them. 

So when he landed silently in the snow it was a surprise. When he slipped on a patch of slush and landed face first in said snow, it was even more of a surprise. 

You snorted so hard you nearly choked on the hot cocoa you were drinking. He bolted up, hand going to the gun strapped to his thigh. He saw you and relaxed immediately. 

"Often find people falling funny, angel?" He asked, boots crunching in the thick layer of snow as he walked towards you. 

"Usually? No. When it's someone like you? Fucking hilarious."

You could just imagine his eyes narrowing under the red helmet. 

Hood stepped under the alcove, brushing the snow off his jacket, and removing the helmet so he was down to just the black domino. You poured out some of the coca into a spare cup you'd brought just out of habit and handed it over once he'd taken a seat next to you. 

"Cinnamon flavor? Fancy."

"Felt like splashing out." You sipped at your own, enjoying the warmth that seeped into you. "Things go okay?" 

"Without a hitch."

"Good. Didn't get hurt then?"

He looked at you moment then shook his head. "Nah. Why? You worry about me, angel?" 

You felt yourself blush, grateful that any change of skin color could be put down to the cold. "Who else am I gonna bitch about shitty TV adaptations to?" 

Hood laughed, head tilted back. "Don't worry about me. I'll always be around for that."

You fell silent, watching the falling snow that soon masked the evidence of his arrival. It was nice having him back. You'd missed him, but until now you hadn't quite realized how much. 

"Gotta admit I wasn't expecting you to be here tonight. Weren't you meant to be skipping town with your betrothed?" Hood asked after several minutes of peaceful quiet. 

"Yeah," you sighed, looking down into your half-empty mug. "Showing up to your fiancé's apartment to find him in bed with his girlfriend tends to change plans."

In the corner of your eye, you spotted Hood's hand clench a little tighter around his cup. "Son of a bitch."

"Exactly what I said," you laughed, the sound coming out hollow. 

"Tell me where he is and I'll pay him a visit, teach him a lesson, break a few bones. For you, I'll even make him disappear."

Maybe you should've been shocked or disturbed at the offer, but you weren't. If anything it actually helped to know Hood had your back like that. "Two weeks ago and I might've taken you up on that. But he's had enough punishment. Turns out his other girlfriend didn't know he was engaged, so she dumped his ass, and when his family heard they uninvited him, so he's not the only one with a wrecked Christmas."

Hood hummed, still sounding unhappy. "If he comes near you again I'm finding him anyway."

"He comes around again and I won't try and stop you."

"So you really don't have any other plans for tomorrow?" 

You shook your head, "I could've gone to my family, but it was impossible to get a ticket that didn't cost a small fortune. It doesn't matter. Not the first Christmas by myself and I doubt it'll be the last."

"Well, you've got my handsome self to keep you company."

You chuckled, nudging his shoulder with your own playfully. "Speaking of handsome." You said, dipping into your pocket and pulling out the twenty-five bucks you had stashed in it. "Here, your half of the bet win. Thanks for letting me snap that photo."

"The non-candid, candid," he laughed in return, taking the cash. "Can't believe you bet that I was handsome under the helmet."

Shrugging a shoulder you smiled, "They started it. Now there's a whole conversation on who's more handsome, you or Nightwing."

"I'm sure I know how those conversations go. With an ass like his it always only goes one way."

"You've always got me in your corner."

"Really?" 

"Course."

Hood smiled and you wished you could see his eyes to see what he was thinking. He was looking at you, and even with the mask, it was difficult not to squirm away from the intensity. He leaned in closer and your breath caught. 

Then he was pulling back, hand coming to his ear. "I'm two blocks away, I can be there in five," he said in response to whatever the person in his ear told him. He dropped his hand and set the empty cup down. "Gotta go."

You'd already guessed. Hardly the first time. "It was good seeing you."

He smiled again and nodded before pulling the red helmet back on. "See you around." A mock salute and he was taking off at a run towards the edge of the roof. 

"Hey, Red!" You called suddenly, dashing out under the alcove after him. He paused at the edge and looked back at you. "Be careful, alright? This Christmas has been shit enough without you getting hurt."

"Just for you, angel." And he was gone, disappearing into the night once again. 

~

Christmas Day was as dull as you'd expected it to be. The first part of the day was spent flopped on the sofa watching dumb Christmas movie after dumb Christmas movie. It wasn't bad necessarily but didn't exactly fill you with fun Christmas spirit either. 

It was mid-afternoon when someone knocked at your door. You were tempted to ignore it, but the curiosity of who would be calling at random on Christmas got the best of you. 

"I…how did you know which flat was mine?" 

Hood stood on the other side, sans helmet, with an eyebrow raised. "Wasn't hard to find the tenant roster. Merry Christmas to you too by the way."

Right. You stepped aside to let him in. "Second question; what are you doing here?" 

He held up the bag he was holding. "Swiped a couple plates of food for us."

"You...what?" 

"We do this thing where we get together with way too much food, eat some of it and usually end up arguing within two hours. Figured this year I'd shake it up."

"You ditched them? To be here?"

"They didn't mind. The Bat even graced us with one of the good bottles of wine."

You were quiet. He'd given up time with his family to be with you instead. Even if they argued that was still a big thing. A big choice. One you wouldn't make for just anybody. 

"I can go if you'd rather." He actually looked a little nervous. 

"No! No, that sounds perfect. Thank you."

He smiled, glanced around the apartment then made a beeline for the kitchenette. You didn't even need to tell him to make himself at home. He did that all by himself. He pulled out the containers of food he'd brought, immediately shushing you when you offered to help. 

So you sat, watching as he moved around, occasionally pointing him in the right direction of utensils he needed. He looked at ease, normal almost without the guns. Or most of them. He had one hidden under his jacket that was revealed when he shrugged it off. If he'd been completely unarmed you would've suspected a body snatcher situation though. You only wished he didn't have the mask on still. 

Though maybe that was for the best. It would be too personal, and you weren't entirely sure you could handle personal. 

In the months you'd known him you'd only ever seen him as a friend. Yeah, you admitted he was handsome, but never thought of him like that. You'd loved your fiancé, and it never entered your head to stray. But then the break up happened, and in the last couple of weeks, you'd found yourself thinking about Hood more. In the long lonely nights, you'd wished for him to be next to you. Wished he'd come home early, find you crying and hug you so tight you could barely breathe. The thoughts had trailed to him kissing you, touching you. You'd tried to brush the thoughts off, told yourself it was just a fantasy your broken heart wanted. But seeing him the previous night, the way he'd leaned in…maybe it wasn't a fantasy. 

Hood finished doing up the two plates and drew you back from your thoughts. 

You set up the table and popped open the bottle of wine. It really was a good bottle, confirming the theory you had that the Bat definitely had some money behind him. Just as you were done pouring the glasses, he came around you and placed the plates down. 

"Whoever made this deserves a damned medal," you groaned after the first bite. 

He laughed, "I'll pass it on."

The meal was delicious, the company even better. It was relaxed with him, and you realized you'd never quite felt at home with someone as you did with Hood. It made you wonder what it would be like if you fully knew each other.

Cleaning up together was easy. You moved around the other without issue, making short work of the dirty dishes. "Thank you for this, Red. It's been good," you said, turning to hand him the rest of his wine. 

He nodded, watching you a moment. "It's Jason."

That was unexpected. You smiled, holding out your glass to his. "Good to meet you, Jason."

He clinked the glass and finished what was left in it. For a second you thought he was going to say more, but then he pulled back out of your space. "C'mon. The Muppets Christmas Carol is showing in a bit."

You laughed because of course he liked that. You joined him on the sofa, throwing him the remote for him to get the right channel. His arm found its way across your shoulders, and somehow you found yourself leaning on his chest. 

He was warm and comfy and you were full and happy, so you really couldn't be blamed when you fell to sleep. 

You woke up by yourself, head resting on the arm of the sofa with a blanket up to your shoulders. You rubbed at your eyes, finding your phone on the coffee table to check the time. It was surprisingly late. Jason was probably long gone. You tried to push the disappointment that you'd missed him away. 

"Good nap, sleeping beauty?" 

Nearly jumping out of your skin, you sat up to see Jason at the kitchen island with a glass of water. 

"Thought you were gone."

"Nah. Took the night off so unless I'm needed, I'm free, and didn't want to up and leave without saying goodbye."

You smiled, keeping the blanket wrapped around you as you clambered off the sofa. "You could've woken me."

"You looked peaceful." He stood, pouring you some water of your own. You could feel him eye you up as you drank like he was weighing something up. "Do you trust me?" 

The question was a surprise, but you didn't even need to think of the answer. "Completely."

"A lot would say not to."

"Screw those people."

"I'm dangerous. I've killed people."

"Bad people. Jason, I know this. I knew it before we even met."

"Yet you still offered me tea."

"Because I trusted you. It's never been a doubt that I could."

Jason smiled, "Thank you."

"Where'd this come from?" 

He sighed, pausing a moment. "I needed to know, for sure, before-" he reached up and peeled off the domino mask, letting it flutter to the floor. 

Holy shit he was handsome. The mask had only been covering his eyes but it had been hiding so much. Jason was gorgeous, beautiful, but it wasn't just that that was tugging at your heart. It was the fact that he'd just trusted you with his entire fucking identity. You wondered how many outside of the vigilante group knew. You doubted there were many if any. 

Reaching up you carefully brushed one of the curls that were flopping into his eyes away. "Thank you. For trusting me."

"I can count the number of people I trust on one hand. You're one of them, angel."

"And I won't break it, I promise." Your hand came to rest on his cheek, and he actually leaned into it. "Guess I was right after all. You are the handsome one."

Jason laughed, "Don't let Nightwing hear you say that. You'll hurt his feelings."

"Don't care. I'm not in the habit of lying."

"How honest of you." Jason stepped closer, into your space fully, one hand coming to land on your hip. "You're beautiful, Y/N."

You blushed, turning your head away. "Not beautiful enough to stop the person meant to love me fucking someone else."

"Hey, look at me." His free hand came to tilt your head up. "You are beautiful and if that bastard was too fucking blind to see it, that's on him, not you. He didn't deserve you, and you're better off without him. The fact that he willingly threw what you had away...it makes me angry. If you were-" Jason cut himself off suddenly. 

"If I were what?"

He swallowed, "If you were mine…I'd make sure I told you how much I loved you every single day. I'd do everything I could to make you happy, to make sure you stayed happy. I'd go to the end of the world and back to ensure it. And if I couldn't, if there was a problem that meant I couldn't make you smile and laugh, I'd fix it. No matter what it took. I'd treat you the way you deserve to be, love you the way you should be loved, and never hurt you because that would be worse than hurting myself. If you were mine seeing you smile would be the best part of my day. Knowing that I was keeping you safe would give me even more reason to keep doing what I do, and knowing I was coming home to you would be my reason for making sure I did it and stayed alive."

He stopped and it was then you realized that your cheeks were wet. Jason took a breath and looked away. "Sorry. You've been through enough, I shouldn't have said-"

You kissed him. Tangled your fingers in his curls and kissed him. Hard. His arms wrapped around you on instinct, pressing you close to his body. 

"Y/N-"

"No one…no one's ever spoken to me like that, said those things. Do...do you…?"

"Yeah." The word came out a whisper. "But Y/N, you just got out of a relationship, I don't want to push you into another."

"Have I ever seemed the type of person to be pushed into something? Maybe I should need more time, and if I didn't know you, didn't trust you, I'd probably turn and run. But the truth is I want this. I want you. I'm just surprised you want me back."

"I've wanted you for months. Just never said anything. Wasn't planning to either. Especially not today, so soon after. My only intention coming here was to make you happy."

"And you succeeded."

A hand cupped your cheek, those stunning eyes meeting yours, "You're sure? About this?" 

"I've never been more sure." You leaned in for another kiss, clutching at his shoulders with a squeak when you suddenly found yourself being hoisted up onto the kitchen counter, with Jason between your legs.

"Sure like kissing me, babydoll, and you don't even have any mistletoe. Pretty sure that's against Christmas rules," he teased, pressing his forehead to yours. 

"We can stop if you feel so strongly about it."

Jason nipped at your bottom lip, then trailed kisses along your jaw and up to your ear. "Angel, I have every intention of kissing you for as long as you'll let me, mistletoe be damned."

"Good." Turning your head you caught him in another kiss, smiling into it. You weren't even sure the last time you'd felt this damned happy. How things had gone from the worst to this in just a couple weeks, you didn't know, or what you'd done to deserve such luck. But you were never going to complain. Not when you had Jason kissing you with such ferocious tenderness you were sure you were going to melt. 

Breaking the kiss and pulling back enough to look up at him, you grinned. "I'm pretty sure I might have an old bunch in the bedroom though."

Jason returned the grin, hands coming to grip your thighs as he lifted you from the counter with ease. "Merry Christmas, babe."

"Merry Christmas, babe."

Like what you read? Consider buying me a coffee! (I’ll love you forever!)

Tagging: @musikat18 @sagyunaro @i-stand-sebastian-stan @samleerandom @everyday-imfangirling

[imaginedcreaderinsert]

Is that a hickey? —Jason Todd x Reader

SUMMARY: Red Hood saves Reader, who is a civilian trapped in the middle of a “situation” that involves major superheroes; something big enough that makes Reader’s friends think she might not make it. And well, they assume an experience like that might scare Reader, but she seems happier and relaxed – and wait, is that a hickey?

Word Count: 2850

They think you should be pretty scarred. Liam is the one that alerts the group, the rest; there’s been an incident in one of the main streets and you were stucked/trapped in the middle, with a few other civilians. They assume it’s pretty serious since some of the Titans, Batman, his Robins and Nightwing get involved. Hell, even Red Hood does, and he’s more of an ambivalent figure nowadays. They are sincerely worried about you and don’t rest: they text, they try to call you, but all you send are short answers and sentences don’t sound much like you. At one point you don’t even answer, and after a blast, they think the worse. Gotham can be terrifying like that, everyone knows, they just didn’t think it could happen to someone so close, so dear.

It’s 7pm and you finally write back. You are in your dorms already, exhausted and just a bit scared. But you sound fine when one of them calls you, they wish you goodnight.

Then you change, and they don’t know why you are so happy. Is that one of those defense mechanisms people talk about? They assume that must be it: you are hurting, you are scared, but if they have to be honest, you are hiding it pretty well.

Nobody knows.

They let you go early because you say you are uncomfortable when light goes out, and that’s a truth: you were stuck under debris and hidden with a smaller girl for hours in a tiny place, hoping that they wouldn’t catch you, the alley where you are hiding wouldn’t be affected by the blasts, the shots, and it was claustrophobic. You associate darkness to anxiety now, and even if it’s mild, you know it can get much worse now: specially when you wake up in the night and every light is out, you are engulfed by absolute darkness and-

—Hey gorgeous, you in?—. He swiftly enters your window, knocking over but saving some papers. He takes a look at them—. The Golden Notebook and its consequences in-?

—That’s private, you jerk. Don’t be so nosy, specially when you come this late—. You reprimand him, but he knows it’s not wholeheartedly. He smirks, getting close to you. There’s a hint of panic in your eyes for a second. You are flustered—. Actually, why not? Give it a look. I have to turn it in in two days. I’m actually not sure about the conclusion, it’s a bit chaotic.

You push the paper in his hands almost, and while he smirks, he doesn’t fight it, doesn’t bite you because you are turning red against your table. You feign you are searching for something, ordering things: but actually you are now more nervous about him reading your paper, something so disorganized, embarassing. You left a bit of your soul every time you wrote something, be it academically or not.

—Actually you don’t have to-

—Shh.

You open your mouth, stare at him in disbelief and feign being offended.

—Are you shushing me?

—Sh. I’m on page three.

You bite your nail and move in the room. It’s not very big, but it’s comfortable enough, familiar enough to make you feel safe with the dim lights. While he reads, you get closer to the window and shut it, pull down the binds: you don’t want the darkness getting in, suffocating you. The room has a soft orange look, and the red on him does look good: very professional but badass at the same time. It’s not like Batman, it’s-it’s him, you suppose. The more pages he turns, the more nervous you get; especially when he has to go back a page and you make the move to take it off him, but he escapes you. Clicking your tongue, you give up and sit next to him while he reads, laying down and hugging a pillow as if waiting for the final conclusion. One that gets you more and more nervous.

And why is Red Hood in your bedroom reading your essay, you may ask? Well, he saved you. Well, correction: he saved the girl you were holding onto, passed it to him as a blast came near you and everything exploded. You protected her through everything and when he made the attempt to take you both off the place you were hiding something caught you. And your first instinct had been shoving the girl into his arms and running, distracting whomever had been aiming at you, red laser on your chest. And that was fucking stupid (“crazy” he called it after with a smile), you know it, but you had merely acted on instinct.

And when you thought you were done for, he had literally sweept you off your feet. Your eyes had only opened once you had felt a floor under your feet again: but it had been such an adrenline rush.

—You are crazy. That could have been your moment, kid, you know?

—Not a kid. And sure, but it wasn’t – I mean, uh, thank you—. You had changed your snarky and sarcastic tone once you had fully realized he had saved you. And he noticed, with a smile that made your heart beat faster—. W-Where’s the kid?

—Safe. You should stay here, though; I don’t think you should move in case someone sees you. I’ll come later for you, okay? Don’t text too much, they might caught you. Just-don’t make it known you are here.

You had been comfortable enough for a couple of minutes, but as the shots got stronger, and the combat longer, your nervousness increased whenever there was a long silence. They would make it, right? They were the Titans and the Batfamily. Or however they were called. Thing is that even then, you did not move from your place. Red Hood had ordered you to stay where you were, and you had obediently followed. He knew about these kind of events, he was a fighter and you admired him: he remembered you somehow of Russian heroes, anti-heroes; the realists characters that they created. He seemed to you a little bit like that.

. . .

—… Your writing is really good—. He finally says, turning you in back to the present. Right! The essay. You bite your nail again, arching an eyebrow with a skeptical face—. Hey, I read and this is good. I mean, sure it’s an academic investigation and work but it’s really well written. For me it’s an “A” plus.

You roll your eyes, but smile at him nonetheless. Wasn’t he a cute thing? The copy of the paper has some red corrections, of your own making, but Jason explains how some of them are not necessary and seem to be more picky than what they need to. And he’s actually right; at least in a couple of cases. His voice is serious and he seems to be really interested in what he’s talking about which is something that… Interests you. You smile.

—Soooo, can I finally kiss you or you want me taking a look at some other paper while you deal with your strange embarassment?

—Oh shut up. I’m not embarassed… And if I were, I would be rightfully so.

Why? He had kiss you. Well, you had basically throw yourself on him when he had appeared. And the adrenaline rush, the high of winning, the need to hold onto something real had probably made him kiss you. And shit, every girl has fantasized with kissing Nightwing, maybe even Batman at some point, but he kisses like there’s no tomorrow, like you are all he has, and there’s been no one before that has made you feel that way. You reciprocate: you take his lips, his face when he has taken off half of his mask and you want-you want-want…

—Jason—. He had murmured biting your upper lip, making you whimper, press your knees together. He had loved that. After-winning sex was the best of them all, he knew because of experience.

—What?

—The name’s Jason. Moan it.

And you did. You had done so. You cover your face in your sheets as he lays next to you in the bed. He laughs, probably knowing what you are thinking about. And… To be honest, it has been easy knowing Jason Todd; you knew he wasn’t a celebrity exactly, but he was an urban legend among the poor kids in Gotham, the bad neighborhoods who aspired to be kind of like him. You grew with those same kids, hearing stories of him, of his death! He had opened up easily enough with you, which surprised him (not you, you didn’t know how fucked up he felt he really was, how bad he thought of himself – at least not yet) and you had done it back. In mere weeks, a month, you were closer than even some of your own friends. He knew things you hadn’t told anyone about.

And then the kisses start. The makeout sessions, the occasionally and very special times where you let him sleep with you. Just sleep. You were not stupid and wouldn’t do anything so soon. It seemed too rush.

But that doesn’t stop Jason from giving you hickeys. Biting into your skin seems like his new hobby whenever he is around, which is pretty much always now: you skip some classes (not always, just some mornings, some evenings so that he can stay longer); you cancel hangouts with your friends (you play with Jason and laugh way more with him you notice) from time to time and even reject dates. It’s not like you are falling for him but… You pretty much are.

He reads. He reads! He can quote Shakespeare and Wordsworth (because the first one is too overrated and he needs some more tricks in his sleeve); he snoozes off everywhere in your room, and learn pretty quick that whenever. Yes, he can be up in action for long periods of time, but stakeouts don’t seem to be his thing. On a rough night, he hasn’t sleep in twenty-four hours, he naps on your shoulder when you are waiting for your fries. And then again he does in the bus. You laugh at him just like he does at you once he learns that you pretty much do the same in classes and in your own room: he has recorded you snoozing off and almost falling off your own chair. And fuck that was embarassing, but it made you laugh for at least twenty solid minutes.

So then your friends notice. Liam catches on the first, being as close as he was with you; but apparently not anymore. You’ve been blowing him off a couple of times, and something in your room takes much more time than socializing: what is it? A boyfriend, a hookup you can’t stop doing it with? He’s not jealous, but he thought you two might have been a thing in the future. You were at least in the past, had kissed for New Years, but now… Now you are playing pool with your group of friends, and a hickey is peeking out of the border of your shirt.

It’s white, and he wonders how can you be so casual with those things: you want to show off you’ve been getting some? Your lips are slightly puffy, they have been bitten; your neck seems to be covered in hickeys, but the scarf that you are wearing (saying Gotham was getting colder and colder) prevents the rest from wondering, covers them up pretty quickly… The thing that really irks him is when you are bending in the table, aiming at the white ball, and your shirt riles up: there’s some pretty dark marks on your hips, and it’s impossible to not know.

Specially now, when everyone is getting the signs: you are much happier, a bit absent at times, but much more socializing in class, open to new things; talking with guys doesn’t bother you as much (you weren’t shy, but they intimidated you at times) and you have even joined the club you’ve always longed to be in, and of course you got in. Who wouldn’t want you?

. . .

Jason is good for you. You get to that conclusion when he’s lazily leaving pecks in your cheeks and forehead from time to time. It’s Sunday, and he has arrived two hours ago: you hug him like that will make him stay, even if you know you have things to do, and he will probably go again in the night. But it’s alright.

For now, at least, it is.

—Sorry—. You mutter when your phone goes off, full sound on. You take it, give your back to him where he’s leaving small kisses in your neck. You have to resist a happy sigh, and make him know with a caress on his hand you guide onto your hip. He likes it—. Yeah, hey. Oh. Fuck, sure, uhm-

You get up, and Jason knows something’s wrong because her heart rate slightly picks up and he seems to enter in a bit of a panic. It’s not like when you wake up in the middle of the night (few things can apparently scare you, but complete darkness terrifies you), but something has clearly disturbed you. He doesn’t want to pry though; it’s not considerate, and he has tried to be so these months with you. He resisted the urge to dig into your life.

—Okay. Yeah. I’ll ask… Him. Yeah, it’s a him, you idiot. Bye, yes—. You sigh, turning off your prhone so that you don’t get more calls like that. It’s not like you work or have anything to do on a Sunday. At least not things that are matters of life and death, which is your priority filter today—. So… My friends were wondering who has been keeping me busy all this time. They feel a bit… Left aside. Like I’m distant, which is probably true and my fault, but- —. Jason stops you, caressing the small of your back, which almost makes you purr: you love that, he makes your worries melt. The next thing that comes out of your mouth it’s surprisingly easy for her thanks to that—. They want to meet you. No pressure. We don’t have to put on labels or anything, really. I wouldn’t ask that of you.

You haven’t defined what you have. Both of you aren’t seeing other people, you know that much – but does that make you a monogamous couple? You are not sure. Jason stares at you with a look that can’t be described, won’t be described: a closed book, truly. That makes you nervous, but when you squirm on your bed, he’s quick to answeer, catch on.

—I would like that. It’s just that... I don’t-I don’t know how to “hang out” with people—. He’s vulnerable. Apart from the Titans, his family, he’s never had a close friend to rely on. You are the closest to it. You and Roy, of course. You careess his cheek, fall into bed again with him hugging your waist—. We have a-a good thing. Truly. I don’t want to fuck it up.

It hurts you to see him like that. He thinks of himself as a bomb that will tick off at any moment, that will take you and destroy you at any given time. He worries about it enough that he thinks of your friends as priorities in your life, people he has to impress and that he won’t because he’s not good enough.

You kiss him long and full wholeheartedly. God, you won’t say it, but you feel it almost bursting out of your mouth when he’s hurt like that, has been hurt by so many people.

—You just have to be you. You are charming and intelligent: you are good, Jason. I know-I know what you’ll say about the bad things you’ve done, but you are trying. You have a moral ruling of your own, and you won’t hurt me. Not them. You are a good thing in my lif and-and it will probably be just a game of darts or pool. You can even show off and impress everyone in the fucking bar. I know you like it when you are seen, Jason… And I see you just how you are. I like it, I promise.

He smiles, and you feel hurt heart clench when you see him touched. He won’t cry, won’t allow himself to be like that, but you can feel it when he kisses you, and you cry for him. You are that stupid sometimes, that emotional, and he l- you for it.

(He won’t say it either. Not yet at least).

—Okay. I’ll go.

A/N: I think there could be a part two, but I don’t believe its necessary. Anyways, I can’t stop thinking about Jason Todd – he’s an angry sinnamon roll that must be protected. AND HE LIKES LITERATURE. He’s perfect.

[feral-anthropologist]

Things I’ve said/done with Batfam energy

Dick Grayson: - *just staring up at the snow and giggling* - *MCs a fiddle contest on four hours of sleep and makes the most awful puns the whole time* - seriously the amount of times I’ve gotten yelled at over bad puns - *gets stuck on top of a rock climbing tower, panics, and starts yelling terrible puns* - *riding the carousel happily because fun has no age limit while my little sister facepalms* - *becomes the go-between/person that everyone complains to when it comes to family drama* this is fine - embarrassing my sister by being ridiculous in public and knowing full well what I’m doing - every single time I’ve seen something that could be the start of a horror movie, thought “hey, that looks cool!” and went right towards it instead of running away - having a medical emergency and just making jokes about it because if I can joke about it then it’s fine - seems like a perfectly chill person until someone pushes the right button and then run - sunshine child but internally a salty disaster Jason Todd: - “We can always murder the government agents sent after us” - “Sarcasm helps me deal with the crushing sense of my own mortality�� - “True friendship is when you kill each other and don’t care” - “You can have a dead best friend!” - absolutely every single joke I’ve made about murder ever - *sees a weapon* n i c e - *picks up a plastic skull in a grocery store* “Alas, poor Yorick!” - just... a bunch of snappy comebacks and one-liners and did I mention the murder jokes - quoting Shakespeare at any and every opportunity - *cheerfully* “I could kill you with a plastic bag.” “...of course you know how to do that” - just Done Tim Drake: - *lying on the floor at 4 in the afternoon for no apparent reason* - Disaster Human - “I couldn’t sleep last night because I had coffee so now I need more coffee it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy” - *walking up to my father, enthusiastically rambling about how archaeologists have discovered a way to date sites using earthworm poop, and then just walking away leaving him weirdly confused* - *half asleep in the back of the car while my siblings are saying the moon is another planet* “actually it’s a satellite* - *gets a giant science textbook for school* y e s - anxious mess - “this sucks I hate everything” - *staring at the computer screen in despair* I don’t wanna do things - every time I’ve started researching and then infodumping about something random to a family member who has no idea what I’m talking about - *accidentally becomes the smart kid in class and has no idea how I accomplished that* Damian Wayne: - *internally, constantly* if you take one step closer I will kill you - why is this person talking to me there’s no reason for you to be talking to me this conversation is completely unnecessary w h y a r e y o u... - *being talked down to* I will let you continue to think I’m a child because it amuses me and it gives me an edge - cats. and animals in general. - weapons and katanas especially are the best - Death Glare Bruce Wayne: - people are the worst and I hate them *sees group of people* except those ones - *would rather spend time in a cave or working on something than socializing but is forced into it anyways* - Tired - *has a plan for anything and everything and can come up with a new one in 0.5 seconds* - child magnet for some reason - communication what’s that - internalizes everything and never talks about it

[wtfdavidsvlogs]

Isn’t it Lovely(D.D) Chapter 3

Warnings: floofy😋 couple swears here and there

Requested: See chapter 1

Plot: the reader and David meet and fall in love with each other instantly. One giant emotional roller coaster this is.

Chapter 1 2

Gif by: @vlogsquadfanatic

I literally could not wait another minute. My legs were hurting from bobbing them up and down. My finger nails had started to go back into my fingers from tapping them on my phone nervously. I laid my head back and turned to the left. The clock read 3:17PM. I groaned into a pillow and laid down. Seconds go by, minutes, an hour, three, and I can finally start getting ready. I applied a natural eye look and did my hair in a long side braid. Some pieces pulled to shape my face. I was going to an Italian restaurant with him so I wanted to be fancy. I started looking through my wardrobe. Now that I look at it, everything in here looks disgusting. I scoff and scuffle through all of the ugly clothing that I had to choose from. I yell out loud.

“LEEEEXXXXIIIIII!” I scream.

“WHAAT!” She yells back angrily.

“GET YOUR ASS IN HERE AND HELP ME PICK OUT WHAT TO WEAR!” I yell with the same amount of annoyance. She groans and her stomps start to grow louder and closer to my room. She opens the door and she walks in a bit more amped because of the circumstance. She looks at everything and she inpects closely. She would occasionally shake her head or turn it to the side for a maybe. Until she got to a dress. She took it out of my closet and held it up to my body. She smiled and nodded slowly. (this is the dress. obvi)

“Thank you.” I smiled and hugged her. She hugged me back.

“No problem, hun.” She patted me and left my room. Leaving me to my own devices. I start to strip myself of the days clothing and I slipped on the stunning 50’s style red dress that Lexi picked out for me. I have always loved the poodle skirt 50’s vibe. So I got this dress because of it. I have just never had the correct occasion to show it off. I finally do now. I look at myself in the mirror and I smile. I love the way I look. Will he?

I slipped into a pair of black heels and stepped out of my room. I see Lexi sitting on the couch watching something on her phone. I walk further towards her as she hears my footsteps she looks up. She drops her phone brings her hands to her face.

“Girl you look stunning!” She said pulling on her hair. She looked so amazed by me. I blush and look down giggling slightly.

“Dude he is going to go bat shit crazy over you!” She whisper yells. I laugh and smile wide. I pick up my phone and the time reads 6:55. I tell Lexi that it’s time and I walk towards the door grabbing my keys and purse. I hang the strap over my shoulder and the bag hangs at my hip. I walk out the front door and over to David’s apartment. I raise my hand to knock but hesitate slightly before tapping my knuckle three times on the hollow wooden door. I can hear laughing and shushing. Someone’s footsteps come closer to the door at a fast pace. The door swings open violently I look inside to see about 10 people sitting on a couch and a strange white guy with a dew rag on his head. I laugh and walk inside slowly. The man closes the door and guides me inside. There were 4 girls and 6 guys there not including David who wasn’t here. A girl with bright red hair, a girl with obvious lip injections but still very pretty, a woman that seemed about her thirties with implants everywhere (not a bad thing btw), a short girl with really long curly brown and blonde hair. The guys were the all of the people I saw with David when we first met. One of them had this fuckboy vibe to him, another was a grown man, the one that answered the door, one guy with bright blue hair with dreads, one guy that looked just unbelievably angry at everything, and another with curly brown hair. I stood at the end of the hall looking at this mass of people.

“Hi, I’m Caroline.” I waved and they all stood up smiling and coming over to hug me. The girls calling me adorable the fuck boy calling me hot. I shook a lot of hands and met a lot of people. I laughed and sat down with them.

“So why are you dressed so nice?” Brandon asked me crossing his arms. Not menacingly but probably out of confusion. I realize now they probably have absolutely no clue why I am here.

“Oh, yeah I probably should have said what I am even doing here. I’m going on a date with David.” They all opened their mouths and said oooh collectively. I was surprised as to the fact they all were expecting me.

“Why the sudden realization?” I said confused but laughing.

“You’re the girl he won’t shut up about.” Trisha says. I smile and look down.

“No really ever since the night we all met you for the first time he has not stopped talking about you.” Jason said with his arm around Trisha. I look at him and chuckle. I guess he does feel the way I do. I suddenly hear foot steps behind me and I can hear his voice panicked.

“Is this good? What if it doesn’t match what she’s wearing?...Guys?!” He says. I stand up and turn around. He looks at me dead in the eyes. He is dressed in black. A button up with the top button loose. Black pants and shoes. Black jacket and a splash of color to spice it up. A red tie. Exactly the same color as my dress. I look at him a smile with sugar laced in my gaze. I wanted to kiss him right then and there. I could feel his eyes looking at every part of me not wanting to miss a thing. (GIF)

David Pov

xxxxxx

I step out to see everyone talking to a girl that I can’t see. Dressed in red. I ask.

“Is this good? What if it doesn’t match what she’s wearing?...Guys?!” The girl stands and twirls around making her dress fly in a flowing circle. It was like time a had slowed and I couldn’t see anything but her. Y/N standing in a dress that would make the angels sing. A smile brighter than the sun blesses her face and I smile along with her. She looked at me with this adorablely perfect look in her eyes that I just couldn’t describe. All I wanted to do was kiss her. To feel her. To be with her always.

“Hi” I say with and exasperated sigh of adoration. She giggles. Oh her giggle. It could literally make me cry.

“You look...just...like...” I was stuttering at what to say that didn’t sound so unbelievably creepy.

“So you have rendered this man speechless.” Jason said making Y/N laugh. Along with everyone else. I fake laughed and made a throat cutting signal at him when she turned around. She turned back around and I smiled again.

“You look absolutely, ridiculously beautiful Y/N.” I said to her while looking down into her eyes. I towered over her small body. Maybe by at least 8 inches. It was adorable. She is adorable. Even in heels that were supposed to increase her height made no comparison. She looked up at me with this smile that just makes my heart melt. Every time I see her I notice something even more beautiful about her. I realize that we are now just kind of standing here awkwardly with all of my friends watching us. I snap out of my haze and grab her hands delicately. Her hands were practically half the size of mine.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask her calmly almost a whisper. She nods and grips my hands harder. I walk her to the front door and tell her to wait outside. Claiming ‘I forgot something’. I jog back to everyone.

“If I find out any of you said something rude or offensive to that beautiful woman out there, aka Todd, I’ll kill you.” I say pointing at him. I walk back to her outside and we walk toward my car. It’s just us now.

Thanks for reading chapter 3. Sorry I haven’t been posting very consistently I have been like clinically sick the past couple days but I hope you are all liking this story so far. I’m bringing out my inner shakespeare.❤️🔆

[whatatime30]

Torture, or reflection, or the savoring of loneliness

This is the “sequel” to my fic Green Eyes (https://archiveofourown.org/works/15799641), though they are standalone, hence my publishing them independently. Thanks to @renecdote​ and @themerrywriter​ for helping me title it. I’d been stuck on the title for like the past week and a half now. 

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309219

Summary: A tortured artist this poor, green-eyed boy was.

WC: 6311

Info on it

Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning

Major Character Death

Category:

Gen

Fandoms:

Batman - All Media Types

Son of Batman (2014)

Robin: Son of Batman (Comics)

Batman (Comics)

Relationships:

Damian Wayne & Everyone

Damian Wayne & Bruce Wayne

Damian Wayne & Dick Grayson

Damian Wayne & Tim Drake

Damian Wayne & Jason Todd

Cassandra Cain & Damian Wayne

Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne

Talia al Ghul & Damian Wayne

Ra's al Ghul & Damian Wayne

Characters:

Damian Wayne

Bruce Wayne

Dick Grayson

Tim Drake

Jason Todd

Alfred Pennyworth

Cassandra Cain

Alfred the Cat (DCU)

Ra's al Ghul

Additional Tags:

MCD is Talia

Mother-Son Relationship

Father-Son Relationship

Brotherly Angst

Damian Wayne Feels

Damian Wayne-centric

Damian Wayne is Robin

Damian Wayne Needs a Hug

Bat Family

Bat Brothers

Batfamily Feels

Insecurity

Angst

Hurt

Art

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Damian Wayne is an Artist

He likes art a lot

Painting

Green Eyes

Blue Eyes

Eyes

Loneliness

Language: English

Blue.

Damian blinked at himself in the mirror. Everything looked the same.

Except that his eyes were now blue. The same shade of  blue his father and brother’s wore.

He smiled.

Damian knew he’d have to take them off before leaving his bathroom. They could never know (would never know). But he was so happy to look normal, feel normal, feel like he was a part of something.

He hated his acid green eyes. He only shared them with Ra’s. He wanted to share something with his paternal side. Now, he could (only when he was in the bathroom, of course, but anything was better than nothing).

He waited another minute before taking the contacts out. He blinked a few times, his face drooping slightly at the sight of his actual eye color. He sighed, leaving the bathroom.

[Keep reading under the cut, or go on AO3]

…

“Robin, focus,” Bruce whispered into the comm.

“I am focused,” Damian said back, equally quiet.

“No you’re not.”

“I don’t believe this is the setting. Do you?”

“On my count.”

Damian prepared himself.

Bruce counted down.

Then the fell to the floor.

Damian never did well thinking in action. He’d learned from his formative years that fighting was more brute force and instinct than planning and calculating. Sure, he could do it, but it never served him any better than just jumping in.

He suspected that this was the reason he and his father never worked well together. The family constantly said he was too rash, too fast to act, that he needed to wait. He wished they’d stop.

It was just rubbing in the fact that he was too different to belong.

He wished his mother were still alive. He used to belong at her side.

(“My Alexander.”)

…

Maya’s eyes were green. Damian’s kind of green too. He liked them.

He had more in common with Maya than his father’s family. Maya was most his family (she and Goliath).

“When you called…” Maya trailed off as she gave him a hug. “It’s been too long.”

Damian rolled his eyes (they didn’t talk enough).

“I missed you.”

“And I you.” His voice was half a grumble.

“How’s Mr. Batman?” The sarcasm was obvious. She was heavy handed in that manner, something he didn’t share but admired.

“They’re children.”

“The lot of them? Man, kids these days, am I right ?”

He felt the corners of his mouth curve upwards.

“Where’re we going?”

Damian hadn’t thought of a place. They could wander. “Out.”

“Look, I get you like this brooding thing and being all ‘Son of Batman-y,’ but tell me where you want to go, or we’re going to Bat Burgers.”

“Batburgers it is.”

Maya’s eyes were green.

…

“You got the eyes wrong.”

Damian turned to his father. He hadn’t even heard the man come in. He didn’t like to paint around anyone. It made his stomach do loops like those rollercoasters Dick took him to for his birthday last year.

“What do you mean?” Damian asked.

“Selina’s eyes are blue.”

“No, they’re not. They’re green.”

The man grunted. “You sure?”

Damian was mostly sure. He hadn’t thought of them any other way.

They fact that Selina’s eyes were green bothered him enough. It’d be a small mercy for God to make them blue. After all, his mother had brown ones. If he couldn’t share eyes with her, he’d rather not share them with his father’s lover either.

“They’re prettier blue.”

Damian couldn’t help but grimace.

After a shrug, his father left.

Damian smudged the eye, ruining the painting.

But what did it matter if it wasn’t pretty anymore?

…

Damian found photography was enjoyable.

He didn’t need as many materials.

He could do it anywhere.

It didn’t require as much time as painting, but the attention to detail was of the same caliber.

So, he took lots of pictures.

When he was in the mood, Damian would climb to the tops of Wayne Tower or some other desolate rooftop to capture pictures.

His current venture?

Eyes.

People had all different colors.

He found himself printing out pictures of them all, arranging them by levels of beauty and depth.

Ra’s always said a man’s eyes were his soul.

What did that mean of this woman? Her eyes were a placid blue like a duck pond in a children’s cartoon. Was she calm? At peace? Her dress didn’t suggest such. She’d worn a tight-fitting business suit and heels that clicked. If one had seen her eyebrows, they’d see the steeliness behind those calm blue ponds.

“What the…”

Damian sighed. Of course Jason would be the one to interrupt his studies. It seemed the man had been coming around the manner more as of late. He’d come to Damian and ask after his father.

“What’s this about, squirt?”

“Art project,” Damian answers curtly.

“For school?”

“No.”

“Then what for?”

“Recreational purposes.” If Jason was entitled to his Shakespeare, wasn’t Damian to his art?

“Why’re all the blue-eyed ones over there and the others in another pile. Something against blue-eyed people?”

“Something against aryans, Anti-Führer?”

“Father is in his study. Now leave me be, Todd.”

“No, I’m intrigued now.” Jason took a seat by Damian, brushing against the younger’s leg. “So, what’re we doing?”

Damian sighed. “Nothing.” He threw the placid blue pond to his right, starting a pile of its own.

“Are these randos from the street?”

“I suppose you could call them that.”

“Pretty good quality.”

“I-- thank you.”

Jason chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

Over the years, Damian had learned that Jason wasn’t as insufferable as he first thought the Red Hood to be. Depending on the activity, he was even the best possible company (if Dick wasn’t available, of course). They had similar histories, a common friend and foe. It made sense.

“Ever finish that portrait of Selina for her birthday?”

“I drew her cats instead.”

“Why? It was looking pretty nice.”

“I lost interest.”

“That sucks.” Jason flitted through a stack of photos he’d collected.

Damian shrugged.

“Dick been around lately?”

“Not since the Sunday before last.”

“Has he called?”

“Are you looking for him?” Damian asked.

“No… just wondering.’

“Why?”

“I dunno, kid. Can’t I wonder?” Jason made eye contact, a grin forming on his lips.

Damian couldn’t help but smile back (even if the sheer blueness of Jason’s eyes made his tongue dry up and shrivel like that of the silent soldiers of the pit).

…

He wore them again.

Damian found himself locking the bathroom door and putting the contacts in daily now.

He liked things better this way.

He wanted to gouge his slimy emeralds out. Glass water droplets would make for a better existence.

Blue was art, after all. The pretty kind.

…

Dick gazed sadly upon his youngest brother.

Damian was paler, duller (the rest of his health being intact was mercy enough).

Did no one notice? The His kid was spending a drizzling afternoon sketching ponds.

No less alert though. He saw Damian eyeing him from the garden, most likely waiting for Dick to leave the car before accepting their usual embrace. Dick sighed as he left the car.

Damian hurriedly left his spot on a jagged rock by the duck pond that’d been around since Bruce had been a boy.

“Hey, D,” he said easily, hugging the boy.

“Grayson.”

“What’re you up to?”

“Drawing.”

“Sounds fun.”

“I suppose.”

Dick punctuated the hug with a peck on Damian’s cheek.

The boy blushed. “How long will you be here?”

“All weekend. B needs me for something.”

Damian nodded.

“Is that paint or blood?”

“Hm?”

“Your hand.”

There was a red stream down Damian’s palm.

“Shouldn’t be touching sharp rocks, kiddo.”

“Better perspective.”

“Uh-huh.” Dick dragged Damian inside to clean the wound up.

(his kid)

…

Dick came back.

Damian liked Dick.

Dick was his first relationship in Gotham. The thing that tethered him here when his father died. Had Dick not kept him here, he would’ve went back to the League (which didn’t seem like a bad idea often), but now he was stuck here.

Stuck in Gotham with a family that was nothing like him and only half loved him (except for Dick, of course). He was Dick’s son in all but name.

Dick came back, helped Damian clean off his hand when he cut it on the rock. He hadn’t meant to cut it though. Firstly, because it hurt. Secondly, because red hadn’t been pretty in years.

…

“My eyes work fine,” Damian whispered.

Dick didn’t know what even brought on the statement. Maybe it was Bruce claiming Damian didn’t see the gunmen on patrol earlier, which in Bruce’s defense, had earned Damian a bullet wound in the left arm. “What’d you mean?”

Damian’s eyes were trained on the soft light that was the television screen, but the glass lid over them signed tears threatening to spill over. “I saw them, but the risk…if that boy’s idiot father hadn’t-- who brings children to drug deals anyway? No parent of any value. I saw them…” He trailed off, and a tear fell.

It was probably the meds. Alfred had given Damian pain meds and a sedative. The boy was merely tired. He was fine, nothing to worry about.

“S’okay, D.” Dick wrapped an arm around the boy, pulling him close. “He just gets scared. You know what happened to Jay…” And you.

Damian let out a small whine and pulled away.

Dick shushed him. “You did well, kiddo. I promise.”

Soft, emerald green’s glanced at Dick for a second before being obscured from view by the boy’s lids. Damian sniffled. “I see fine.” Hot tears wet Dick’s shirt.

“I know.” Dick rubbed circles into Damian’s back. “Bruce does too. He was just upset, okay?”

Damian sniffled again.

“Go to sleep. You’re tired.”

“M’not a baby, Richard.” Damian’s voice was muffled as he nuzzled Dick’s shoulder.

“I know.”

Damian’s breathing evened out a few minutes later, soft snores coming from the boy.

He was tired. That was all.

…

The prettiest thing he’d seen in his life.

Damian’d found an eye in his photography ventures. He just knew painting it would make it prettier (and it had).

Blueberry blue with azure hints. A beautiful, clean ocean of paint.

“The wall?” an incredulous voice asked from behind him.

Damian turned to see Tim. “Problem, Drake?”

“Why the wall?”

“It’s gorgeous, is it not?” Damian admired the picture.

“But… the wall? Alfred’s not--”

“It’s my room to do with what I wish. Father said so.”

“I think he meant you could get curtains, not deface a whole wall.”

Damian clenched his paintbrush. Hadn’t Dick said that if one had nothing kind to say, nothing should be said at all? Surely Tim Drake, a supposed cultured individual would know the rule. “That’s not kind, Drake.” He hadn’t meant to make his voice soft.

The expression in the teen’s face changed as fast as a bullet in a chamber, from eased indifference to a smirk. “I was joking.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

“Sorry.”

Damian nodded, sniffing as he looked back to continue detailing his art.

Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

…

Music was an art as well.

Damian’d explored it as much as any boy forced to learn the classics had. After all, there was nothing visual about music. He couldn’t see it. He couldn’t touch it, so why would it interest him?

There was one person, though, that liked music.

Cassandra Cain was a particular enthusiast.

Whenever she came over, she’d always drag Damian over to the music room. They’d duet on the ivory piano keys or speak in morse code on the drums. Music was a language for her the way drawing and painting was for him.

He wouldn’t dare take it away.

“What’s with the eye?” Cass asked, inspecting the back wall of Damian’s art room. “Is it wet?”

“No.”

She brought her thin fingertips across it, smile resting on her face. “Pretty.”

“Thank you.”

…

A rose by any other name supposedly smelled just as sweet.

Damian wasn’t sure that he believed that.

…

“Hafid.”

“Talia.” Damian ducked a slap from his mother. He smiled.

She did as well. “Your absence has been noted.” I missed you.

“As has yours.” I missed you too.

“I was on business,” she defended.

“Of course.”

“Would you credit me… an embrace?” I love you.

“I suppose.” The feeling is mutual.

They hugged. It was a real one. The kind they only did every few years.

“You’re taller,” she noted.

“I am,” he agreed.

They parted.

Her hand tugged his chin (why was it still so smooth?), and their eyes met. Hers were like lukewarm cups of coffee. “Grayson emailed me your marks in school. Ra’s was pleased.”

Damian nodded.

She sighed, releasing him. “Where is your father? I must speak to him.” There she went, screaming ‘Habibi’ down the hall.

Then he woke, as he always did: Gasping for air, face wet with tears, shirt soaked in sweat, alone.

…

Damian gifted Jason a blue hoodie for his birthday. It suited the young man much better.

Though the family mostly made a joke of it, he stood by his decision, happy it brought a smile at least.

“Did you hear about the Blue Hood?” Dick asked, checking the grapples from his corner.

Tim grinned from behind his laptop, still typing away. “The Blue Hood?”

“Yeah.”

“What about him?”

“Dastardly, I hear. Right, D?” Dick glanced at Damian.

Damian rolled his eyes, not dignifying the answer with a response.

“Just dastardly. Saw him helping some lady across the street with her groceries.”

“That’s Damian.”

“What?”

“I have feed of him helping some old lady.”

“Show me.”

Damian looked up from his book now. “You’re stalking me now?”

“Yeah, I was scared you’d spray paint a wall blue.”

Dick chuckled while Tim came over to show Dick.

Damian rolled his eyes once again. Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

…

He wondered if he should save Tim.

Damian watched a bloodied and drugged Red Robin from the rafters of a warehouse.

The Joker hummed from the side.

Damian didn't like the Joker, but did he dislike Drake more?

With a swish, the Joker was on the floor, blood pooling around him.

Damian sighed as he helped up Tim. “Red, you with me?”

Tim didn’t answer.

He pressed his comm. “Batman, I have Red Robin. We’re in the Diamond District.”

“You didn’t think to call before leaving? We were looking for you.” There was a tinge of worry in his father’s tone.

“I apologize. Heading back now.”

“I’ll come pick you up.”

“I have the--”

“Is the Joker incapacitated?”

“Yes, but I--”

“Wait there.”

Damian humphed but sat down, pulling Tim to his side.

Tim giggled. “Gonna paint him blue?”

If fratricide were an option…

…

Damian didn’t like Tim.

He didn’t hate Tim, but Tim was his least favorite brother and sibling.

He seemed to only say things to upset Damian, and Daman never knew a response to upset Tim back.

“He paints everything blue, Bruce,” Tim said with a slur, leaning tiredly against their father as Alfred sewed up wounds.

“He can paint whatever color he wants,” his father said with a smirk.

“Blue’s boring.”

“Why?”

“It’s a sad color. Everything that is blue is sad. When someone’s sad, they’re blue. Tears are blue on TV. Water’s blue.”

“Mmhm.”

“My mom’s eyes were blue too.” Tim sniffled. “She had a blue clutch that matched ‘em-- were your mom’s eyes blue?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s Damian?”

“At the computer.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Probably listening to you talk.”

Tim hummed quietly.

“Damian,” his father called, amusement evident in his voice.

Damian slunk over to his (hypothetical) family. “Father,” he said with clear displeasure.

Tim yanked Damian closer, nearly knocking Alfred out in the process. “Sit down.”

Damian obeyed.

Tim delivered a wet kiss on Damian’s nose. “I love you.”

Damian scrunched his nose. Maybe he didn’t totally dislike Tim.

…

“Damian, I have to go out. Can Tim stay with you?” Bruce asked. Alfred had enough to worry about without putting  the teen into his schedule.

“I’ll be painting.” Damian was in the process of playing in his breakfast, which had become some sort of a pastime in the mornings.

“He won’t bother you.”

Dick had told Bruce that Damian’s art room was one no one should enter without permission. Even Alfred left the maintenance of the room to the boy. Most of the family, rather than purchasing entrance, hovered in the doorway whenever they wanted to speak to him or see the newest artwork.

Tim, Bruce knew, had never been inside the room. He wasn't’ sure if it was Tim’s choice or Damian’s though.

Damian pushed his plate forward. “I suppose.” His chair scraped the floor as he stood. Damian approached a resting Tim on the other side of the table. He tapped him once. “Come, Drake.”

Tim cracked an eye open. “Hm?”

“Come.” Damian took him by the hand and led him out of the room.

Bruce sighed. His kids.

…

It was hard to paint with a lump in one’s lap, so Damian took to drawing.

Why he had to spend his day off school with Tim Drake was beyond him, but he did his best to make the most of it, as Dick would’ve told him to do such.

“Why do you make everything blue?” Tim asked quietly, staring out the window.

“I don’t,” Damian answered.

“You do.”

“I’m drawing a flower right now. Is it’s stem not green?”

“It’s a cornflower.”

“I don’t make everything blue.”

“Are you blue?”

“No.” What kind of question was that? Damian’s skin was tan like his mother’s.

“I mean in the metaphorical sense.”

“Elaborate,” Damian demanded.

“Sad.”

“No, I’m not sad.”

…

Some nights, Damian had heard, were made for torture, or reflection, or the savoring of loneliness.

He spent many of his nights doing all three, though it was hard to do the latter when his father insisted upon reading in his art room. A tortured artist this poor, green-eyed boy was.

He knew this as he painted an eye-- his eye.

A family portrait was in order with Alfred’s birthday coming up. His father requested a small portrait, something he could frame and wrap for the butler from the whole family.

He liked most of the picture. Dick’s icy blues and Jason’s white streak. It all went together beautifully (ignoring one factor).

Damian payed attention to every detail, sans the blemishes. It was necessary. The picture had to be perfect.

He heard footsteps behind him. Then Duke was at his side. “Hey,” the teen said, his warm breath on Damian’s neck.

“Thomas, what do you require?”

“I just came to see it.”

“Did you?” Damian asked absentmindedly.

“Yeah, and I came to see if you want to join me and Tim for a Star Wars marathon. We ordered a pizza.”

“No.” Damian finished the red curtain behind the family with a blot. “Thank you for offering.” He struggled with common social phrasings still. He never learned them when he was younger. It was harder than people made it out to be. A second language he wasn’t quite used to.

“He’s coming,” his father said from his chair.

“I’m not hungry,” Damian argued.

“You haven’t eaten since lunch. Patrol’s soon.”

“Pennyworth's absence does not mean I’m not capable of finding my own nourishment.”

“Go.”

Damian humphed but set the painting down.

“It’s done?” his father asked.

“A few finishing details,” Damian said.

With a nod and a grunt, his father returned to his book,

Duke smiled. “Bye, B.”

“Duke.”

Then they were gone.

…

Tim wasn’t sure about Damian.

Well, he knew the kid was a certified sociopath, but he could tell Damian tried. Tried to fight his instincts, his raising. And the kid did a good job most of the time.

He did wonder about what Damian did with his free time.

Damian went to school. Then Damian disappeared until dinner. Then he disappeared until patrol. Then he was dead to the world until breakfast the next day.

He never saw Damian on weekends though. Alfred would note the absence to Bruce, but the man never did anything about it. Alfred would probably have to knock Bruce in the head to make him get it.

He supposedly ate, considering Damian retained his muscle and wasn’t getting skinnier. It didn’t seem like Damian slept. The bags under his eyes had bags. They were omnipresent, became accepted as Damian’s appearance a few months ago.

Of course, one could usually find him in the art room, except when the door was closed (Alfred would open it whenever he came by).

He didn’t want to say anything. Only God knew how Damian would take it.

Even now, Damian sat dejectedly in the corner of the sofa, staring at the curtained window with his head propped up on his arm. He looked half asleep.

“How’s school?” Tim asked, feeling more like parent than a brother (but someone had to be).

“Fine,” Damian answered.

“Do you like the movie?” Duke tried.

“No.”

Tim wrapped an arm around Damian. To his surprise, the boy didn’t pull away.

…

You are your mother's child, but you won’t learn. No one can protect you. Not your aunt. Not your mother. Not your father...Your world holds but one truth, boy...You continue to exist at my sufferance.

An echo.

Cold, tight chains released themselves from his side, clinking to the floor. His arms and legs could finally breathe. Pain radiated from everywhere. He kept his eyes closed. Damian took a breath from the floor before trying to stand. His legs were noodles. He swayed until a gloved hand steadied him.

“Damian.” His father’s gloved hand apparently.

“Batman,” he scratched.

“Don’t talk.” He lifted Damian into his arms.

Damian allowed his head to fall, chilled kevlar kissing his cheek. His nose became aware of the intermingling aromas of burnt flesh and blood confluenced with sweat.

The jostling was kept to a minimum in transporting him to the Batwing.

Damian heard shuffling as the plane took off.

He woke up to hushed voices, felt hands pulling at his blood-stained clothing and bandaging him before everything darkened to a haze once again.

…

“Touch me and die,” Damian said quietly, not in the mood for interruptions (he’d had enough in the past two days) and willing to stop them even if it meant paining his nose. He again on his way to perfecting a portrait, one of Alfred this time. His ribs pained him as he bent over the small canvas. The pain like a small searing, reaching throughout his middle. He couldn’t do detail without gazing closely though.

“How’d you know I was there?” Jason asked, coming from behind Damian with a tray.

“You’re an imbecile.”

“I brought you lunch.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “No, thank you. Leave me now.”

Jason’s silence filled the room for a solid minute. “Doing okay? Heard your Grandpappy knocked you around.”

Damian couldn’t help but smile. “Not before he coughed blood.”

A chuckle. “Good for you, kid,” Jason said. “Whatcha painting?”

“Nothing you need to pay any mind.”

“The cat, huh?” He took a seat on the floor beside Damian. “Should you be bent over like that? Has to hurt.”

“I am fine.”

“Wanna go to Batburgers?”

“No.”

“The library?”

“No.”

“Outside.”

“No.” He was fine where he was.

“Babybird told me--”

“Must you use asinine nicknames everytime you speak? It’s a childish endeavor you’re much too old and educated to pursue, don’t you think?”

“Ouch.”

It was quiet once again.

Damian leaned further forward, biting his lip as the pain increased. It felt good in it’s own way. He moved to dot a splotch of fur white when Jason punched him in the arm. A long line of white littered with gray marred the picture.

His jaw dropped as he turned to Jason.

The young man merely shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “But hey… the eyes were all wrong anyway.”

Damian didn’t know why, but that hurt more than the searing pain in his chest and the tears pricking at his eyes. He jumped at Jason with a punch.

Jason grabbed his wrist.

Damian tried with his other one. This time nailing Jason in the cheek. He then kicked Jason in the back of the knee, causing the young man to topple over into a table.

The circus-themed vase Damian’d made in art class the previous week shattered.

“Get out.”

“Kid…”

“Get out! Get out! Get out!” Damian demanded, tears now cascading down his cheeks.

And for once, Jason did.

…

Bruce wondered what had caused his youngest to flee to the coat closet. He’d been about to go out to ‘enjoy nature.’ Alfred was cleaning the computer and he had nowhere to go. He hadn’t expected to find Damian curled up in the corner, face scrunched in what he read to be displeasure, possibly pain. Dried tear streaks were on the boy’s cheeks.

He lifted the boy up carefully. Damian, though technically a teenager, was still so small. Why was he so small? Would he grow up to be as big as Jason or Bruce? By Bruce’s estimations, Damian would inherit his mother’s slender figure as he had her soft skin and devious smirk.

Damian huffed at the jostling, his eyes forming slits to glance at Bruce as he sleepily rested his cheek on the man’s shoulder (beautiful basil eyes). “Todd broke my vase.”

“Did he apologize?” Bruce headed in the direction of the boy’s bedroom. He sat down on the bed, relishing any time he was able to hold his son, as the action was rarely permitted.

Damian humphed. “It was to be gifted to Grayson upon his return this weekend.”

“I’m sure we can find something else to give him.”

“Matched his parents’ costumes.”

“I’ll see what Alfred can do.”

Damian’s eyes closed again.

Bruce took the neon orange pill bottle from Damian’s nightstand and popped a pill out. “Here.”

Damian’s hand slowly found its way to Bruce’s, and the medication was consumed.

Bruce then laid his son on the bed, tucking him in as any good father would.

The boy didn’t protest the impromptu nap (most likely because he’d been napping already), taking another last look at Bruce.

Beautiful basil eyes.

…

“You’re sketching me?” Maya asked Damian, her emerald greens piercing him with amusement.

Damian snorted. “Of course, chica.”

“I’m prettier than over half the things you draw.”

He smiled. “Maybe.”

“Is it done yet?”

“Everything but the eyes.” The eyes were the only white thing left on the page. He sniffed the pleasant aroma of graphite and wax. The searing in his middle had regressed to a dull soreness.

“You always save the eyes for last,” she sighed, grinning. “Why is that?”

“They deserve the most care and attention.”

“Why?”

Damian sighed. “I don’t know.”

…

Tim was walking through the hallways of the manor towards his bedroom when he heard talking in the kitchen. He entered the room to see Damian and Bruce of all people not cooking, but gluing together what looked to be a vase.

Damian’s arms crossed themselves as the boy frowned. He was seated by the stove, wrapped in a blanket. It could be classified as cute, if not for the purple and blue bruise surrounding the boy’s broken nose and Damian’s split lip. “You’re not doing it right. Let me.”

“Alfred would never forgive me if you cut yourself,” Bruce said, hunched over the island with glue and tweezers.

Damian turned to Tim. “Can’t Tim do it then?”

Tim’s brows raised at the use of his actual name.

Damian seemed to catch it too.  “I’m sure no one will care if he is cut.”

Tim grinned. “Hey, B.”

“Tim,” Bruce returned.

“What’re you guys--”

“Jason knocked the table over and broke Damian’s vase for Dick.”

“And you’re fixing it?” Tim surmised.

“It’s all wrong,” Damian said before Bruce could respond. “Father, you’re--”

“Like a try, Tim,” Bruce interrupted, stepping back and holding out the materials to the teen, now revealing his own scowl and furrowed brows.

Tim chuckled. “Sure.” Those two were too alike.

…

“Todd broke it, but Drake fixed it,” Damian said quickly.

Dick examined the vase carefully. “It’s beautiful, Lil’ D. Thank you.”

Damian wasn’t sure what to say at that point, his face flushed. He slackened, releasing some tension on the pulling bandages under his shirt. He was proud to say the least. He’d known Dick would love it from the moment the idea sprouted. The moment now was mere proof.

Dick’s eyes glazed over with tears. He blinked them away. “Guess I’m gonna have to start keeping flowers now, huh?”

“I suppose you will.”

…

“I meant to visit you on your birthday but Ra’s…” Damian trailed off as he played with the dew-filled grass. It was early morning. No one was up but him, which made sense considering they’d just arrived back from patrol two hours ago. Damian hadn’t slept either. He couldn’t.

“I…” He sighed. “You are missed.” He missed her. Every single part of her he missed, from her whacks during sparring to her petty threats. “Why won’t he bring you back?” He used to always bring her back. “I wish he’d bring you back.”

Damian wiped warm tears from both his cheeks and sniffled.  You are-- and will always be-- an assassin at heart, my lovely boy. Your mother's child. “My mother’s child.” The boy’s voice was a rasp, filled with anguish.

A sad smile. “Even in death, you haunt me. A ghoul you truly are, Mother.”

There is no Hell. No Heaven. Only what we make for ourselves.

…

Blue came in seven distinct shades, each with its own name: azure, prussian, cobalt, cerulean, sapphire, indigo, and lapis. Damian loved them all.

Yet, none of them could be found in Ra’s’ compound. The buildings were tan. The shades were lined with mahogany. The uniforms were charcoal. The katanas were silver. Nothing was blue except the sky above him.

Damian liked it that way.

…

Gone. He was just gone. No notes no trace.

Damian disappeared like smoke in the air.

Where had he gone, Dick wondered.

…

“You came back?” Maya asked. “Then what was the point in leaving?”

“It’s better here,” Damian said, voice a trained low volume he’d learned when he was younger and never forgotten. He stretched his hand to test the pain, having cut it earlier when sparring with Ra’s earlier. It was worse if anything, and looked infected, but he was ignoring it for the time being.

“How?”

“My father… he-- It just is. The rules are clear. Easier to follow.”

“My father wasn’t the easiest guy either.” She took a seat on his rug and crossed her legs. “He made us ghosts.”

“And I’m not one?” He could tell she was searching him, sifting through what she knew, what she surmised, conjuring an answer that was appropriate, correct.

“You want to be?” she asked, her voice cracking.

Tears fighting their way out behind his eyes made them burn. It’s better than the torture being someone puts me through , he wanted to say, but he didn’t. He said, “Yes,” for that was all that mattered to the question.

A small wet stream ran down her right cheek. A glass film over emerald jewels. She leaned forward, wrapping her lean arms around him.

He knew the embrace was meant to be some form of solace, but it did nothing for him. He wanted to ask her to release him, to let him feel the pain, to let him fade into the black and through the wall like any good ghost could. Why wouldn’t she let him?

She stayed until he was nearly asleep.

He used her lap as a pillow, eyes having long given way to the heaviness.

She hugged him once more before laying him on the rug. It wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t a soft cotton either.

He let out a small whine of complaint, mumbled her name.

“Right here, but I have to go,” she whispered. Maya pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He allowed her last words to escape him as he drifted off.

…

“Where is he, Ra’s?” Bruce growled.

“I assume you’ve scoured my compound for him then?” Ra’s smiled. Damian swore that was the face of the Devil sans the cherry skin and raisin horns.

“He’s my son.”

“He is his mother’s as well, Detective.”

“She’s dead.”

“I’m well aware.”

Damian watched the scene from above in a blindspot even the Batman wasn’t aware of. He came back to Ra’s for two reasons. One, it was easier than living in Gotham. Two, Ra’s would burn Gotham if he didn’t.

And he knew Gotham was his father’s true love and mistress. The thing that let the broken boy with wet cheeks who became a man whose had dried out. The motivation to live, he even guessed. He’d rather be under Ra’s than take that away, than be the cause of the fall of the Bat and his cohorts. He’d rather die than do that.

So, he came back, enjoyed the blue-less world of the League of Assassins, visited his mother’s quarters occasionally. He minded it the first day, and he still missed a stray Gothamite or four, but other than that, he was fine.

He was trained to be fine, after all. How could he not be what he was created to be? It made no sense, so he didn’t let it happen.

The pain was duller here anyway,

And dulled pain was the best kind.

…

There was one part of being with his grandfather again that Damian didn’t like.

He hated having to slash throats and impale hearts.

It wasn’t that he now found murdering abhorrent either. It was the voice Dick Grayson implanted in him at the age of ten that told him it was wrong. Everytime he even came close to ending a life the voice rang in his head. It hurt.

This was why Ra’s sent Damian to kill a whole family. The psychology behind it was infallible. It would prove that he wasn’t soft, that he’d earned his place long ago and hadn’t given it up on his departure, which was why Ra’s called in the comm for him to stop before the action. The man wasn’t as cold as he advertised himself to be. He wanted loyalty more than blood any day.

So, having proven such and still possessing free hours, Damian slunk across the street of a nearby diner. He hadn’t come to eat but to watch. He loved to watch people still. That want had not waned. He’d even smuggled a camera on the off-chance he would see something truly photogenic.

Contrary to his intruder coming from behind, he did feel the footsteps. He hadn’t stopped feeling the things behind him since the day his uncle was shot in the head. A memory he held quite close to the day he first met his father.

“Red Robin,” Damian said.

“Dames. What’re you doing here?” Tim asked, crouching beside Damian.

“I’m sure you’re intelligent enough to figure it out. I don’t take you for as much as an imbecile as you advertise yourself to be.”

A snort. “B came for you.”

Damian made a noncommittal noise. It seemed Tim Drake would always interrupt his art.

“You could call.”

Damian plopped himself on the ledge and extricated a bagged sandwich from a pocket he should’ve been keeping a pistol in (still couldn’t break that habit).

“Ziplock?”

“The League isn’t that old.” Damian pulled his face mask down and set the camera beside himself.

Tim did the same. “Didn’t take you for one to eat on a profiling.”

“I’m not going to hurt them.” Damian sighed, watching his smoky breath dissipate. “Any of them,” he added. An assassin’s past times weren’t limited to killing, after all. Even Ra’s liked books and reading. He took another bite of his sandwich, sweet honey ham and American cheese.

“Okay.” Tim didn’t sound like he believed Damian, but he didn’t care about Tim’s thoughts of him anymore.

“What do you want?”

“Took me awhile to get a lead on you.”

“If you count Maya as a lead.”

“She told me ‘cause she cares.”

“I hold nothing against her.”

“Nightwing misses you,” Tim said.

Damian inserted himself into a scene before him. A young woman with blue eyes and blonde hair in a waitress uniform sat across from a young man and baby with the exact same features. A family, he figured. Both women were hunched over the table while the baby-- a girl-- babbled to herself and stuck a fist in her mouth. An interesting sight. He wondered if his parents could’ve ever created a seen like that had his father known of him when he was a baby. It was a pretty thought.

“--mian.” Tim laid a hand on Damian’s shoulder.

He turned to meet the gorgeous blue eyes that were Tim’s.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” Damian repacked his sandwich and stood. “I have to get back.”

“You’re not due ‘till four. It’s two thirty.”

“I have to go.”

Tim took his wrist. “One day he’s gonna actually make you do it, you know.”

Damian blinked. “What?”

“Kill somebody. Maybe a family. Maybe a couple. Maybe a person. But he will.”

“I live with myself just fine.”

The whites of Tim’s domino squinted before returning to their previous state. “Don’t die. Maybe send a text once a while, so we know you’re still succeeding in that venture. And call Dick ‘cause you know how he blames himself.” Even when it’s not his fault, Tim didn’t say. Because that would also imply it was Damian’s.

Damian nodded.

Tim released him.

The robin flew away, and the ghost became translucent once again.

[chibinightowl]

Down the Rabbit Hole

You’re all probably sick of me after my drabble posts last night and this morning, but before I crash, it is finally time to unveil the wonderfully talented and amazing @tanekore‘s birthday gift! Here’s chapter one of Jason and his adventures in Wonderland.

~*~

“Get down!” 

Tim’s warning comes too late and Jason finds himself with a face full of Scarecrow’s newest fear gas, right along with the mook he punches hard in the face.

Shit. Not good. Jason tries to hold his breath for as long as he can while trying to escape the noxious fumes but the maze that is the floor of this warehouse has him turned around in no time. What a night to be caught without his hood.

At least the asshat he was fighting has the luxury of being unconscious on the floor at his feet. Are there more? Jason can’t remember if there were. He should know and he doesn’t. Fuck. A cowled figure lands almost soundlessly next to him, mouth covered in a gas-mask. It takes all of Jason’s self-control not to lash out at Tim’s freaky looking form. Someone came prepared tonight. “Hood, you okay?” He sucks in a deep breath and shudders as his lungs burn. A wracking cough hits him like a sledgehammer and he crashes to his knees, relearning how to breathe. His vision wavers but he tries hard to focus on Tim. Tim, who means so much to him and loves him in spite of all the shit he’s put him through. “Jay?”

Jason coughs again. He can hear the wheeze in his breathe as he struggles for air. “Diff-rent,” he manages to choke out. “Yeah, that’s obvious. Just concentrate on breathing. Any hallucinations yet?” Tim presses two fingers against Jason’s throat, checking his already racing pulse. “The Scarecrow’s fear formula changes often so it’s hard to come up with a multipurpose antitoxin.” It’s a fact Jason knows all too well.

He shakes his head in response to Tim’s question. Not yet. They both know they’re coming though. The fear gas can sometimes take time to break down into a person’s psyche and draw out what they fear most. He has a feeling one of those fears has changed since the last time he was gassed. Before, he didn’t have Tim to be scared for.

“Just...get...me...outta...here,” he gasps, each word punctuated by a cough. This is different too. Normally it’s a quick inhalation, a few coughs and a sneeze and wham the shit’s in your system. Tim is already moving, dragging one of Jason’s arms over his shoulder and trying to get him to his feet. “Got to help me out here, Hood. I’ll fireman’s carry your ass if I have to, but I don’t what to hear you bitch about the bruises because it won’t be pretty.” Jason tries to laugh but it comes out as another harsh wheeze. “Love...you...Red.” “I love you too, Hood. Let’s get you out of here. A’s already called the car for us.” Tim staggers a bit under Jason’s weight. Jason isn’t much help, but he manages to get his legs in the right position to walk slowly. His breathing regulates a bit as they get further away from the center of the maze and he’s able to manage full sentences again. “What happened back there? I didn’t even see Crane.” Tim growls, frustration evident in his voice. “He wasn’t there. There was a remote trigger on those cases closest to you. Must have had a motion sensor involved. I didn’t see it until too late. I’m so sorry, Hood.” If there’s one thing Tim excels at, it’s self-flagellation. All the Bats do, actually, himself included. “Not your fault,” Jason says with another cough. He’s starting to feel better, which is strange. Still, he’ll take it, since this means he can take some of his weight off Tim. They keep walking. It feels like an eternity since he was gassed but it can’t have been more than a handful of minutes. The silence between him and Tim is stifling. It’s not normally this way. Jason likes their shared silences, whether it’s at home and they’re both trying to stretch out on their overstuffed sofa and failing miserably or on patrol and they’re using hand signals to try and boss each other around or make fun of Dick.

This is a bad quiet. Jason can feel the hair on his neck prickle as he feels unseen eyes on him. On them. Whether it’s paranoia or the fear gas kicking in, he’s unable to tell but he knows one thing for certain. It’s taking them too long to get out of this warehouse maze. They’re targets. Sitting ducks, even as Tim takes a left and Jason catches a whiff of fresh air. It makes him cough again. Dammit. “Red, we gotta get out of here,” Jason manages to murmur. “I know. We’re almost there. Hang on a little bit longer.” Tim takes right and they’re suddenly in a wide open space looking out over the covered pier and the expanse of Gotham Harbor. Jason’s confused. This isn’t the street and the safety of the Batmobile. “What did A send? The boat?” “He sent the car. I told you that already.” Tim sounds like he’s lecturing a child, his tone taking on an infinite amount of patience as though he’s repeated himself a few times now. For all Jason knows, he has. “Then why are we at the dock?” he asks, knowing he sounds petulant and not caring in the slightest. Tim gives him an obvious look of concern. “We’re not at the dock.” Jason shakes his head, trying to clear it. He knows he’s fucked up, but this is unreal. “Yes, we are. I can see the pier right there.” He even points at it. “The gas has to be messing with your head already,” Tim says. “We’re in the alley where the car is supposed to meet us.” Every sense Jason has is screaming at him in warning now. He rips his arm away from Tim and backs away cautiously. “We’re at the dock. I can smell the air, Red. I can feel the breeze.” “No, that’s the sewer grate you’re standing on. Smells like Killer Croc’s breath on a good day.” Tim holds up his hands and slowly approaches Jason. “The car’s ETA is three minutes. We’ll be able to hear it soon.” No. No, this can’t be right. Jason looks down and sees the wooden planks that still make up the structure of the older piers in Gotham. If he concentrates, he can hear the water below him, the small waves lapping against the pylons. He purposefully draws in a deep breath and tastes the salty sea breeze. Shit. Whatever this stuff is, he’s doped up good. Reality can’t get much more fucked up than this. A loud creak rises up from beneath his feet. “Jason, don’t move,” Tim says warningly. He rushes forward and stops at the edge of the dock (alley? sewer grate?), holding out his hand. “Here, take my hand. The grate’s not holding your weight.” The creaking sound grows louder, and Jason can feel the planking quake under his boots. But he doesn’t move, a sudden horrible thought occurring to him. “Are you Red Robin?” he asks shakily. “If I’m seeing and smelling the docks while you’re telling me we’re in the alley, the only consistent factor is you and me. I know I’m real, so who the hell are you?” Tim brushes back his cowl. Pale blue eyes beg him to believe and his voice is heavy with poorly concealed urgency. “My name is Tim Drake. You’re Jason Todd. We’ve been dating for 14 months and just recently moved in together, mostly because you got tired of hauling your shit between safehouses and said that your Shakespeare collection deserves a good home. Your words, not mine.” It sounds like something Jason would say. And he also remembers all of this. Who else would know their names and such a personal fact? But he still hears the sound of water beneath him, which he knows he wouldn’t hear if he were standing on a sewer grate. He’s stood on them thousands of times. He shakes his head slowly and takes another step back. The creaking sound grows more ominous.   “Jason!” Tim shouts and reaches for him. “Take my hand.” “Who are you?” Jason asks again, and this time draws his gun. “What did you do with Red Robin?” Tim blanches but holds his ground. “Please, Jason. Take my hand. The car just arrived. It’s behind me. Can’t you see it?” he pleads. All Jason sees is the side of the old wooden warehouse where it opens out onto the pier. “This is a trap.” “You’re high on fear gas, Jay. You know this.” That’s right. He was sprayed earlier. How could he have forgotten so soon? The eyes are back on him, on them, and Jason whirls around to face them. “Come out and fight, you pieces of shit!” The movement is too much for the weak wood beneath his feet and it finally cracks, sending Jason plummeting into the darkness below. “Jason!” he hears Tim shout. The sound is swallowed by the pitch-black tunnel he finds himself in. Looks like Tim was right after all and he really was standing on a sewer grate. Okay, strike one against him. At least he has the excuse of being fucked up in the head at the moment. Although Damian will argue he always is, so what else is new. Jason waits to hit the ground, the sewer channel, something. But he just keeps falling. It’s not even very fast either. In fact, it seems slower than most falls he’s taken. Hazard of the job, although Dick is the one who will throw himself into a free fall first and then shoot out his line just for the sensation of flight. He’s strange like that, or so Jason thought when they first met. Dick was in his weird glam rock meets disco phase and his uniform reflected his tastes. It didn’t stop him from teaching Jason how to fly on the trapeze, the one thing Dick taught him rather than Bruce. No one moves through the air quite like Dick. A case can be made for Kori though. But she’s a natural flier and just as comfortable in the air as she is on the ground. Not even Clark manages to fly like she does, simply for the sheer enjoyment of it. Okay, why hasn’t he hit the ground yet? Jason tries to peer into the darkness below him, but he’s still falling feet first into oblivion. Or is he? Can he even be certain he’s falling because, hello, fear gas? He doubts his boyfriend is even his boyfriend and wow, is he going to get the lecture when whatever wormhole he’s fallen into spits him out. This is by far the strangest concoction Scarecrow has ever come up with. Jason doesn’t feel afraid. If anything, he’s a bit anxious, but who wouldn’t be when they’ve been falling for several minutes and haven’t hit the bottom? He realizes he’s still holding his gun and holsters it. Shit, he pulled a gun on Tim. Jason sighs and shakes his head. He’s got some apologizing to do, even though he knows Tim will tell he doesn’t need to. They’ve all done and said things while out of their minds from the various toxins and poisons, let alone spores from Poison Ivy, that they’ve been exposed to. Hazards of the job. He wonders if the fear gas is making the fall seem slower than it normally would be. Jason tries to stay alert, but the darkness is warm and kind of comforting, as long as he keeps moving. The faint rush of air flowing past him keeps it from becoming reminders of his grave. He must have dozed off briefly because when he next opens his eyes (where they even closed?), the faint outline of shelves and cupboards appear before him. Now he really knows he’s high because he’s falling so slowly he can reach out and move things from the shelves if he wants to. So much for terminal velocity and the laws of physics. What goes up, must come down. His crash, both literally and mentally, is going to be spectacular. The light slowly grows brighter as he falls. Just because he can, Jason reaches out and grabs a book from a shelf. May as well keep himself amused if this is going to take much longer. Of course, he grabs a recipe book. He heaves a massive sigh and forces himself to read it anyway. Alfred would be proud of him and who knows, perhaps he’ll find something new to make for him and Tim. The book is surprisingly detailed and full of recipes for different desserts Jason’s never even heard of before. He’s so engrossed in it that he doesn’t realize the ground is approaching until his ass hits it with a jarring thud. “Motherfucker,” Jason swears, rising to his feet and rubbing his tailbone. He shoves the book into the inner pocket of his jacket and looks around. He’s in some kind of long, tiled hallway, lined with doors on either side. Glancing behind him, he spots a stone wall. Well, at least the way forward is clear. Still, because he is the paranoid sort (it’s not paranoia when they really are out to get you he remembers Tim saying), he readies a gun as a precaution. Something about this whole situation is tickling his memory, but try as he might, nothing comes to mind. Jason walks forward, testing each door as he comes upon it and confirms they’re all locked, at least from his side. His lockpicks will come in handy if he’s shit out of luck with the rest of them. He’s passed over a dozen doors when he hears the slam of one opening up ahead. Jason instantly tucks himself against the closest door jamb, trying to make himself a smaller target for whatever is approaching him. The sound of heeled shoes upon the floor tiles echo strangely. “Oh, my ears and whiskers, I’m late. Heads are gonna roll and they sure as shit better not be mine.” The voice is feminine but that’s not what has Jason locking up in surprise. It’s the sight of Stephanie stalking towards him in a bunny costume that wouldn’t look out of place on Dinah Lance, the Black Canary. She’s got a leather jacket to go with it, even if her costume is all white rather than the black he’s used to. For that matter, Steph’s taking the whole costume thing a little too seriously as she’s even wearing a headband with bunny ears on them. Floppy bunny ears that are falling into her face as she storms down the hall. “What the shit, Blondie?” Jason says, stepping away from his meager shelter. “How’d you get down here? For that matter, how the fuck do I leave? Tim is gonna kill me.” The woman shrieks at him and throws a fan at his head. Her bunny ears twitch violently. “I’m already late, you dumbass! Don’t make it worse!” With that, she takes off down the hall, running past him with surprising grace in those spiked heels of hers. He can’t help but notice there’s a poufy little cottonball of a tail on her ass. “I think you’re taking the whole Playboy bunny thing a little too literally!” he shouts after her. The sound of another door slamming closed is his only reply. “Well, shit.” Jason runs a hand through his hair and looks around again. The hall doesn’t look any different than before but that niggling memory that this is all familiar is driving him up the wall. It’s like he’s fallen down the rabbit hole... Back the fuck up. Jason stalks back down the hall to where he first arrived after the long ass fall and sure enough, there’s a curtain hanging from what had been an empty wall before. A small glass table with a gold key sitting upon it are off to the left. He brushes the curtain aside and there’s a small door that he’d be lucky to get a foot through. Looking back at the table, there’s a little bottle on it now, next to the key. He knows where he is now. Or rather, he knows where he’s about to be soon if he can just get the door open. “Son of a bitch. This is either going to be the worst or best trip ever.” Jason has seen a lot of strange shit in his life but he’s willing to bet a bottle of Bruce’s best bourbon and say this ranks right up there at the top. Wonderland. Or would that be Underland if he goes by the movie? Either way, Blondie has to be the White Rabbit. The outfit is definitely an improvement. Who else is going to appear in his hallucination? Because seriously, what else could it be? Jason’s starting to doubt now if he ever even fell. Dosed by fear gas? Emphatic yes. Rescued by Tim? Probably. That’s a little blurry now. “Maybe I didn’t pull a gun on him after all,” Jason mutters as he eyes the door and the bottle. As far as he can tell, this is his only way out because he’s sure as hell not going to grow into a giant and cry like a baby before shrinking down and floating away on a sea of tears. Still, best to be prepared. He places the bottle and key in a pocket and keeps a firm hold on them both while he stalks back up the hall to where the fan White Rabbit Stephanie threw at him lies on the floor. He collects it and returns to the small door. The key he places squarely on the floor in front of the door. None of this leaving it on the table bullshit. Jason takes the bottle out of his pocket and reads the elegant script. Drink me Right. He’d better keep all his clothes when he shrinks down because otherwise, he’s gonna sit his ass right here until he wakes up on his own or Bruce finds the right formula to create an antitoxin. Considering how much time he feels like has passed, Tim is probably right there with him. Jason eyes the bottle again, pops the cork, and drinks it in one long swig.

[eventually-write]

Gunpowder and Garlic Bread

Request?: Yes (@axelwolf8109 )

Prompt: Jason’s first date

Fandom: Batfam

Pair: Jason Todd x Reader

Word Count: 1,538

Warnings: Cursing, canon-typical violence

Jason panted as he was pushed up against a wall, his back stinging comfortably at the bite of pain. He smirked at the person in front of him who was holding him there.

“You know, I usually wait until the third date before I let someone pin me down like this,” he smirked, pushing the drug dealer with enough force to knock him to the ground. He pulled out his pistol from his holster and shot the thigh of the goon running towards him. The bulky man shouted in pain as he crumbled to the floor just as Red Hood realized the main boss himself was retreating to his getaway van out back.

“Oh no, you don’t!” he growled irritated, his mask deepening his voice. He fought off a couple of the other guys still in the warehouse and sprinted out to where he hid his motorcycle. He hopped onto it and began to pursue the retreating van. They raced down the dense streets of Gotham, but thankfully Red Hood’s motorcycle was narrow enough to squeeze between cars.

Eventually, Jason was able to catch up to the boss’s van, so now he was racing alongside it.  “C’mon, man! I’ve got plans tonight. Can’t we just do this the easy way? You pull over so I can arrest you and I don’t beat the shit of y’all. It’s a win-win for everybody. What do you say?” Red Hood asked with a cheeky grin of his. At that, the boss had his peon in the passenger seat roll down his window and start shooting him.

Red Hood groaned and checked his watch. He really needed to go get ready. “Fine, I guess we’re doing this the hard way, but just letting you guys know, you really just pissed me off.”

---

Jason ruffled his hair both because he was frustrated and because he wanted to make sure it looked stylishly tousled. As he jogged through the doors of a little Italian restaurant, he looked down at his phone. Oh god, he was running late. He was almost 20 minutes late now. He was so not making a good impression.

“Uh, hi, I was supposed to be meeting someone, but I’m a little late… Do you know if they’re uh… are they still here?” Jason asked the maitre d’, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. The woman just looked at him with an expression somewhere between unimpressed and pitiful. It was almost as if she wanted to be upset with him for being that douche who’s late to the date and also feeling bad for him. She sighed softly and picked up a menu for him.

“Right this way, sir.”

As the young woman led him through the loud restaurant, Jason felt his stomach twist. He hardly had any time to change as he was already running late. He just brushed his hair, changed out of his Red Hood outfit and then dashed out of the door. He wondered if he smelled bad… he had been working out vigorously--kicking ass does count as a work out--which meant that he inevitably sweat throughout the day. He hadn’t even showered before coming here. The thought of being so disheveled only made his palms damp as they approached the table. God, what a charming guy he was gonna appear as on a first date.

“Here’s your table, sir,” the young girl said, her pity melting away when she saw the person sitting at the table, waiting for Jason as they had been doing for the last 20 minutes. Y/N raised one eyebrow at Jason as he sat down.

“Heh, sorry for keeping you waiting. I got caught up in something. I know it’s no excuse, but, uh, I’m here now,” Jason chuckled obviously awkward and guilty. He picked up his menu, eyes scanning over it for only a second before he turned to you. “See anything good?” he asked, trying to ease them into having a nice date.

“Their breadsticks are good. I would know. It’s all I’ve been eating since I think it’s rude to order by yourself on a first date,” you spat out, tone venomous, but expression neutral At that, Jason visibly winced. He reached over and held your hand, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb soothingly.

You and Jason met because of your job at the used bookstore. It was a quaint little place, resting beside a nice coffee shop across the street from the train station, so you liked to hang around the area after work. He had been shopping around the classic literature section while you were organizing the books and before you knew it, you had this cute stranger chatting you up and debating with you who the best romantic poet was. (Shakespeare was alright and all, but Lord Byron would totally kick his ass after smoothly luring him into his bed.)

Jason had spent weeks just playfully bantering with you before you guys started to take your discussions to the coffee shop. When he had finally asked you out on a formal date over an analysis of Dorian Gray and a cup of earl grey, you just rolled your eyes playfully, remarked, “Finally, Todd. I was wondering how long you were gonna take,” and let him know the next time you had a weekend free. You were hesitant at first because, while he was sweet and a damn good debater, he was also a flirt. However, you didn’t want to just tack him under the player archetype, so you gave him a chance. It seemed, though, that perhaps you had him perceived him correctly.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I was just dealing with a lot of stuff right before I came here and it was totally last second. I didn’t want to leave you hanging like this. I’m sorry. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?” Jason asked with his overly done puppy eyes. You sighed softly. They were totally dramatic and lame, but he was hard not to forgive and he looked truly remorseful.

“Fine, but you’re buying the coffee next time,” you relented with mock reluctance which caused Jason’s face to light up. Your heart melted a little at that. “Dork,” you muttered fondly to yourself.

From there the date proceeded nicely. There weren’t any awkward gaps in the conversation, no food spillage, no other glaring slip-ups. Actually, the date was quite nice. It felt like a natural extension of all the time you had been spending together anyways. By the end of the night, you two walked out of the restaurant together, Jason walking you to your car. Something about how it was unsafe to be walking alone in Gotham at night. You didn’t mind. You totally agreed with him there and you were glad to have a few more minutes with Jason.

“Well, this is mine,” you chuckled, leaning against the driver’s door. “This was really nice, Jason,” you offered with a smile. Jason stood in front of you, leather jacket wrapped around him to protect him from the chilly night air.

“It was. And again, I’m really sorry for being late like that, I really do feel bad about that.” There Jason was apologizing for the tenth time this evening. You had forgiven him completely at the third apology and at this point, you were getting slightly annoyed.

“Jason, I told you I forgive you. I’m a big kid and I get it. Life gets in the way sometimes, but you still showed up and you were a complete gentleman all evening and I had fun. In fact, I’d like to do this again sometime,” you spoke softly, touching his arm gently to let him know that you truly weren’t mad.

Jason watched your hand. You were shorter than him so he was looking down at you slightly. With his own grin he responded, “Yeah, I’d like that too.”

Then for a moment you were both just staring at each other with soft grins on your faces as the lights of the parking garage and the window open to the large moon cast a warm glow on the two of you. Jason seemed to be leaning in and you didn’t stop him. Just as he closed his eyes, however, you put your hand up to stop him. “Ah, ah, ah. Boys who are late on the first date don’t get a good night kiss. Plus you smell like gunpowder and garlic bread, but nice try,” you whispered since he was just a breadth away.

You winked as you got into your car. You rolled down the window at him after you backed out of your parking space. “Maybe you can try again on Sunday. I know the park by my work is hosting a Shakespeare festival and I’ll be there at one precisely. Don’t be late,” with that you drove off into the night, leaving Jason gaping after you, a grin stretching out across his face.

Next time, he was going to be sure that if he had a mission, he would leave himself plenty of time to shower, get you flowers or something, and be there early. He wasn’t gonna let any person who was that observant go that easily.

Author’s Note (A/N): I know that you asked for his first date, but I kinda wrote it as his first date with the reader rather than his first date ever. I hope you like it anyways though! Remember, feedback inspires me to write faster, so drop me some inspiration! Also check out my request rules here if you want a piece like this.

[obsessedauthorchan-blog]

Shakespearean - Update

AO3 | Wattpad | FanFiction

Chapter 5 - Tim

Story Summary:

Jason didn't know how he managed to get into college at all, let alone such a good one, but he was determined not to mess it up.

Of course, it was after he made that decision that everything went to hell.

Chapter Summary:

Timmy's POV! Yay!

Tim puts Jay's phone number to good use, has a mini-heart-attack, and then does his hair up all nice.

It's not a date...

Probably.

Story:

Tim was actually kind of happy.

He hadn't been able to say that in a long time, if ever. When his parents were still alive, his dad worked a lot, his mom socialized, and the staff changed every year or two because his mom was picky and easily angered. When they died, he was obviously upset. He mourned and grieved for a long time, which eventually stopped when he became part of Bruce's family. Dick was actually a pretty cool older brother, Alfred was kind of like a grandfather to him, and he had bonded with Bruce as they worked together to find his parents' killer.

Over the years he got more siblings. Steph, Cass, Damian, and even Babs came to be family over the years. Steph was cool, fun to argue with, and always doing crazy things. Cass was dependable, sturdy, and the least judgmental person Tim had ever met. Babs was the most badass surrogate sister anyone could ever have, and she totally understood his love for technology and computers. Even Damian had his upsides, though the little brat didn't show it very often.

As Clark and his son, Connor, became like a second family, Tim's life improved even further. He had had few good friends in his life before Connor. Bart was a good friend, but he lived so far away that it prevented them from really being close, and he was the kind of guy that was fun to hang out with but hard to be serious with. Connor could do whatever was needed of him, and he could do it well.

But he still couldn't really say he was happy. Content, maybe. He didn't really have much to complain about, and even if he did, he wouldn't ever have let himself. There were lots of good things in his life, but there was a certain weight that had hung over him like a cloud, a weight he had never been able to name, and still couldn't.

But something about Jason...

He made Tim smile and laugh. He didn't treat him like a rich kid, didn't treat him like he was fragile because of what happened to his parents. Con didn't do either of those things either, but Con was different anyway, being practically family and having grown up in close proximity to the Waynes and other wealthy families.

Tim could tell Jason had lived a hard life. There was a certain glint in his gray eyes, the glint of steel, that spoke of experience, knowledge, and pain beyond what Tim could imagine. But there was also a certain light, a measure of determination to not let the worst times overcome the good, to not let his past mess up his future, to move forward, move on, and move upward towards a potential that was obvious just by looking at him.

Tim couldn't help but smile as he looked at Jason's contact in his phone. Jason Todd. It was a good name. Tim liked it. Regardless, Tim liked nicknames for contacts even more. He smirked to himself as he changed it from Jason's name to, 'Shakespeare from the Hood'.

He thought about texting him. Jason had offered him his number in the first place, had actually said that Tim could text him, and Tim had a feeling he hadn't meant that Tim could only text him about studying. Still, Tim had just seen him yesterday. He didn't want to give a certain impression (which may or may not be accurate) that he might like Jason beyond the way people like each other in general, beyond a friendly way. Tim didn't even know if Jason liked guys. And Tim was probably overreacting and being dramatic, but he really didn't know for sure if he was. He had exactly zero experiences with this sort of thing.

It would not fall outside Tim's normal experience with luck for Jason to be straight as a steel pole (those weren’t exactly bendy). Tim really hoped he wasn't, but his experience also told him hope was a dangerous thing.

He sighed, no less conflicted than he had been before. He decided to screw it and sent off a quick text.

"Hi."

Tim decided holding his breath might not be the wisest choice for his health, so he tried to make himself busy. Unfortunately, the only work he really had to do was reading for his Shakespeare class, which would not help distract him from Jason.

Tim's phone beeped. He picked it up faster than he had thought possible and quickly read the text. "Hey, Timbo. What's up?"

Timbo? Really?

"Trying to avoid my Shakespeare, actually. Wbu?"

It took less time for Jason to respond than Tim had expected. Only a few seconds after he sent the text he got a reply. " I'm about to head to work. Working at a library doesn't involve nearly as much reading as I had foolishly hoped. "

Tim snorted. No, it hadn't looked like Jason had gotten any time to read at all yesterday. After he had gotten subtly called back to work (and, sadly, away from Tim), he had seen him many times. Whenever they were in the same area of the library, Jason would shoot him little smiles or random silly faces. Tim could tell that Jason was really just trying to make him laugh loud enough to bother the other patrons (like the utter asshole he was), but Tim couldn't help feeling sort of special every time Jason made a rude gesture in regards to his co-worker and apparent boss.

"No job is as glamorous as it seems. Sucks."

"And what kind of non-glamorous jobs have you worked?"

Tim wasn't sure if Jason was being judgmental or skeptical because Tim was rich or if he was actually just curious if Tim had ever worked. That’s why he kind of hated texting. No body language, no tone of voice, no real cues of any kind. He hoped it was the latter possibility, but he wasn't sure he could blame him if it was the first. Still, it's frustrating when everyone applies Hollywood stereotypes to real life people.

" I currently work for the school's IT department, actually. Before that, I did freelance photography, which isn't as great as it sounds. Especially since it involves people. I don't like people."

" Dude, rly? Do you work at all this afternoon? Bc I got a ton of viruses on my laptop and I've been meaning to head down there to get it dealt with. "

Tim raised an eyebrow, but he couldn't help but smile. That text implied that Jason wanted to see him. Today, even.

"Yeah, actually, from 3 to 10."

"I get off at 4 2day. I'll be there by 530."

Tim's eyes widened. What? What the actual what? Jason was coming to see him at work? At work?! Tim's work uniform was not attractive. What the hell was he supposed to do? And why was he low-key freaking out about seeing Jason?

"K. I guess I'll see you then." At least he didn't sound like he was freaking out over text. Maybe texting wasn't so bad after all.

"Awesome. I'm at work now, so I gtg. c u later, Timmy." Oh, lovely. Another nickname. He actually kind of liked it. He only disliked those nicknames when Dick or Damian were giving them to him.

"c ya."

Tim sighed and put his phone away, a small smile on his face. As his eyes caught on his Shakespeare homework, he groaned. At least now he had something to look forward to at work.

After wasting a good long forever pretending to read Romeo and Juliet, he got up and headed towards the bathroom with a comb and some gel. There wasn't anything he could do about khakis and a polo, but the least he could do was fix his hair.

AO3 | Wattpad | FanFiction

[addicted-to-dc]

Jason Todd/Red Hood X Reader- Shakespearean Tragedy

Here’s the last request!!!!  This was requested by @axa-vega and I had an awesome time writing this.  Hopefully you guys will love it as much as I do.  Enjoy!!

Warning: Alcohol, Swearing, mentions of abuse, etc

Throughout your years working at your bar, you had seen a lot of shady people come and go.  Some of them were just common crooks that steal purses from old ladies, but some of them were actual super villains.  They had to go somewhere to get booze, right?  Luckily, they all knew that if they tried your patience and temper you would use your shotgun to restore order.  Everyone that showed up in your bar knew the rules and abided them, even if they were law breaking scum.  You had a shady past yourself, and that’s why you never turned in anyone that showed up.  Two-Face, despite his anger issues, allowed you to call him Harv whenever he showed up.  He said that you made the ‘best damn drinks in the city.’  After that, he ordered his favorite drink, the Penicillin, and left to join his business partners at table near the back.  Harv was the most enjoyable out of all of the baddies showed up, and he tipped the best, too.  

The Penguin was another supervillain that frequently stopped by to have the occasional Starstruck Goose Cocktail.  Even he had a nickname from you, which was Chester, and he appreciated that.  Everyone that was allowed into your establishment also appreciated what you do for them.  You took in all of the kids you could that lived on the streets and let them live in the apartments that were above your bar.  You even hosted karaoke nights, therapy sessions and even game nights.  With kids present in the building, you wouldn’t allow the Joker to set a single foot in your bar.  You had heard about how killed innocents, and he was lucky you hadn’t blown his deranged brains out.   Another thing you were grateful for was your ability to sense if someone is injured or not, whether it be physically or mentally.  You have helped so many kids that walked in bruised and battered from the abuse they went through, kids that were malnourished from not eating a single thing for days, or even a combination of the two.  Many patrons were kicked out or turned in by you, if the crime was more horrific than you could handle.  Your other customers would inform you of what someone did, and they would either deal with them themselves or let you turn them in, and when you did, you made sure that they would remain in jail for a long time.  It happened more frequently than you liked, but it was necessary if your kids or any innocent was at stake.  You admit that your morals were a bit fucked up, but atleast you had some type of leash on yourself.  

“I’ll have the strongest drink you have,” a man while plopping down on a stool, “and have it mixed with the second strongest drink.”

Feeling the pain from the man behind you, you turned around, still wiping a glass clean, “Rough night, buddy?”

“More like a rough week,” the guy huffed out, running his fingers through his hair, which was an odd combination of raven hair with a white streak.

You turned around and started making his drink, “I hear ya, buddy.  So, what made you come to a place like this?”

“I’ve heard a lot about his place,” he said, “and I thought it would be nice to find out where the rumors have come from.”

You continued to make his drink, “I hope they’ve been good things.”

He chuckled, “Some good, some bad.”

“I hope they don’t scare away customers,” you laughed, finishing his drink, and turned around.  “Here you go, sunshine.  Just so you know, the first drink is always free.”

You gave him a wink and leaned on the bar, “So what’s got you in the dumps?  You don’t have to say anything, but the best way to get stuff off your chest is to do it before you’re drunk.  Trust me, I speak from experience.”

He shook his head and chuckled again, “It’s just a sob story full of family drama, more drama, death, psychos and some stuff that would make my life look like a Shakespearean tragedy.”

 “Wow,” you said, raising a brow, “I think I might need a drink for this, wait one second.”

You turned around and grabbed your glass of whiskey you kept for occasions like this.  Placing the glass on the bar, you pulled your stool out from under the bar and sat on it.

“Aren’t you working?” he asked, taking a sip from his drink.

“I am, but I own this place, so I can decide when my break is, and it’s right now,” you replied, taking a gulp from your drink.  “Plus I have Danny over there to cover for me.  He’s not as good as me, but he could make some pretty delicious drinks.”

“You’re the owner?” he asked.

“Yup,” you replied.  “What did you expect?  A buff dude with tattoos littered all over his body?”

He snorted, “Of course not.”

You smirked, leaning your head on your hand, “Now quit changing the subject and continue your story.”

“Well,” he sighed, “how do I say this without revealing any personal information?”

You flashed him a smile, “How about you tell me something, and in return, I’ll tell you something about myself or you can ask questions of your own?  Deal?”

“Deal,” he said and took another sip. “I came home to find the guy that killed me still alive, which my father did nothing about.”

“That’s a good reason to drink all of your sorrows,” you commented, gulping your drink.  “You wanna ask me something or to say something completely random?”

“I’ll ask,” he responded.  “How come you didn’t question me dying?”

You shrugged, “Many people flatline and come back, or maybe I’m not just an ordinary bartender and have seen a lot of shit that has caused me not to question things like this.  You take your pick.”

“That’s reasonable,” he said while making a face.  “So after I found out that bastard was still alive, I thought I could kill him and prove a point to my father, but his morals wouldn’t allow me to.  In the end, he chose to save his life.”

“You’re right,” you said after a moment of silence, “this is some Shakespeare shit.  You sure that we’re not in a spoof movie or something?”

“I hope so, if it means I get the girl,” he flirted, looking a little buzzed.

“If you say that I’m the Juliet to your Romeo I will punch you,” you stated jokingly.

“Nah, you’re the Beatrice to my Benedick,” he corrected you, making you laugh.

“I love a man that has good taste,” you continued laughing and finished off your drink.  “Do you have a place to stay?  I’ve got an extra room if you would like to stay for the night.”

“Why would you help a broken stranger like me?” he asked, also finishing his drink.

“Because broken people need to watch out for each other, and sometimes they can fix each other, unlike the booze that I sell.”

[stilloutofmyvulcanmind]

Ringing in the New Year

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Characters: Jason Todd, Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Brief reference to past stalking

Summary: New Year’s Eve, and you’re out for a walk with Jason. It turns out to be a night of surprises.

A/N: I’ve fallen in love with writing Jason and now I can’t stop. The poem he recites is Sonnet 26 by Shakespeare.

The park seemed magical, lights bathing the path in a soft glow that caught the gently falling snowflakes, like something off a postcard or out of a fairytale. Few people were around in the late night, some heading to parties, others home, or just out for a walk with a person they loved. 

Jason's hand was in yours, gloved fingers entwined with your own as you walked, breaths puffing out in the cold air. 

"This is nice," you said on a contented sigh, breaking the silence that had fallen between you. 

"Yeah. Thanks for indulging me."

"Anything for you, Jaybird." You caught his eye roll and laughed. "Kinda surprised you wanted to come out though."

"Can't a guy just want to take a stroll with his angel?" 

"Course. But you never 'just want', not this out of the blue. You've got something up your sleeve."

The only answer you got was a cheeky grin before Jason was pointing at a vendor a little up ahead. "Let's get some food. I'm starved."

A few minutes later and you were both walking away from the stall with a giant hotdog each. 

"I'd take this over an overpriced dish any day," you groaned around a large bite. Jason laughed, watching as you licked a bit of ketchup off the corner of your mouth. "What?" 

"Nothing. Just thinking you look beautiful like that."

"With my face full of food?" 

"Relaxed. Content. Uninhibited."

Blushing, you smiled up at him. "Yeah, well, it's the company. Letting go of inhibitions with you is easy. Easiest thing in the world."

Jason returned the smile, wrapping his free arm around you as you walked and ate. It was perfect, though it was bordering on a cheesy level of romantic. There weren't many people who knew what a big softie Jason truly was, but you'd always known. Even when you were kids, Jason had been soft, and though he'd tried to pretend otherwise after his return from the dead, you hadn't been so easily swayed. You knew him better than anyone, enough to see past the facade that kept everyone at arm's length. 

It had been heartbreaking, seeing him like that, knowing he was hurting but unable to get close enough to help. He'd tried to keep you away, told you he wasn't the best friend that you'd lost, yelled to leave when you kept showing up at his safe houses. 

Like something out of a movie, it had taken a near tragedy for you to connect again. 

A guy who couldn't take ‘no’ for an answer. He'd followed you home from work, broke into your flat. 

One second he was pinning you to the wall, the next he was across the room, Red Hood towering over him. 

He didn't get back up. 

It was a catalyst, hurtling the two of you back together, rekindling the dwindled friendship and igniting something else in you both. A love that had always been there but ignored, platonic companionship chosen over romance, but now came out with enough force it was impossible to stop. 

You loved him. Loved the good and the bad, the flaws and the perfections. Loved him as Jason and as the Red Hood. Loved him when he was sassy and smart. Loved him when he lay in bed watching you pretend to sleep so the moment wouldn't be broken. Loved him when the nightmares became too much and had him bolting awake, covered in cold sweat. Loved him when he was bitching and loved him when you made him smile bright enough the room lit up. 

He was yours and you were his and you wouldn't have it any other way. 

You both finished your hotdogs, stopping near a trashcan to toss the rubbish. You paused, looking up at Jason a moment before bursting out laughing. He had mustard smeared over his top lip and was apparently entirely unaware of it. 

A part of you wanted to take a photo. The rest of you was content for it to be a memory only you knew about. 

"C'mere." Using your napkin you wiped away the yellow, flashing it at him before throwing it away with the rest. "Can't take you anywhere, I swear." 

"What would I do without you, angel?" Jason wrapped his arms around you. 

"Crash and burn, baby, crash and burn." 

Jason kissed you, lips curled into a grin against yours. 

Then he was taking your hand again. "I hear music," was all he said before pulling you with him to chase after the sound. 

The walkway came to an end, opening out onto a larger circular area. In the center was a gazebo, brightly decorated in Christmas lights. A band was under it, playing some boppy songs that were no doubt hideously copyrighted and illegal to be playing. 

No one seemed to care. 

Jason glanced at you, the twinkle in his eye saying everything. 

"Jay, no!" 

Too late. Jason was tugging you along into the area, getting to a spot in front of the gazebo before twirling you around and pulling you to him again. 

"Jay!" You tried to protest again, but he was grinning, spinning you both in the snow, and it didn't come out all that strongly. 

Maybe you should've been embarrassed, or cared that people were watching, but it was no lie when you'd said it was easy to be uninhibited with Jason. 

You danced together. Badly. It was fun. More fun than you'd had in ages it seemed. Worries and cares slipped away, the world zoning down to just the two of you, snow swirling around you both. 

The song came to an end and Jason dipped you dramatically. There a couple of whoots from around you, but you paid them no attention, too focused on Jason still. His curls were covered in snowflakes, the white stark against the dark and the tips of his ears and nose were tinged pink with cold. He'd never looked so handsome and you'd never loved him more. 

He was looking straight back at you, eyes wide and open, searching your own, the love you felt reflected back at you. He was mustering up to something, you knew him well enough to see that, but what you couldn't guess. 

He grasped both hands, fingers locking together. "Y/N-" he stopped himself, closed his eyes a second while he took a breath, then opened them again. 

"When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;

For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings."

"Jay," you whispered when he stopped, the words spoken with such earnest you could feel the tears cold on your face. "I-" 

His chuckle sounded nervous. "Thought I knew how I was going to say all this, but now it's time, I...I don't."

You watched speechless, as Jason released your hands so he could pull a small box from the inside pocket of his jacket, keeping your gaze locked on his as he dropped down onto one knee. 

"I love you, Y/N. I love you so much there aren't any words in poems or songs that could fully capture it all, so I can only ask you to take my word as truth. You make my life better than I deserve it to be, you always have. You're the bright spot, the sun that shines so brightly I can't ever get lost in the dark. You're the anchor that keeps me grounded when everything else feels like it's flying apart. The one who's been through thick and thin with a smile and a stolen cookie. And all I want is to be that person for you in return. I want to make you as happy as you make me, to be there no matter what. To make you laugh and smile and brush away the tears when you're sad. I want a lifetime of late nights and lazy Sunday mornings where we say fuck the world and don't get out of bed till noon. I want a lifetime of you not giving a shit about making a mess, a lifetime of you being there to clean up my own. I…want a lifetime of being with you."

He paused, opening the box and holding it up so the ring that lay nestled inside glinted in the light. "I want you to say yes and marry me."

You were crying freely now. The tears froze on your skin, but you couldn't care. You tried to speak, but the words got caught in your throat. So you nodded. Grinned so hard it hurt and nodded. 

Jason breathed a sigh of relief and slipped the glove off your hand. The ring fit perfectly. A simple thing with a red ruby set in the middle with white diamonds around it. It was beautiful. 

He stood just in time for you to fling yourself at him. He caught you in a hug, hands coming to support you as your legs wrapped around him. 

There were cheers and applause and the band even began a rendition of 'Congratulations'. 

You blushed, burying your face in his neck. "Did you plan all this?" 

Jason turned, nose brushing against yours. "No. Was going to wait until later actually, but the moment seemed right."

You smiled at him, pressing your lips to his in a brief kiss. "I love you."

"I love you." Jason let his forehead rest against yours, keeping you in his arms until the song came to an end. He let you down, his hands on your hips as you steadied yourself. "I've got one more thing I want to do tonight," he said, brushing the remains of your tears away with his thumb. 

"I'm not sure I can take any more surprises, Jay."

"This is more private. Trust me."

You smiled, taking a hand with your left and looking down at the ring that shone there. "Always."

~

It was even colder up here, the snow entirely undisturbed and thick crunching beneath your feet as you walked to edge. 

Jason had brought you to the roof of Wayne Enterprises, the building towering so high above the rest of the city, the lights below seemed a million miles away. 

"It's been years since we've been up here," you said, looking out over Gotham, "Not since-" 

"Not since I was Robin." Jason came up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist and holding you securely against a solid wall of chest, just like he had done when you were teens. "Seemed appropriate to come back tonight."

"This where you were going to pop the question?" 

"Originally. Do you wish I'd waited?"

Shaking your head, you glanced over your shoulder at him. "You could've proposed in the shower and it would've been perfect. Anywhere would've been perfect."

"You old romantic."

"Says the one who recited Shakespeare before proposing in the snow. I started to think I'd been transported into a Hallmark movie."

Jason laughed softly. "Okay, point taken."

In the distance a clock started to chime, counting down to midnight. 

Jason's grasp on you tightened, his head resting on your shoulder. 

The clock hit twelve and Gotham's skyline lit up with fireworks. From up here you had an unfiltered view and could watch them shoot into the dark sky and explode into colors of all shades. 

"Beautiful." 

"Yeah," Jason agreed. You looked at him to see he was looking back at you, the fireworks lighting up his face in the darkness. 

"Jay?" 

"Thank you. For saying yes."

"I love you, Jason Todd. You deserve more than you think you do. And now you're stuck with me telling you that forever."

Jason smiled, watching you a moment longer. "I'd do anything for you, angel. I'd give you the world on a platter if that's what you wanted."

Turning in his arms, you put your back to the fireworks that were still going off in favor of wrapping your arms around his neck. "All I want is you."

"You have me."

"Then I'm happy."

"And that's all I want."

You smiled back at him. "Happy New Year, baby."

"Happy New Year, angel."

Jason kissed you and a whole new set of fireworks exploded.

Like what you read? Consider buying me a coffee! (I’ll love you forever!)

Tagging: @musikat18