67bottles-of-milk

[67bottles-of-milk]

you don't have to know that its haunted

sequel to everything's growing in our garden

jason todd x wife! reader

synopsis: its been a week since Jason came home with a baby. and a week since nobody's heard from him. the bats are starting to get worried

words: 5.5k

---

The warehouse in the Narrows was full of angry men with bigger guns and worse aim.

Tim ducked behind a crate, firing off two smoke pellets in quick succession. “Red Robin to Nightwing. East flank’s covered.

Duke ducked a swinging pipe and countered with a sweep kick. “This would be going a lot faster if someone was here!”

“Who?” Steph called from across the concrete floor, dodging a hail of bullets like she was on a trampoline. “You mean the guy who insisted on leading this raid and then ghosted us for a week straight?”

“I’m sure he has a good reason,” Dick grunted, grappling up to a rusted support beam to take out a sniper. “Probably just... busy.”

“‘Busy’ like disappeared-off-the-face-of-the-earth busy?” Tim ducked behind a crate, flicked a batarang, and it thunked into someone’s shoulder with a satisfying yelp. “He hasn’t answered a single text!”

“No comms. No pings. No passive-aggressive threats in the group chat,” Steph added, ducking a blow and elbowing her attacker in the jaw. “I miss his threats. They kept me humble.”

Damian landed in the middle of three goons like a meteor. His sword was sheathed but his fists were doing plenty of talking.

“Hood is fine,” he said, punching a guy square in the nose. “Probably sulking.”

The fight thinned out fast after that. The last of the gang scattered once their heavy hitters hit the floor, and Nightwing gave the all-clear. Dick tapped his comm. “Nice work. Everyone good?”

Steph flipped down from a crate. “Day six of no Jason. Day six of me doing double recon. No, I am not good”

“Day seven,” Tim corrected, frowning. “He last checked in last Thursday. Sent a selfie with a crowbar and a note that said ‘feeling cute might stop a trafficking ring later.’”

“Oh right.” Steph sighed. “Day seven. That’s a whole week. What the hell.”

They regrouped at the center of the warehouse, stepping over unconscious bodies and bits of broken crate. Someone had definitely been smuggling illegal tech. Damian kicked a smoking drone away with a grimace.

“I mean, this isn’t unlike him,” Duke said. “Disappearing used to be his brand.”

“He hasn’t done it once since the wedding,” Steph pointed out. “Not since he went full domestic. ‘New year, new me,’ or whatever. He bought houseplants. He answers texts.”

“He came to game night,” Dick added, nodding. “He made cocktails. Cocktails. With little name cards.”

“Married Jason is weird,” Tim muttered. “Weird and reliable.”

Cass tilted her head. “He loves her.”

Steph nodded. “Yeah. He’s happy.”

“And now he’s gone,” Damian said flatly. “Do we think she finally realized she’s out of his league?”

Everyone turned.

Damian rolled his eyes. “What? I am simply suggesting she developed self-awareness.”

Dick exhaled slowly. “No. Something’s wrong.”

There was a beat of silence. Long enough to feel the worry settle in.

“No sightings on patrol,” Tim murmured, pulling out his tablet. “No activity on his usual burner numbers. No Red Hood reports. No dead traffickers or dramatic flaming bike tracks in the street.”

Steph added, “Also no passive-aggressive tweets. Not even a cryptic one about guns and how much he loves his wife. He’s gone dark everywhere.”

“That’s not Jason,” Dick said. “Not anymore.”

Duke sighed. "We check in?"

Dick was already typing on his phone.

Delivered. Read.

No reply.

—

Your apartment looks like a Babies “R” Us exploded.

There are bottles drying on the dish rack, a folded blanket fort on the couch, diapers stacked in the corner like munitions. The baby swing clicks softly every time it rocks, a white noise machine hums from the bedroom, and you’re pretty sure the stuffed penguin Jason impulse bought on the first night may be sentient. 

This is not the life you imagined. It is infinitely better.

One week since a warehouse fire, a crying baby, a soot-covered vigilante, and the soft click of a window latch just before your life changed forever.

Briar has opinions now.

He yells at the ceiling fan. He grumbles when the bottle’s too cold. He has a deeply emotional relationship with Jason’s hoodie strings. He does not like being put down. At all. Ever. Not even a little bit.

Which is why, even though the apartment is full of lovingly Amazon-primed baby gear, Jason’s sitting on the floor, legs crossed, shirt rumpled, and hair a mess from where Briar’s been gripping it like a lifeline. He’s humming absentmindedly, tunelessly as he rocks a very serious baby against his chest. Briar, in his little footie pajamas, is holding Jason’s necklace like it grants him power. His tiny fist clenches and unclenches around the chain every time Jason shifts.

Jason’s eyes are dark-ringed, his voice hoarse.

He looks wrecked. He looks beautiful.

The baby snuffles, then lets out a soft little sigh against Jason’s chest, nuzzling under his jaw like he was born to fit there. Jason looks down with something painfully soft in his expression. He hasn’t shaved in three days. You think he’s scared to put the baby down.

“Ma,” he whispers, not even looking up. “He’s doin’ the thing again.”

You peek over. “Which thing?”

“The Velcro baby thing. Every time I move, he—” Jason shifts slightly and Briar lets out a pre-cry squawk. Jason winces. “Yeah. That.”

You laugh, and your voice cracks like old vinyl. “Congratulations. He’s imprinted. You’re the momma duck now.”

Jason huffed a quiet laugh, eyes still on the baby. “Guess he’s got shit taste.”

“He has excellent taste,” you say, running your fingers through Jason’s hair. “That’s the man who saved him. You’re his person.”

Jason didn’t answer for a moment. He just looked down at Briar, who shifted closer and is currently very impressed by his own hand. Jason’s whole expression softened.

Then his phone buzzed on the coffee table.

He groans and reaches for it with his free hand, squinting at the screen.

“…Dickhead,” he says.

“Is that an insult or a contact name?”

“Both.”

You lift your head. Jason holds the phone out so you can read it:

You okay? No pressure. Just checking in. We miss you. Hope you’re safe.

You blink. “You didn’t tell your family?”

Jason looks at you. You look at the baby. Briar, still clinging to Jason like a barnacle, lets out a sleepy judgy little squeak and goes back to gnawing on his own hand.

Jason clears his throat. “I… was going to.”

“When?”

“Eventually.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He wilts. “I just, I didn’t want to share yet. I wanted a minute. With him. With you. Just… us.”

You don’t say anything for a second. You just reach across the floor, touch his arm, and rub your thumb across a freckle near his wrist.

“You got a minute,” you say softly. “You got seven days.”

Jason looks back down at Briar, who is staring up at him with round, blinking eyes and one sock halfway off his foot. “He’s not gonna like it.”

“Dick?”

“No. Bruce.”

You frown, shifting so your knees bump his thigh. “He won’t be upset.”

Jason huffs, adjusting his grip as Briar decides now is a great time to arch his back and wiggle like a fish. “You don’t know him like that.”

You reach over and gently tug the tiny sock the rest of the way off before Briar can eat it. “I don’t have to. I know you. And you haven’t done anything wrong.”

Jason’s jaw works, but he doesn’t say anything. You’ve learned that silence from him doesn’t always mean disagreement. Sometimes it just means processing.

You press your hand into his. “Call Alfred.”

Jason blinks.

“Tell him we want to come over. Tomorrow. For lunch. Say we’ve got a surprise.”

Jason looks at his phone again, like it weighs a thousand pounds. His jaw works as he thinks. Then, slowly, he swipes open his contacts.

He finds the name and hits call. You can hear the phone ringing from where you sit. One ring. Two. Then:

“Master Jason,” comes the warm, unflappable voice on the other end.

Jason clears his throat. “Hey, Alfie.”

“You have been notably absent. I trust everything is well?”

Jason’s eyes flick to you. You nod. He nods back, like you’re passing courage between your hands. “Yeah. Yeah, actually. Everything’s… it’s really good. Uh. Listen, I was wondering if we could come by tomorrow?”

There’s a pause on the line.

“We?”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “Me and… my family.”

His voice breaks just slightly on the word.

From the other end: “Of course, Master Jason. Lunch will be ready at noon.”

“Should I set the dining room for the usual, or…?”

Jason freezes for a second. He doesn’t say anything.

And then, from the other end of the call, so gently you almost miss it:

“How many places should I set, sir?”

Jason closes his eyes. Of course Alfred figured it out. 

You watch his face. Watch the weight slide off his shoulders like dust in a sunbeam. He looks at you, then down at Briar, who lets out a tiny grunt and tugs on his shirt like dad. focus.

“…Three,” Jason says quietly. “Set three places for us.”

---

The first to notice the sound is Tim. He’s halfway through a second espresso when the low rumble of an engine cuts across the Manor’s quiet grounds.

He doesn’t look up right away, Jason’s engines are a regular soundtrack, but then he frowns.

“…That’s not his bike.”

Steph lifts her head from where she’s lying upside-down on the couch, feet thrown over the backrest, and blinks at him. “What?”

“It’s not his bike,” Tim says again, already moving to the window.

That’s enough to trigger the alarm. Within seconds, the manor is in motion.

Cass drifts silently into the hallway, already a shadow among shadows. Damian stalks down the stairs like he’s challenging someone to single combat before breakfast. Dick appears out of nowhere, half a protein bar in his mouth, phone pressed to his ear. He mumbles, “I’ll call you back, babe—yeah, promise, later tonight,” before hanging up with a sheepish grin. Duke strolls in like the only one who got a full eight hours and doesn’t secretly live in a clocktower.

They crowd the windows like old women at a neighborhood watch meeting.

Steph peels back the curtain. “That’s definitely not his bike. That’s a mom car.”

“It’s a Volvo,” Tim mutters.

Duke hums, crossing his arms. “Guess the dad era has begun.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Steph counters, “Dad Jason would be a nightmare”

Jason parks with careful precision, engine purring to a stop. He doesn’t move for a second. Then the driver’s door opens, and he steps out. He looks… calm. Purposeful.

But it’s the passenger seat that draws the real attention.

“Wait. Where’s his wife?” Steph squints. “She always rides with him.”

“Oh my god,” Tim whispers, eyes wide. “Did she leave him??”

“Is that the announcement?” Steph gasps. “Jason got dumped??”

“Finally,” Damian mutters under his breath, arms crossed like he predicted this day in a dream. “It was inevitable.”

Duke shoots him a look. “Man, could you not be so negative for, like, one second?”

Damian raises an eyebrow, completely calm. “I am simply stating facts. She is far too good for him.”

“Shut up, all of you,” Dick says, but his tone is distracted. Worried.

They watch Jason walk to the back door of the car. He opens it. Steps back.

And then—

“Oh my god,” Cass breathes.

Out steps you. Tired, radiant, holding a baby.

A very real, very bundled, tiny baby.

There’s a long pause.

Tim opens and closes his mouth like he’s rebooting. Steph makes a noise that might be a gasp or a laugh or a short-circuited wheeze. Dick drops his protein bar.

Damian stares.

“Is that—?” Steph starts.

“No,” Tim says, in a voice pitched halfway to panic. “No. He did not—”

“I knew he was acting weird,” Dick mutters.

“Oh good. Like this place needed more kids.” Damian deadpans. 

Steph whips around. “Dames, can you not be so cynical for, like, ONE minute?”

Damian just shrugs, totally unbothered. “We only have one butler.”

Jason walks around the car, casual as ever, takes the baby like he’s been doing it forever. The baby sighs, perfectly content. Jason glances up, sees the whole Batfam pressed against the glass, smirks, and waves.

Duke, faintly: “For the record, I meant the ‘Dad era’ thing as a joke.”

---

The door opens before you can even knock. Classic Alfred.

He does not react, at least, not in ways most people would see. Just steps aside, serene as ever, and says, “Welcome home, Master Jason,” with that warm gravity that squeezes your ribs a little tight.

Jason nods, jaw tense. “Alfie.”

He’s got Briar tucked to his chest, one big hand cupping the baby’s head like instinct. Briar lets out a startled, squeaky noise at the sudden change in air and light. Jason rocks him, barely aware he is doing it.

The family crowds the foyer but no one moves. You close the door behind you soft, careful. You can feel all their eyes. No one speaks.

Then, finally, Steph starts: “Okay. So. That’s a baby.”

Tim blinks hard, as if expecting the scene to glitch. “That’s a tiny baby.”

“He’s three months,” you say, voice steady. “His name’s Briar.”

Cass cocks her head, inching forward, silent as breath. Damian stays back, arms crossed, gaze sharp. Dick opens his mouth, then thinks better of it.

“Briar what?” Tim blurts, as if it’s the most important detail in the world.

You glance at Jason. He stays silent, jaw locked. You can’t help a little grin. “Go on, Jay. Tell them.”

 “Briar Vengeance Todd.” He murmurs. 

Jason’s eyes flick to Bruce. Just once. Then away.

The air cracks, like a glass dropped on tile.

“Vengeance?” Steph squeaks.

“I picked the first name. Jason got the middle,” you deadpan. “It was that or Grenade.”

Cass grins. Tim makes a noise that is probably not medically healthy.

“I fought hard for AK-47,” Jason mutters.

Jason stands his ground, adjusting Briar, who clings tighter, cheek to Jason’s chest, tiny fingers white-knuckled in his shirt.

Alfred’s voice glides in, warm as always: “I take it this was not planned?”

Jason’s eyes dart to Alfred with something soft, grateful. “There was a ring in Crime Alley. Trafficking kids. We shut it down. Building went up. Briar was the only one left.”

You add quietly, “Jason found him. Couldn’t leave him behind.”

Silence.

“He wouldn’t have survived the system,” you say, voice tight. “Gotham would’ve chewed him up.”

“And we weren’t going to let that happen,” Jason finishes, softer than anyone’s ever heard him.

Cass edges closer. “He’s yours?”

You nod. “He’s ours.”

Jason is rigid, every muscle wound tight, as if expecting someone to challenge him. He holds Briar like a shield.

“Is this… permanent?” Dick asks, carefully. “Like… legal?”

Jason answers, voice flat: “Yes. It’s all done. Adoption. Guardianship. Social security. All of it. Got it done in three days.”

You correct, “Forged in three days.”

“Forged legally.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“I gave the guy a Ducati. Legally binding bribe.”

Cass laughs, soft. Tim can’t help a reluctant smile. Dick just stares, awe and terror mingled.

Jason still won’t look at Bruce.

And Bruce stood still, arms folded, unmoving at the back, eyes unreadable.

You reach for his sleeve, squeezing. He exhales slow, heavy.

Briar squirms, makes a tiny grunt. Jason moves without thinking, soothing him. Hand making circles at his back, steady.

“Doesn’t like crowds,” Jason murmurs.

Duke snorts. “Like father, like son.”

Alfred’s lips twitch, amused and gentle. “Lunch is ready, Master Jason. I’ve set three places.”

Jason blinks at the words, at the understanding in Alfred’s eyes.

He clears his throat. “Thanks, Alfie.”

No sarcasm. Just quiet gratitude.

---

Lunch at Wayne Manor has never been this quiet.

Well, not quiet quiet. There’s the clink of silverware, the occasional shuffle of chairs, Tim whisper-arguing with Damian over who gets the last of the bread basket. But no one's raising their voice. No one’s fighting. And no one’s paying attention to their plates.

Because all eyes are on Briar.

Briar looks up at the sea of unfamiliar faces staring at him across the table, eyes wide and unblinking. He doesn’t seem to know what to make of it, so he just babbles, louder, as if that’ll answer any questions.Every sound he makes is met with stunned silence, then adoring coos and applause.

“You guys know he doesn’t actually speak, right?” you say, mildly amused.

“He’s a prodigy,” Tim whispers back, eyes huge.

“He’s expressing opinions,” Cass agrees.

Briar lets out a high-pitched squeal and flaps one arm. The entire table reacts like he just dropped a groundbreaking TED Talk.

“See?” Steph gasps. “He just made a point about urban infrastructure.”

“He said we need better support for local agriculture,” Tim insists.

“He called Drake a clown,” Damian says.

“Okay,” Dick says, leaning forward, hands steepled like he’s in a boardroom. “So I’ve been thinking. I should be the godfather.”

You blink. “We haven’t given that any thought yet”

“I’m still the oldest.”

“I’m the most responsible,” Steph says.

“You once gave a toddler a taser,” Duke deadpans.

“It was off!”

Jason hasn’t said much.

He’s sitting next to you, still subtly in that guard dog posture, shoulders squared and senses alert, like someone might try and snatch the baby out of your hands if he lets his guard down. But his eyes, those have softened. He’s watching Briar like he’s memorizing every little movement. Every blink. Every sound.

And when Briar fusses? The whole table freezes.

It’s just a soft noise at first. A little grumble, like a storm cloud forming behind his scrunched-up brow.

“Oh no,” you murmur.

Jason’s already halfway out of his seat, reaching for the diaper bag like it’s a medical emergency. “He’s hungry.”

Immediately, every Bat within a five-foot radius transforms into a bottle-wielding, pacifier-offering volunteer.

“I’ll feed him—” “Let me—” “He waved at me earlier, he likes me the best—” “I have medical training—” “You do not, Damian—”

You hand Briar off to Jason before the diplomatic crisis escalates.

Briar goes quiet the second he’s in his dad’s arms. Little fists unclench. Big, glossy eyes blink up at Jason like, finally, the peasants have stepped aside.

Jason doesn’t even look smug. Just solid. Sure.

He takes the bottle like he was born for this. Cradles Briar into the crook of his arm and guides the bottle to his mouth with one hand, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the baby's leg with the other.

Briar latches like a champ and starts drinking with such focus you'd think he was in a competitive sport.

Jason exhales, just the smallest breath, but you see it. The tension bleeding out of his shoulders, the hard lines around his eyes softening as Briar settles.

He’s still alert, still holding the baby like a precious, volatile artifact, but the edge has dulled. His jaw unclenches. The hand that had been gripping the bottle like it might vanish loosens its hold, and he adjusts Briar in his arms with gentle ease, thumb brushing over the baby's fleece-covered belly like a grounding anchor.

The dining room collectively melts.

"God, that's cute," Steph sighs, holding her chest like she’s physically in pain. "I feel like I need to sit down. I am sitting down. I need to sit more."

“Look at them,” Dick whispers, like he’s afraid to scare the moment away. “That’s like… peak contentment. That’s what monks are chasing.”

“Fatherhood suits him,” Alfred says, voice warm as ever, as he places a fresh glass of water by Jason’s elbow. “Though I do hope Master Briar’s dinner preferences extend beyond one caregiver eventually.”

Jason smirks a little at that, still not looking away from his son.

Cass watches them both, eyes wide and shining. “He looks happiest with you.”

You smile and lean back in your seat, stretching your arms with a sigh. “He is.”

Everyone turns toward you.

You hold up your hands, grinning. “Don’t take it personally, okay? He sometimes refuses to eat from me, too.”

“He just…” you glance at Jason, who’s cooing under his breath and adjusting Briar’s sock again before it can fall. “He likes his dad. That’s his guy.”

Jason flushes lightly and rolls his eyes, but he’s not really annoyed. Not even close. The teasing doesn’t reach him, not when he’s cradling one half of his whole world in one arm and keeping his son fed, safe, warm, while the other half sits by his side with stars in her eyes.

Briar’s eyes drift shut slowly, mouth still working at the bottle. His fingers curl around the edge of Jason’s hoodie.

Jason leans back just a little in his chair, legs stretched under the table, and lets the weight of his son settle into his chest.

---

After lunch, everyone moved to one of the many sitting rooms in the manor.

The room humming. Not with conversation (though there's plenty of that) but with energy. The kind that vibrates through the floorboards, soft and giddy and new.

Briar is the source of it, naturally.

He’s stationed on your lap, the certified center of the universe. His hair is rumpled from burrowing into your shirt, his cheeks pink and soft, his legs kicking idly. His hands are exploring: your sleeve, the couch cushion, the hem of his own onesie. A rotating cast of vigilantes try, and fail, to become his favourite.

Dick makes faces. Cass plays peekaboo. Steph gently offers him a stuffed bat she snuck from the batcave. Tim has constructed a batplane out of coasters. Duke is sitting still, determined not to move because Briar grabbed his thumb. Damian is...watching silently from a distance with a furrowed brow and a single grape in his hand like he’s debating whether to offer it as tribute.

Briar laughs at them all. Then immediately shoves his face into your chest, like their attention is too much and you are home base. His laugh becomes a squeak, then a shy whimper, then another giggle when you murmur something soft in his ear and press a kiss to the side of his head.

Jason watches it all from his spot by the wall.

And then he moves.

Without a word, he crosses the room and drops into the open space on the couch beside Bruce. Jason sits up straight, posture tight but deliberate. His arms cross. His jaw flexes. Then he turns his head, just a little.

“All right,” he says, voice steady. “Lay it on me.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Lay what on you?”

“You know,” Jason shrugs, a little too sharp around the edges. “The lecture. I was impulsive. Reckless. Should’ve looped you in before I brought home a baby.”

Bruce is quiet for a beat, then says simply, “That’s not what I was thinking.”

Jason glances at him, wary. “No? You've been quiet all day. I could feel you thinking”

“I was thinking,” Bruce says, “that you’re going to be a better father than I ever was.”

Jason’s head tilts, slow and uncertain. “...What?”

Bruce’s eyes are calm. “I mean it.”

Jason lets out a short, stunned laugh, like he’s not sure what to do with that.

“I—” he starts, then rubs a hand over his face. “I thought you were going to chew me out. You always said I was too hot-headed. I figured this’d be another tally on the ‘Jason acts without thinking’ list.”

Bruce huffs out a laugh. Quiet, real, almost fond. “You took in a kid you found in Crime Alley.”

He turns, expression unreadable but voice gentler than it’s been in years. “Sound familiar?”

Jason groans and slumps back into the couch as something in his brain clicks. “Oh, come on.”

“I’m just saying,” Bruce continues, a little smug now, “it’s not as original as you think.”

“Okay, but at least I didn’t put him in a cape after two weeks,” Jason shoots back, arms crossed again but not so defensively this time.

Bruce chuckles. “That’s fair.”

They sit for a moment in silence, watching as Briar takes in the peanut gallery while leaning lightly against your chest, soft baby noises muffled by your sweater. Dick is still trying to balance a toy on his head. Steph is taking selfies, Cass is staring with a small smile. Duke and Tim are locked in a fierce competition to see who can make the baby laugh first. Damian is now offering his single grape to the baby with solemn reverence, despite being ignored.

Jason glances down, jaw tense again, but softer now. “He’s… everything.”

Bruce nods. “I can see that.”

Jason swallows. Then, quieter: “I used to think you were holding me back. Being too hard on me. That you didn’t trust me to figure it out.”

“I didn’t always do it right,” Bruce admits, voice low. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to raise kids. I still don’t.”

“You tried, though,” Jason says, looking over at him. “I get that now. I—he wakes up crying in the middle of the night and I have no idea why. Sometimes I’m so tired I forget my own name. But I’d still do anything for him. Every time.”

Bruce is quiet. Then: “That’s all I ever wanted. For all of you.”

Jason nods, slow. “I know.”

Another pause.

“Thanks,” he adds, voice rough again. “For not giving me hell about it. I was expecting a lot worse.”

“You’ve grown,” Bruce says. “You love him. That’s what matters.”

Jason glances at him, a small smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“Guess we’re not so different after all.”

They both turn at the same time when a shriek cuts across the room like a tiny, furious banshee wail.

Briar, currently perched on Tim’s lap like a wiggly prince, has gone bright red in the face. His little fists are clenched. His eyes are wet. There is righteous fury in the very way he kicks his socks off.

“Oh for—” You sigh, push off the armrest, and walk over to reclaim him from the chaos. “You guys passed him around like a hot potato. He can’t even eat potatoes.”

“He was smiling a minute ago!” Steph protests, already laughing.

“He was tolerating you,” Damian deadpans.

Jason sighs and stands before anyone else can move. “Yeah. That’s enough celebrity meet and greet for one day.”

You roll your eyes fondly and catch Briar as he attempts to throw himself backward. “Okay, okay,” you murmur, shifting him into your arms and walking him over. 

Jason opens his arms like a sleepy reflex. You hand Briar off without ceremony.

The baby nestles into Jason’s chest with the dramatic flair of a starlet taking to fainting couches. He lets out a few residual sniffles, hiccups, and then… silence. Peace. His tiny fingers clutch the collar of Jason’s henley like it’s his favorite blanket.

“See?” you say, collapsing back into your seat. “Dramatic little daddy’s boy.”

Everyone watches, a little stunned.

And then Briar, who’d gone momentarily docile, blinks up at Bruce.

Stares.

Stares hard.

Jason notices it at the same time you do. “He’s locked on.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Is he… glaring at me?”

“No,” you say slowly, watching as Briar’s eyes go wide and curious. “I think he’s curious.”

Briar babbles something that might be a question. Then without hesitation, he stretches one hand out toward Bruce. Little fingers opening and closing, again and again.

“Oh,” Jason blinks. “He’s doing grabby hands.”

Bruce freezes. “He wants me?”

“I think he’s offering you a second chance,” Jason mutters, barely hiding a grin. “Use it wisely.”

There’s a long beat of hesitation. Bruce looks like someone just handed him an alien. But slowly, stiffly, like he’s trying not to trigger a trap, he reaches out and lets Jason guide Briar into his arms.

Jason’s hand lingers, steadying the back of Briar’s head.

“Support his neck,” he says quietly, adjusting Bruce’s hold. “He’s little, yeah, but he’s got a strong core. Just keep your arm here—yeah, perfect.”

Bruce lets out a breath.

Briar nestles in against his chest and promptly shoves a fist into his own mouth.

“I’ve… never held a baby this young,” Bruce murmurs. “All the kids I am used to were … a little older”

“You’re doing fine,” Jason says, lips twitching. “He hasn’t rejected you yet.”

They lapse into silence again. Not tense. Just thoughtful.

Jason watches his son curl sleepily into Bruce’s shoulder, drooling a little onto the expensive fabric of Bruce’s button-down.

“You know,” Jason says eventually, voice quieter. “He’s gonna be better than either of us.”

Bruce nods, slow. “He will be.”

He hesitates, then says, voice rougher, “I should have said this a long time ago, but… I’m proud of you, Jason. Of the man, and the father, you are.”

Jason’s breath catches, just for a second. Then he huffs a laugh, looking away. “That’s enough sap for the year, old man.”

Bruce’s lips twitch. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

Jason finally cracks a grin. “No promises.”

There’s a little contented noise from Briar then. A sigh. Full-body. Like he’s just let go of something heavy. Bruce adjusts his hold—

And stills.

Jason narrows his eyes. “What?”

Bruce looks down at his shoulder. Then at the growing wet spot spreading over the front of his shirt.

He looks at Jason, deadpan.

“Your son just peed on me.”

Jason blinks.

Then throws his head back and laughs like he hasn’t in days.

“Hell yeah,” he wheezes. “That’s my boy. I’m so proud of him.”

Briar yawns, pleased with himself.

Bruce closes his eyes. “I see fatherhood hasn’t matured you at all.”

“Not even a little,” Jason says, and grins.

And for a moment, just one, Bruce smiles too.

---

The manor is quiet now.

Dinner plates cleared. Crumbs wiped off the floor. A very serious debate about Briar’s favorite animal still unresolved in the group chat Tim started. Everyone’s tired. Everyone’s full. And Briar?

Briar is blinking slow and heavy in Jason’s arms, caught in that sweet, drifting space between sleep and wake. He’s clutching your shirt in one tiny fist, his other hand gripping Jason’s neck, like he wants to hold onto both of you at once.

You’re walking the halls in soft steps, trying to lull him deeper into rest. Jason’s the one rocking him, murmuring little things under his breath like they’re secrets:

“That cabinet right there? Alfred’s sacred china. He says it’s for ‘important guests.’ We had Superman over once. Still didn’t make the cut.”

“Uncle Dick has tried to swing from that chandelier every Christmas since I was twelve. He says he’s being festive. Alfred says he’s being stupid.”

“See that portrait? That’s the one I drew a moustache on when I first moved in. Didn’t go over great.”

It’s soothing, this little loop. You and Jason side by side, swaying in rhythm as you trace your way through the familiar turns. And maybe it’s just instinct or fate, but somehow the walk takes you down further. Below the main halls. Past the wine cellar. Deeper.

To the Cave.

Jason doesn’t even realize where you are until the lights above flicker on.

And you’re standing there, together, facing the glass.

The Robin suit stands in its case like a ghost. Perfectly preserved, perfectly still. Yellow cape. Red tunic. The words etched on the front still sting, even now:

“A Good Soldier.”

Jason doesn’t flinch. But his breath catches for a second. That’s enough. You shift closer, brushing your shoulder against his. Let your hand rest lightly at the small of his back. Not pushing. Just there.

Briar stirs, sighs, and burrows into his father’s neck.

Jason’s eyes stay on the case.

“He won’t wear a mask,” he says eventually. Voice flat, but not cold.

You nod. Say nothing.

“He’ll have scraped knees and dumb jokes and weird hobbies. He’ll cry when his fish dies and hate broccoli and ask ‘why’ every five seconds.”

You huff softly. “Sounds exhausting.”

“Sounds like freedom,” Jason says.

And you see it then. The shift. The way his grip on Briar softens. The way he leans a little closer to you, like he’s not carrying this alone anymore. Like he finally believes it.

You don’t say much. You don’t need to. Your hand slides over his, fingers brushing where he cups the back of Briar’s head. A quiet thank you. A quiet I’m here.

Jason’s thumb moves again, those slow, steady arcs.

“He’ll never know what any of this meant to me,” Jason says.

You shake your head. “He’ll just know you love him.”

Jason looks at you then. Really looks.

And it’s there. All of it.

The fear. The past. The choice.

The love.

Your free hand finds the back of his neck. You press your forehead to his temple and breathe him in. “Let’s go home,” you whisper.

Jason turns away from the glass.

And walks.

------

I don't know how, but I'm taller It must be something in the water Everything's growing in our garden You don't have to know that it's haunted The doctor put her hands over my liver She told me my resentment's getting smaller No, I'm not afraid of hard work I get everything I want I have everything I wanted

------

a/n: so... i wasnt going to do a part 2. then i realized its jason's birthday. and my internship ended yesterday which meant I had a whole day of bedrotting and writing. also the lyric 'Everything is growing in our garden' is a two parter so I just had to do it.

and yes the baby is named after a bush. it grew on me and fit the garden theme. and promise promise promise the last part of Is it a crime to lie? is coming soon <333

[67bottles-of-milk]

You and Jason have been dating for six months, so you should be pretty used to each other by now. He knows all of your quirks, all of your likes and dislikes- what makes you tick and how to bring you back to him on those bad days. You know he has dimples on his lower back, and a sweet tooth for mint chocolate chip ice cream.

But sometimes, you catch yourselves acting like little kids with crushes bigger than yourselves. The sneaky little glances before your eyes dart away, knowing you’ve been caught. The blush on his cheeks when he realizes this is real and he has you, and he’s yours. The fidgeting of his hands on date night, you twirling your thumbs and attempting to hide your smile. Smoothing your hands down your dress because he makes you nervous, and he’s standing in front of you looking so handsome and too shy for someone who’s slept in the same bed as you.

Or the nights when he thinks you’re asleep. When you’re laying on your back, and he’s so caught up in tracing the slope of your nose with his pinky- admiring how soft you look under even softer moonlight that he startles when you turn to face him. The eye contact stretches long, the silence longer and before either of you can help it, you start giggling like two idiots in love. His laugh more like a sigh, laced with a shyness only you can bring out, and the single dimple on his cheek makes its appearance once again. These sweet moments belong to the two of you, your own little world. And he hopes you’ll let him stay in your world forever.

God, you’re both pathetic.

[67bottles-of-milk]

Did I just shave my legs after a winter of not doing so? Maybe. Did it inspire this random thought? Perchance yes. Enjoy. Also shout out to the girlies that consistently do an everything shower, you’re insane and I love that for you.

Jason Todd x reader Drabble

……………………………………………………

Jason showed up to your home unprompted, to your uncanny displeasure. Despite your disgruntled look, you still let Jason in, so clearly not too peeved with him. When he asked why, you complained about how you were just going to take a shower. He brushed you off with an “I’ll keep myself busy, sweetheart” and “you stink anyway”. The last one earned him a smack on the arm.

“It’s an everything shower and definitely not with any 3-in-1 stuff” you had chided.

“I’m insulted you think I would use 3-in-1. Go everything in the shower. I’ll be fine.” You had given him questioning arched brow but conceded.

“Your open to whatever you want in the kitchen,” you had said and scampered off to the bathroom. That was almost an hour ago and Jason was beginning to worry that maybe you slipped in the shower. He likes to think if you had managed to hurt yourself, he would know, but he could never be sure with you.

You finally burst out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. You looked glowy and tired. You hit the kitchen first only to settle on the couch next to him with tub of ice cream and spoon. A wave of pleasant earthy, florals hit him as you walk around him that has him perk him up a bit from his drowsy reading. Your legs are thrown across his lap, feet resting on the arm rest, and he moves his book slightly to glance your bare skin before going back to reading. You huff and take spoonful of ice cream before setting the tub on the coffee table.

“I shaved my legs,” you say from where your laying on your back. One of your legs bends at the knee and your foot settles on his thigh. He glances at your face, and you give an insistent nod toward your leg.

“Okay?” Jason wasn’t afraid to admit that he was confused.

You lift your leg up and in front of his face. He suddenly feels like he’s in some cartoon world where he’s being seduced by a Jessica rabbit character in a baggy t shirt and shorts with the way you're presenting your leg to him.

The vision is broken when you gleefully exclaim, “their sooooo smooth!”

Jason drops his book to the nightstand next to the couch. His hand wraps around your ankle and he tugs your leg down to meet the other. His hand smooth up your calf and he’s surprised by How smooth they really are. Jason’s felt your legs hairy and prickly, it never bothered him, but you glass skin has him a little entranced. His hand moves up and down the delicate skin and rubs at your knee.

“Well?” You ask, staring at him.

“It’s very smooth, sweetheart,” his hand moves over your knee to squeeze at your thigh. You lean over and pick your ice cream up.

“Isn’t it great?” Take an awkward bite of ice cream laying in your back. “I wouldn’t get use to it though” you say your words with a wince as you accidentally bite into the ice cream. It makes Jason grin as you talk with your mouth full of ice cream. He steals the spoon from you and scoops out his own bite of ice cream.

“Hey!” You shriek, sitting up. He pushes you back down with a hand to your face.

“Sharing is caring,” he tells you as he drags you knee up to press his now cold lips there.

“I just showered and now your getting ice cream on me!” Your accusatory tone makes him cackle. “You're such a boy!”

“You love it.”

“Whatever.”

He presses his lips to your knee, and you shriek again. If you didn’t want him touching your legs, you shouldn’t have given him such easy access. ******

Masterlist

[67bottles-of-milk]

Oh my god i just read your tim x mean reader and I'm OBSESSED. Now I can't stop thinking about what that duo would be like at a gala or press conference. Like I imagine her being really charismatic and aiding Tim in his public appearances as CEO. She's totally giving peoples princess meets mob wife. Idk I just love the idea of them being an iconic power couple in the public eye.

I'm still trying to flesh out this version of reader. she's different than what I'm used to so if this doesn't truly capture what your asking I'm sorry, but I do hope this works!

_________

The flashing lights were a bit much. If you had it your way, you and Tim would sneak in the back entrance and enjoy the gala from there. Unfortunately for you, your frenemy turned lover boyfriend was a CEO who had to show face. 

He had picked you up for the night, all dapper in his suit, hair attempted to slick back but strands slipped forward anyway. You’d kissed him first thing, walking through the door. He had hummed pleased about it, clicking his tongue as he teased about you missing him. 

You’d nodded along with him, walking away with a sly smile at his red tinted lips. After all you only needed something to blot your lips. 

He helped you put your shoes on at the door, not so stealthily feeling up your leg. YOu gave him a little mercy unbeknownst to him, wiping at the corner of his mouth with your thumb so it wasn't too obvious that your lipstick was blotted across his lips. 

For someone so observant, he was being awfully oblivious to your devious action which brings you back to the carpeted entry to the gala with the journalist. Another camera flash makes your eye twitch. You’d been staring at Tim talk, if only to keep yourself from shouting at the photograph. You could tell even Tim was getting a little peeved but he knew how to keep himself in check. 

The journalist was a nice lady, asking questions focused on the future of Wayne Tech and the aid missions they were funding. She even went as far as asking you questions too, about how your college was going and, playfully, if Tim Drake was as charming in private as he was in public. You had laughed along with her. Your arm wrapped around Tim’s waist as his hand settled on your shoulder. 

“Well, you two are such sweethearts, thank you for taking a moment with me. Enjoy the gala!” She shakes Tim’s hand and you blow her a kiss as she moves onto the next person. 

“She was nice,” you hum to Tim as another camera flash hits your eye. You turn to glare at the man you had assumed was with her but had unfortunately not moved on. 

“There she is,” the camera flashes again, to your annoyance. 

“I think that’s enough pictures,” you tell him, Tim;s thumb rubs against your shoulder, quelling some of your upset. 

“Never enough pictures of you, baby.” he snaps another picture and you prepare yourself to scream at him. Before you can, Tim steps forward pushing you behind him.

“You're not allowed to talk to her like that. Leave.” Tim’s voice leaves no room for argument and you know why. It’s his Robin voice, his leading voice, for when things are tough and he’s the one in charge.

It certainly doesn't stop the man but he does step back slightly, “Jesus, man. I'm just doing my job.” 

“Your job doesn't include harassing my girlfriend,” evidently the conversation had garnered the attention of some of the other reporters, uneasy glances being shared between them all. 

“Shit, my bad. Thought she was some paid whore.” the woman that interviewed you audible gasps and you watch Tim’s fists ball up. 

“Shut your mouth,” Tim snaps. It takes you two seconds to find the eyes of the nearest security guard. You nod towards the man evidently jeering at Tim. Your hand curls around Tim's balled hand as you watch two more guards make their way to the man. 

He throws a glance you over his shoulder and you gesture to the guards. His hands and shoulders ease as the security grabs the man's arms, not saying a word and dragging him out.

“I’m press. I'm press! You can't drag me out. You cant-” you dont catch the rest of his complaints and you don't care too. The woman that had interviewed Tim earlier makes her back to you. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. You press a hand into Tim’s back trying to calm him down more.

“We’ll be okay. That guy was a total asshole.” you answer before wincing. No cursing had been part of the protocol Tim gave you when he first introduced you into his more public civilian life. 

“He totally was! Not all press are like that, I promise,” she reassures you before turning to Tim, “Good job for not decking him. That’d be all over the front page for the rest of the week if you had. CEO Assaults Press. These hounds would have a heyday.” She gestures to the other reporters, suddenly milling a lot closer to them. 

“Thanks,” Tim huffs, giving you an apologetic look and you know he wishes he had punched him. 

“How ‘bout CEO’s Girlfriend Assaults Press? I was five seconds behind him.” You complain. 

“Oh, I bet you’d look great beating him up.” Her eyes gleam and you laugh.  Boy, if she knew your extracurricular activities.

“And those security guards! You didn't even say anything to them but they sure did listen.”

Tim leans over to whisper in your ear, “I think you have a fan.”

The woman flushes lightly, “sorry, I should let you two go.” 

“Write a good article for us, yeah?” You shake her hand this time.

“Of course!” she waves you two off. You and Tim beeline it for the gala, sweeping past the line of reporters. 

The next morning, there’s an article in the paper titled CEO and Girlfriend assaulted by Press. It has lively quips from the actual interview Tim had with her as well as a summary of the events leading to the man being escorted out as well as a whole paragraph blasting the news company he worked for. The article ends in compliments to Tim.

“Timothy Drake defends what he cares about, from international issues to his lovely girlfriend even if her claims are tacked in lipstick stains.”

“Lipstick stains? What’s she talking about?”Tim asks, setting his phone down on the bed. You had somehow managed to convince the rest of his family to not comment on his lips the entire gala. It's not that it was obvious, his lips tinged pinker than normal but they were a bunch of crazy detectives. It served no purpose other than you thought it was funny. 

You climb into his lap, clad in his shirt and wipe at his lip for the remnants of the lipstick, “Staking my claim, like she wrote. You really think the only reason I kissed you was cause I missed you? Come on, you know me better than that.”

He gaps at you and you lean down to dot a kiss on his bottom lip.

“It was there the entire night. I almost became a news scandal and you branded me?” He asks scornfully. You only laugh, tucking your head against his neck. You settle down knowing he’s about to rant at you about public image despite the way he almost threw the handbook out the night before.

__________

Masterlist

Make a request!

[67bottles-of-milk]

The Cat’s Already Out of the Bag

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

You never asked much of Jason. Not when it came to his past, not when it came to his scars, and definitely not when it came to the people who shared his blood or masked identities. He told you stories in pieces when he wanted to, in that gruff, careful way he had when he was testing how much of himself he could give without bleeding out. You loved him for it. Loved him in a way that didn’t require explanations or family dinners or Sunday brunches at a mansion.

You introduced him to your mom, to your closest friends. He grumbled, grinned through his teeth, and held your hand the whole time. That was enough.

And so, when he hesitated every time you brought up his family, you let it drop. You weren’t trying to be the girl who needed to be shown off like a trophy. He'd been through hell, and if you were his safe place now, you’d stay that way.

But life, as it turned out, had a stupid sense of humor.

It started at an animal shelter. You’d gone in looking for a cat. Something scrappy, a little moody, something like Jason, if you were being honest. You were crouched in front of a cage when a sharp voice behind you said, “That one is known to bite.”

You turned and saw a kid. Eleven, maybe twelve. Dark hair, posture like he owned the building. His arms were crossed, and he was staring at you like you were in his way.

“Oh?” you smiled. “Well, biting is a love language.”

He blinked. “That is an unhealthy relationship dynamic.”

You laughed, and he tilted his head, like he hadn’t expected that. You ended up chatting as you filled out the forms for adoption. Apparently, he volunteered here to supervise the treatment of the animals. He helped you choose a different cat (“less feral, still appropriately antisocial”), and when he left, he said, “Damian Wayne,” with a slight bow of his head, as if he expected you to already know the name.

You introduced yourself too, completely unaware.

The next was a woman on your train. There was some commotion, guy yelling at a kid, getting too close, too loud, and you got up without thinking, inserting yourself between them before your heart could catch up to your body. The man backed off. You didn’t realize someone else had also intervened until the kid ran off and the stranger beside you murmured, “That was reckless.”

You turned to look at her. Short, dark bobbed hair, sharp, amused eyes.

“Maybe,” you said, breathless. “But it worked.”

She nodded. “Still. You should be careful.”

“You too.”

She smirked. “Always am.”

You learned her name after a few more stops. Cassandra. She helped you find your phone when it slipped under the seat and then vanished when you looked up again.

You ran into Tim at a bookstore, both of you reaching for the same obscure sci-fi novel. You were quick to give it up, but he insisted you take it. You ended up swapping numbers just to geek out about the author later. You didn’t think it weird until weeks later when you realized he never mentioned a last name.

And Dick? You met Dick when you locked your keys in your car and he helped you break into it. You didn’t know who he was until he laughed a little too confidently as he handed your bag back through the cracked window. “Lucky for you, I’ve got a history of breaking and entering,” he’d joked.

“Not sure if I should thank you or report you.”

“I’d recommend neither.”

By the time you met Bruce at a charity gala your boss dragged you to, you were starting to think the universe was playing a prank. He’d spilled his drink on you. Actually spilled it. Then offered his own handkerchief, old-fashioned as hell.

“I’m so sorry,” he’d said. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, a little stunned. “I’m just relieved it wasn’t red wine.”

“Bruce Wayne,” he said.

Of course he was.

You gave your name with a smile that felt like a secret, like the final piece of a very stupid puzzle slotting into place.

Weeks passed. Jason didn’t notice, and you didn’t tell him. How could you? You weren’t trying to meet them. And it wasn’t like they knew who you were. Just some girl with a stubborn cat, an affinity for sci-fi novels, and a habit of helping people.

But eventually, Jason came home one night, stood in the kitchen rubbing the back of his neck, and said, “I think it’s time.”

You looked up from the pan. “Time?”

“To meet the family.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He nodded, eyes cautious. “They’ve been asking. I’ve been…holding off. But I want them to meet you.”

You almost laughed. But you didn’t. You just smiled and said, “Okay.”

Wayne Manor looked exactly how you imagined it would: big, brooding, and probably haunted.

Jason squeezed your hand on the way in. You squeezed back. He looked nervous, like he was preparing for a fight.

You walked into the grand room, and...

“Oh, no,” you whispered.

Because Damian was staring at you like you’d grown a second head.

Cass's brows shot up.

Tim nearly dropped his glass.

Dick let out a sharp laugh. “You’re the girlfriend?!”

Jason turned like a dog hearing an intruder.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. “Don't tell me you know each other.”

“I...well, not all at once,” you said quickly. “It just sort of…kept happening.”

Jason blinked at each of them in turn. “You didn’t mention this?”

“They didn’t know I was your girlfriend,” you said, trying not to laugh.

“And you didn’t think to tell me you met my entire family?!”

You shrugged helplessly. “I thought it’d weird you out.”

Bruce entered the room then, paused mid-step, and said, “You.”

You waved. “Hi, Bruce.”

Jason looked like he might implode. “You met my father?”

You stepped beside him, slid your arm around his waist. “Surprise?”

He stared at you, speechless. And then he laughed. Loud, full-bodied, beautiful. You hadn't heard him laugh like that in weeks.

“Well,” he said, tugging you closer. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag.”

Damian snorted. “Literally.”

Jason groaned. “This family is cursed.”

But his hand never left yours. Not once.

Jason had barely stepped out onto the balcony when he heard the door creak open behind him. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Only one of his brothers walked like he was trying not to wake a sleeping baby and get a standing ovation for it.

Dick Grayson. Golden boy. Gotham’s favorite acrobat.

“I’m not gonna give you the talk,” Dick said.

Jason smirked. “You sure? You’ve been practicing it since I was fifteen.”

Dick chuckled and leaned against the railing beside him. “Nah. Figured someone else would get to it before me. Tim’s already making a PowerPoint, probably. And Damian’s writing a list of interview questions.”

“God help me.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the wind brushing through the trees below, the faint clink of laughter and cutlery drifting out through the open window. You were still inside with Cass and Alfred. Jason could hear your voice. Soft, casual. You fit in like you were born to.

“So,” Dick said eventually, nudging him with his shoulder. “How long?”

“Over a year,” Jason said.

Dick turned. “Seriously?”

Jason nodded. “Moved in together a few months ago.”

There was a pause. “Jay…”

“If you’re about to ask why I didn’t tell anyone, save it,” Jason cut in, voice lower. “She’s not…this isn’t like before.”

“I know,” Dick said, without hesitation. “I know that. That’s why I’m here.”

Jason glanced at him, surprised.

Dick shrugged. “You kept her away for a reason. I get that. But now that I’ve seen you together…”

He trailed off, searching for the words.

Jason helped him out. “It’s different.”

“Yeah,” Dick said quietly. “It really is.”

Jason leaned forward on his elbows. “She never asked for any of this. Not the Batcave, not the guilt. She just…makes space. You know?”

Dick nodded, slowly. “She didn’t flinch when Cass told that story about the broken jaw incident.”

“She laughed.”

“Exactly.”

Jason didn’t say anything for a while. Just let the weight of it settle in his chest, the kind of good weight that made you feel anchored, like maybe your feet belonged somewhere after all.

“Do you love her?” Dick asked, not with suspicion, but with a kind of quiet respect.

Jason didn’t answer right away.

He thought of the way you touched his hand when you thought no one was watching. The way you filled his apartment with warmth without even trying. The way you made the worst parts of him feel like they were still worth loving.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I do.”

Dick smiled, a real one this time. “Then you did good, little brother.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“No promises.”

They stood there together for another minute. No more questions, no more pressure. Just two brothers in the chill Gotham air, one of them finally realizing that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t alone anymore.

From inside, your laughter rang out again.

“I’m going back in,” Jason muttered.

“Yeah?” Dick smirked. “Can’t stand to be away from her for five minutes?”

Jason flipped him off as he pushed open the balcony door.

But the truth was…yeah. He couldn’t.

a/n: My spin on meeting the Wayne family. Um...Hi, fandom?

[67bottles-of-milk]

Jason Todd, who can style his own hair very well, in his and in other’s opinions, but who has you who can always style it just the tiniest bit better.

It always looks fluffier, curlier. It sits better on his head, frames his face just right. It goes a bit on his forehead, but never gets into his eye. It smells better (maybe because you use your shampoo, and you choose the products, and Jason will always love to smell like you) and over all, it’s just better when you do it.

Queue your wedding day. You’re both stressed, though way too excited for either of your own goods. And Jason’s hair just.. doesn’t look right. It looks off, like it’s missing something. He wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t use your shampoo, because he did, because he always does now. So his hair smell good, great even (only because it smells like you). He didn’t bother hiring someone to do his hair, he could do it very well himself. So what was missing?

And Jason, the sweet boy, is stressing out of his mind. He’s pacing in front of the mirror, murmuring things amongst this day having to be perfect. And nothing else, because it’s you.

And Dick is just looking at him so apologetically because he gets it, from when he got married to Kori, weddings are stressful, especially your own.

And Jason doesn’t notice, of course, how Dick is staring at him (partially because he currently too busy trying not to rip his hair out on his wedding day with the love of his life, and partially because he’s avoiding the look Dick is giving him that roughly translates to “you’ve grown up so much and I’m so proud of you” because he knows he’ll cry more than needed if he sees it). He stays relevantly silent before muttering words Dick really can’t miss. And it’s almost like Jason panting, like he’s on the verge of breaking.

“I wanna.. wanna see them… I.. I gotta see them.”

And he turns to look at Dick with this urgency in his eyes. One Dick can’t ignore whatsoever. And he leaves, immediately. Goes to get you. Because he can’t ignore his baby brother’s worries, he can’t just let his first baby brother break in front of him (again).

The hair stylist is putting the final accessories in your hair, when Dick bursts through the door like he ran here. You don’t startle much, used to his and his family’s shenanigans. You look at him with a questioning look, and all Dick can murmur through him catching his breath is:

“Jason needs you.”

And you’re up in an instant, apologising to the hair stylist, who is immediate to understand, as you rush to your love’s changing room.

You don’t go in, you and Jason having agreed to not see each other before being ready (a difficult task for the both of you, but you know will be worth it). Dick passes you to get in, to let Jason know you’re here, and to help him cover his eyes, because he knows his brother would be upset if he disrupted your agreement with each other.

Makeshift blindfold on, and you’re inside in a second, soft hands cupping Jason’s gorgeous face, looking over him worryingly. Dick leaves to give you some space in the meantime.

“Hiya lovie, what’s wrong?”

His hands come up to hold your wrists. “I just..” he takes a deep breath. “My hair doesn’t look good no matter what I do, and it has to be perfect cause today has to be perfect and, and-“

You cut off his rambling with a light kiss, a pout immediately forming on his face after.

“Do you want me to do your hair lovie?” You know he likes it when you do his hair, and you’d do anything to make him feel better.

“Please?” His voice slightly breaks, and so does your heart.

“Always sweets,” you whisper softly, pressing light kisses to his cheeks, one to the tip of his nose, and finally to his lips. “I’m gonna help you sit down okay? I can’t do your hair when you’re this tall.” You laugh a little as you bring him to a chair, and he cracks a small smile.

Though you didn’t have all your usual products, you had enough to make his hair look just right. You and Jason laughing and smiling like the two love birds you are through the whole endeavour. And if Dick was able to sneak a few pictures, and recounts this exact moment in his speech later, you know both you and Jason will cherish this memory forever, beyond death and all.

would anyone believe me if i said i wrote this while my plane was being delayed? yeah idk either i was bored and yeah :P

anyway this boy is my heart and soul i need to take a big chomp out of him he’s so precious

© mxxnechos -- please do not repost, modify, translate, plagiarise, or feed my content into AI. All likes, reblogs, comments, and follows are deeply appreciated!!

[67bottles-of-milk]

New best friend (met him at the bar)

tags; probably inaccurate depictions of drinking and drunkness, written while sleep deprived, no beta

It's 2 a.m. and you're sitting in some dingy bar in the bad side of town, hand covering your fifth? drink of the night.

It's a little hole in the wall no one really knows but always stumbles into whenever they need it. You’ve only been in here twice before. The bartender is an older woman with not much makeup save for a dark brownish rouge on her lips. She’s nice enough, though. She gave you a bowl of cheap candy after your third drink.

Your eyes fall on the man on the far side of the counter. He's almost impossible to miss, what with being one of the three other people there, but he's also massive, which doesn't really help him blend into the shadows of the corner he's sitting in. His hair's in need of a trim, a little shaggy in some parts and almost covering his eyes, but it's clean and fluffy in a way that makes you want to run your hand through it. He's in a hoodie that's a little oversized even for him. Prime estate for any partner.

You've been staring a little too long, though. Seemingly feeling your gaze, his eyes flick up, meeting yours through the white strands in the way. He looks tired. Not too tired to send a glare your way, though.

But he’s pretty, so you decide he’s interesting.

Taking your glass and your candy, you walk the long, wobbly journey to his end of the table. The bartender keeps an eye on you, probably deciding to cut you off for the night. Bummer. In hindsight though, she probably should have done that a while ago. The hangover’s going to kill you tomorrow.

The man doesn’t acknowledge you when you sit down on the stool next to him. He doesn’t bat an eye when you keep staring either.

You scrunch your nose a little when the smell hits. “You smoke?”

You wonder if he’s just going to keep ignoring you when he shifts a little, angling himself away from you. “..go away.”

You rest your hand on your palm, taking a candy from your bowl and sliding it towards him. “It’s bad for you, y’know.”

“I don’t care. Go away.”

“Sweet things help.”

“Leave me alone.”

His voice is deep, but not in an ‘I chain smoke every day’ kind of way. Puberty must’ve hit like a bitch. A social smoker then, maybe. He doesn’t seem the social type though.

You sigh, taking a piece of candy for yourself. Your friends are social smokers. Well, ex-friends, but that sounds kinda silly. It’s a little melted and it sticks to your teeth and tastes like fruit flavored plastic. You shrug and enjoy it anyway.

You can feel him watching you out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to be left alone, you’re not that oblivious. The alcohol in your system makes you bolder, though. And apparently makes your stranger danger alarm go away, because you suddenly realize you’re sitting next to a grown ass man you don’t even know, and who’s twice the size of any guy you’ve seen around. Normal you would have left the bar as soon as he walked in. It’s Gotham, after all. Never too safe.

“…how many of those have you had?” His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you go to answer but have to finish chewing first. You’d apparently stopped when you drifted off.

“Like… at least two,” you shrug, glancing at the small bowl. It had been nearly full when the bartender had given it to you. Now it’s just about half empty. “Yep. Definitely at least two.”

He looks at you like you’re stupid. Rude. “..I can see that.”

“Your hair’s white.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Stressed much?”

Again, no answer.

“I am.” Your arms are crossed in the table now, and you lay your head on top. “Wanna know why?”

“No.”

“I cut off all my friends.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean ‘no, I don’t care.’”

“They were real toxic.”

“Okay.”

“Shoulda done it sooner.”

“Sure.”

You grab another candy. His eyebrows raise the slightest bit.

“Those are bad for you.” He says, a little gruffly.

“So’s smoking.”

“That’s different.”

“I’ll stop these when you stop smoking.”

“It’s different.”

He runs a hand through his hair, and you get a clear look at his eyes for the first time. They’re such a pretty green. Or maybe blue. What was the color… teal? Cyan? Either way, they’re pretty. You tell him so.

“You’re pretty.” Your words come out a little dazed. You swear his eyes are glowing in the dim light.

He frowns at your words, gaze a little sharper now. “I’m not.”

Well that’s just ridiculous. “You are.”

“Stop it.”

“Is this some toxic masculinity thing?”

“Shut up.”

“But-”

“I’m not pretty,” he grits out. There’s a finality in his voice that makes you hesitant to push. You notice him looking down at his hands, closed around his nearly untouched glass of whiskey. Not much of a drinker usually, then? Must’ve had a bad day. You also notice the scars littering his skin. His knuckles are the worst, but that’s really only because they’re cut and bruised, not fully healed like the backs of his hands.

“..you fight much?” You ask, a little quieter now. His fingers twitch, like he’s trying not to pull the sleeves of his hoodie up to cover the entirety of his hands.

“What’s it to you?”

“I fought too.”

“With your friends?”

You can’t help but smile at that. “So you were listening.”

“Wasn’t.”

“Sure.” You’re silent for a moment before you down the rest of your own drink, squinting at the bitter burn at the back of your tongue. “..yeah. With my friends. Lotta screaming. My throat hurts..” you pause, “..alcohol probably isn’t helping.”

He’s looking at you. “…no.”

“No as in ‘I don’t care’?”

He shakes his head. You swear there’s almost a smile ln his lips. It’s probably your alcohol-ridden brain seeing things where they aren’t. “No as in, ‘no, alcohol probably isn’t helping.’”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I have common sense.”

“Do you, though?”

“You calling me dumb?”

“I’m calling you drunk.”

You giggle. “Maybe.”

“No, not ‘maybe’,” he rolls his eyes again, glancing at the bartender when she comes over to take your empty glass. “Jess is cutting you off.”

So her name is Jess. You squint at her as she puts your glass in the sink. Suits her.

You reach for another piece of candy when he takes the bowl away from you. “I’m cutting you off, too.”

You groan. “But why though..”

“You’re going to give yourself an aneurysm.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“So give it back.”

“No.” So bossy.

You glare at him. Some of his hair falls back in front of his eyes. “..you need a trim.”

His eyebrows rise, caught a little off guard. “..haven’t had the time.”

“Can I do it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You’re drunk.”

“What if I wasn’t?”

“I still don’t trust you with scissors near me.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know you,” he pauses, considering the half-empty bowl he’s keeping away from your reach. A weird but somehow generic name is printed on each candy. No ingredients, though, just flimsy plastic. “And because you eat Gotham store-brand candy by the handful… I don’t even know what’s in these.”

He looks at the bartender - Jess - with an almost disappointed look. “Really, Jess? You couldn’t even get the good knockoffs?”

“It was on clearance,” Jess drawls, unbothered.

“You do know me, though,” you murmur, head resting on your arms again. The man shakes his head slightly.

“I don’t even know your name.” Okay, fair point.

You give him your name. “What’s yours?”

There’s a minute before he answers. You can tell he’s contemplating just leaving right then. You’re getting a little too close for comfort. You don’t want him to leave. Your eyes shift to look at the table instead.

“…Jason.”

“Jason,” you hum. It suits him.

There’s really nothing to do here anymore. You’ve been cut off from the two things that gave you purpose here. “What am I supposed to do now?”

He shrugs. As if he’s not part of the reason there’s nothing to do now. “Go home.”

Your expression darkens at that, and you muffle a groan by now lying face-down on the table. It’s not sticky, thankfully. That’s really all you can ask of a place like this. “I can’t.”

Jason frowns. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

“The friends I cut off were also my roommates..” Bit of a stupid decision on your part.

“That was dumb.”

“Yes, Jason, I know. Thank you.” You sigh. There’s definitely going to be a shit ton of glitter in all your stuff by the time you get back home. You don’t have the strength to deal with that today. Evil little fuckers.

You’re busy trying to remember if there’s a motel around you can actually trust when it happens. Maybe you looked a little too miserable to ignore. Jason, after a couple minutes of seemingly endless self conflict, blurts out,

“You could crash at mine.”

…

Um…

I mean, yeah, sure. Why the fuck not at this point, right?

“Um… thanks, but, I don’t know..” you decline once to be polite. And also because holy shit, some guy - very pretty guy, but still some random guy - just offered for you to sleep at his place. You’re not getting murdered, right? He’s been nice(ish) up to this point, but…

Jason, apparently also utterly confused on why he’s offering in the first place, adds, “we have a guest room. Probably a lot cleaner than any motel within walking distance.”

“We?”

“My roommate.”

“Oh.”

You sigh again. Thinking too hard about this is starting to make your brain hurt. And you really don’t want to go back home.

The bartender comes over to take the candy bowl. You wave her over, leaning over a little to talk ‘discreetly’.

“You know this guy?” You ask, tossing what your drunk mind thinks is an inconspicuous glance at Jason.

She shrugs. “Yeah. For a while.”

“So he’s safe?”

She raises an eyebrow. “..safe as it gets around here.”

She shakes her head at the skeptical look you give her. “I’ve known him since he was little. He’s a good kid.”

Alright. Good enough.

You turn back to Jason. “..Mind if I sleep over?”

He shakes his head, leaving a twenty under his still mostly full glass and sliding off his stool. He’s even bigger standing up. What did his parents feed him?

You pay your tab and follow behind him, stumbling occasionally. It’s cold when you get out of the bar, you’re sure it has to be, because your breath fogs up the slightest bit. You should be shivering with how thin your shirt is, and you’d neglected to grab a jacket when you’d stormed out of your apartment, but the drinks you’ve had dulls the sense. Your cheeks are warm enough you’re sure there’s a very noticeable blush there.

You stumble on the crumbly pavement, hand instinctively reaching out to grab Jason’s arm to keep yourself from falling. He tenses, but doesn’t pull away. You hold onto his sleeve for the rest of the walk.

He’s nice. Just.. nice. While it may be a catch all phrase to describe someone who doesn’t have much else going for them, it’s also often overlooked how difficult it is to find someone who’s just nice (in a non-creepy way) in a place like Gotham, and especially Crime Alley. Just look at the name.

He finds somewhere clean-ish for you to sit when you’re feeling a little dizzy and entertains your little detours, like stopping at some random convenience store to fill a random cat food bowl on the street because there’s a little left at the bottom, “and that means something’s eating out of it. It’s probably hungry now.”

When you get to his place, you tentatively step inside, looking around but not really taking in much. You’re not comfortable showering here so you just decide to sleep in your outside clothes. Not the most comfortable thing either, but it’s not long to fall asleep after your head hits the pillow, so you don’t have to think about it much.

Vaguely, you feel something soft being haphazardly pulled over your head.

It barely feels like you’ve blinked when the sun peeks through the blinds, dark circles and a pounding headache keeping you company as you groan, trying to make sense of the world again.

You’re in a strange bed. You reach up to rub the sleep out of your eyes when you realize you can’t.

Looking down, there’s a hoodie pulled over the thin top you wore out last night. It’s on in a weird way that you’re technically wearing it, but your arms are stuck inside the torso and not in the sleeves. It smells faintly of cotton, the brownish paper of books and Irish Spring. There’s also the smallest hint of cheap gas station cologne. It’s not bad, but it doesn’t quite fit in with the rest.

You opt to keep it on since it’s chilly. Pushing your arms out the sleeves, you try to stand up from the bed and immediately sit back down, the headache worse with the sudden movement. Your muscles aren’t much better either, some screaming in protest since you slept positioned like a crumpled piece of paper in the night. Taking a moment to recover, that’s when you notice the cup of water and a packet of pills on the bedside table.

Taking the necessary amount, you feel a little heat in your cheeks. The alcohol must not have completely worn off yet.

You sit there a minute before trying to get up again. Success. You reach the door and are just about to turn the handle when you hear voices outside.

“-can’t believe you brought a girl home-”

“She needed a place to crash. That’s it.”

“And you gave her my hoodie!”

“It’s my hoodie.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was it meticulously stashed in the corner of your closet?”

“No.”

“No! Because it was in mine, and therefore, is mine.”

“You can have it back when she goes home.”

“I want it now..”

“There’s like half a dozen more in the closet. Pick one.”

It’s then that you decide to open the door. It didn’t sound like they were stopping any time soon. Plus, you needed something hot in your system right that minute or you were definitely going to throw up everywhere.

You recognize Jason, but the other man - a ginger in a tank top, well-built but not massive like the former - is new, and he stares at you for a solid minute like you’re an alien creature.

“…hi?” You mumble awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. It’s the first time you’ve been taken to a stranger’s place drunk, with nothing but literal sleep happening after.

“Hey,” Surprisingly, the ginger is the one to move first. He gives you a toothy grin, holding out his hand. Jason pushes it away, but it persists. “I’m Roy.”

You take his hand after a second.

Your eyes flicker over to Jason, who’s already staring at you. He looks a little softer here than at the bar, the natural coming through the small living room window makes him look a little less weary. Or maybe he just had a good night’s sleep. Are the circles under his eyes lighter?

“So…” you start, feeling a little uncomfortably warm under his gaze. “Thank you.. for everything.”

You’re expecting him to kick you out. After all, letting you sleep here in the first place must’ve been an impulsive decision made under the influence of alcohol and pity - god, why had you told him so much?

It’s another minute or something of staring before Roy ‘subtly’ elbows him, apparently bringing Jason back online.

“..can I take you out for breakfast?”

[67bottles-of-milk]

Your love was eyerolls and sharp smiles that begged for a fight, and Jason couldn't be more in love. Every shoulder punch that he knew hid your smile made his heart soar.

"Why are you smiling? She just punched you."

Tim asked dryly. He's beginning to think his brother has gone crazy. Jason watched you walk off with a lovesick grin on his face. He's got it bad. He's obsessed. He knows your favourite song, he cooks your favourite food, and he even writes short stories for you to "proofread" to test out date ideas for when he finally asks you out.

He was a mess of butterflies when you give him your mischievous smile even if he knows it's just to rope him into whatever dangerous stunt you want to pull. He's too weak to say no to the wicked gleam in your eyes and cherish the way you bumped your shoulder with his shoulder in gratitude before grabbing his hand and dragging him to "just the right place!"

Your adrenaline-filled laugh echoes in his mind like a familiar melody dancing in the wall of his mind. You didn't hug him when he joined you; you called him a coward for hesitating and ruffled his hair affectionately.

"I'm fine, Tim."

Jason mumbled just loud enough for Tim to hear him. His eyes were still on your retreating figure as if he didn't want you to ever leave his side. Tim shrugged and left him alone. He suspects Jason will date you soon enough. He's seen all the love between you two, and he knows for a fact that none of it is platonic anymore.

Damian rolled his eyes despite being happy for his older brother. You truly were perfect for him. He couldn't imagine a more perfect person for Jason if he was honest. He could feel the matching chemistry, and he's not even involved with the "friendship." All he could do was watch the stubborn duo pine painfully together with crossed arms and snide comments.

Dick was playing matchmaker and failing spectacular. You both always gave him matching frowns and told him to fuck off in sync. Dick was undeterred and even started doubling down in his efforts. He's not going to let this go when it was painfully obvious. Jason debated punching him but you actually did punch him after the fifteenth remark about setting you two on a date.

Jason ended up having to get between both of you before you could start a fist fight with his older brother. You may have the fire and spite, but you absolutely wouldn't stand a chance against Dick. Jason admired your fiery attitude, but he finds that he has to hold you back metaphorically and literally at times.

You were perfect in all of the right places, and he was drowning in his love for you. He mumbled under his breath ways to ask you out. He was so quiet that nobody could make out what his low voice was actually saying, but they could assume exactly what he was saying to himself. His romantic heart beats for dates and love notes, but what do you want? Do you like it when he ruffles your hair, or do you feel like it mocks your size compared to his obnoxious height and outrageous muscle mass? The middle finger you always give him in response confuses him. He doesn't see the poorly concealed adoration in your eyes. His focus was on biting your finger playfully.

He needed you in his life. He can't risk losing the friendship over feelings, even though he knows they won't disappear. His love for you will remain strong and likely only grow the longer he knows you. His love will grow wherever you go. You will be the thunder following his lightning strike.

"You have it bad, Todd."

Damian said plainly. He wasn't even paying attention to Jason's love life, yet he's still painfully aware of his brother's obsession. He's read the scrapped stories and the unfinished prompts after riffling through his drawers for the charcoal pencils Jason stole when he wanted to get into art. Jason never returned them, and Damian blames Jason every day for his grumbling riffling. The sibling tax has ruined far too many things for Damian's liking. He curses his curious eyes for reading some of the corny things Jason wrote down.

"I have it under control, Damian."

Jason gruffly said. Damian huffed. Jason does not have it under control. He's so horrendously in love that it's difficult to even be around. Damian has to leave the manor at times because of your shared recklessness that turned into oblivious love. Get that AWAY from him. It's become so bad he practically lives with Jon now. Batcow approved. Damian did not.

Jason is helpless at this stage. He's oblivious, reckless, and absolutely hopeless. No amount of shoving will get him to take the plunge and ask you out. All they can be is complain about it and try to shove you into it.

You were just as difficult to convince as Jason, maybe even more so. You didn't shy away from hitting them while rolling your eyes and giving them an annoyed groan.

"He need to stop playing matchmaker."

You grumbled to Jason as you collided with his body on the couch. Jason got the wind knocked out of him as your full body landed on top of him while you released a dramatic sigh. He nodded and wheezed as his arms wrapped around you. Of course, he was equally annoyed, but he could appreciate what Dick was trying to do for him. He wishes his relationship didn't become Dick's problems.

"We might as well date at this point. He's relentless."

You mumbled and suddenly looked up at him from your buried position on his chest. He froze, and you went back to your previous position. You didn't take it back, however. You merely let him come to terms with the idea and respond in time.

"What a terrible way to ask me out."

Jason finally said. You laughed and got off him to leave, but he pulled you immediately back to him. He kissed your hand and mumbled,

"I didn't say no, pipsqueak."

You were bewildered, but you accepted that as his indirect way to say yes. You smiled at him with all the hidden emotions you've kept secret for too long.

"You know now I'm going to find a stupid nickname for you, too, right?"

You said with amusement accented in your words. He scoffed and said,

"As if there is any nickname worse than 'sugar bear.'"

He didn't like the mischievous look in your eyes. What is your devious brain thinking about? He didn't know if he wanted to know, but he'll be readying for a war.

[67bottles-of-milk]

"Can you please talk to your girlfriend, Jason? I can't keep missing these League meetings because she finds it amusing to have Batman appear in the middle of a jungle."

Bruce sounded exasperated. He was getting seriously annoyed by your antics. Jason, however, found your shenanigans hilarious and encouraged you. He even set up a map for you to throw a dart to pick your next location. Last time, he ended up in front of the League of Assassins and had to fight his way out, entirely missing the League's meeting. Clark was nice and gave him the sparknotes, but what Bruce finds important is just not the same as what Clark finds important.

Jason chuckled at his frustration. He could tell you to stop, but you likely wouldn't. You'd only get petty, and he'd hate to find out what you do when you're petty.

"No can do, B. She's a free spirit."

Bruce sighed. It was getting so bad he started sending in Tim as backup, which has him starting to randomly appear in different locations as well. He can't keep up with your nonsense.

"Can I speak to her?"

Bruce was ready to do literally anything to get you to stop. You've been doing this for months now, and it's starting to get to him. He likes everything else about you. You're just irresponsible with your powers. You love to goad people on and pick fights just to see people's reaction to when you vanish. It's gotten so bad that every criminal knows about you. The goons don't bother with you anymore. You aren't an easy target in a backalley, so they don't care.

You, however, were relaxing in the watch tower after teleporting with Flash accidentally. He was already back and talking with you. He figured no harm done. You weren't evil, so it was fine by the rest of the League. Clark and Diana were excited to finally meet you.

"Why did you choose to date Red Hood?"

Clark asked. He would understand if you went after Dick or Tim, but you picked Jason, the troubled kid riddled with anxiety and attitude. You smiled warmly.

"He's my heart. I can't live without him."

Diana smiled fondly. You have the heart of a hero, which she admires greatly. She would love to train you to be a warrior like the warriors on her planet.

You were having quite a pleasant conversation with the iconic trio until you got a call from Jason. You paused and looked at your phone. Jason never calls. His social anxiety makes it easier for him to text than call. You answered the call once you snapped out of your thoughts.

"Are you dying?"

You asked immediately when you answered the call. Everybody quieted down. Is Jason about to die again? Jason sighed as if he was being forced to do something he didn't want to do. Suspicious. You narrowed your eyes in thought. Jason grumbled,

"Bruce wants to speak to you about your powers."

You breathed a sigh of relief. He's not dying. Well, not physically, at least. He's probably dying mentally. You can already hear his nervous joint cracking through the phone.

"I'll be there in a second."

You say your goodbyes and teleport to Wayne manor. You were awkwardly standing in front of the duo now. You gave Bruce a smile full of false confidence. Who can really blame you for being nervous around THE Batman?

"We need to talk about your powers."

Bruce cut straight to the point. Your eyes drifted to Jason for any clue as to what this could be about, but he seemed lost in a mental spiral. You frowned. His negative self-talk needs to be worked on. His poor knuckles are going to be sore with the way he's obsessively cracking them. It's a nervous habit he's developed since his death.

You gently took his large hands in yours to stop him. You'll kiss them when Bruce leaves. Absent-mindedly, you softly rubbed his knuckles to soothe any potential inflammation. You asked as if you didn't know exactly what he means,

"What about my powers?"

Bruce seemed to soften as he watched you take care of Jason. You were a natural at taking care of his son. You were the best thing to happen to Jason. He replied in a business tone,

"I would appreciate it if you stopped teleporting Tim and myself unless necessary. I have a list of acceptable situations that I have printed out for you."

He handed you a stack of papers. You blinked in confusion before reading through the first page of his ridiculous list of situations. He's incredibly specific and detailed. He even highlighted the most important scenarios.

"I know you have a panic button for Jason, but I think it would help a lot if everyone was given a panic button."

Jason snapped out of his spiral when he heard his name. He was floored at the tone Bruce has been taking with you. He was using the Batman voice with you: all business and no warmth. He snapped,

"Fuck off, she's doing none of that."

You gave his hand a light squeeze to get him to cool down his anger. He backed down immediately, but he seethed in silence. Jason is not going to allow you to be used by anybody, especially his family. You said with a shrug,

"I can't promise a button for everyone, but I guess I can make myself useful."

Bruce felt himself physically relax with relief. You can do so much in combat with teleportation, but he's content if you only want to focus on helping instead of fighting.

"Will you please let me attend my League meetings?"

You didn't want to, but you guessed he has suffered enough. The world needs Batman, after all. Batman is busy enough without needing to fight his way through an entire league of criminals.

"Fine."

He breathed a deep sigh of relief and left as you gently kissed Jason's hands. Your voice was too soft for him to listen in, but his eyes almost teared up seeing his troubled son at peace.

Jason needed you like he needed air. He needed your soft touches and slow kisses that pulled him from his racing mind. He needed your silent adoration and support. He needed the quiet words you whisper in his ear. He needed your fingers lightly tracing his scars as you mumbled about the constellations in his scars. You were a comfort he can cling to when he can't look away from his crowbar in the darkness or when he wakes up thrashing and panicking. He needed you with his entire being.

"You know not to wring your hands, pretty boy."

You murmured to him so softly nobody else can hear you. You know he hates being called pretty, but you always make sure he knows he's gorgeous in your eyes. He grumbles but allows you to massage his hands like you always do when he's anxious.

"I know, but I..."

You kissed his wrists tenderly, and he forgot what he was going to say. You smiled at him patiently, but the words escaped him entirely. His eyes softened, and he kissed you gently. He loved you deeply.

"No kissing in the cave."

Damian said with a scowl as he entered the Batcave. You smirked before teleporting him away. Jason wrapped his arms around you as a teddy bear fell onto the floor of the cave and asked,

"Where did he go?"

You gave him a wink and said,

"A certain farm with a very cuddly Kent."

Jason snorted in Gotham while Damian attempted to squirm out of Jon's grip on the Kent family farm. He replaced Jon's teddy bear, apparently, and now he's trapped under a sleeping Jon.

"I will end her bloodline!"

Damian vowed when he found himself unable to escape. He was seething. Jon sleeps like the dead. He won't wake up unless he gets slapped awake and Damian is pinned.

You snickered while Jason smirked. He would have loved to see Damian's face! His poor brother must be furious. It would be impossible to catch you, but he'd sure try.

"I love you so much."

[67bottles-of-milk]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐑𝐀!𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

heian era!sukuna who always has you by his side when he's dealing with things around the estate. when he's walking around the garden, he always has you clinging to his bicep as he listens to your silly thoughts and the occasional laughter you let out.

heian era!sukuna who now only allows you to bathe him and the same goes for you. the servants only now long to be able to see and touch his incredible body but he only gives you the privilege. "come. i'm in need of a bath", and you can't protest as he pulls you by the wrist to the bath house.

heian era!sukuna who always has you sat on his lap all pretty as he listens to his people's requests. his lower pair of arms around your waist, holding you firmly and his his subject dare to even glance at you, he shoots then a glare and a warning. "you're here for me, so don't focus on her or deal with my wrath. I'm in a good mood today, so don't upset me"

heian era!sukuna who only allows you to spend countless nights in his chambers. usually after he's done with his other concubines, they leave his chambers immediately, by command. but you, he doesn't even refer to you as one of them, and neither do the others dare as after an long passionate night, he lets you sleep in his chambers, in his bed, only because he enjoys staring at your sleeping form all night.

heian era!sukuna who takes care of you himself when you're sick. whether it be preparing the medicine for you to drink, feeding you your food even though you have energy to feed yourself, dressing you and even carrying you in his arms when you want to go outside. he doesn't care how much you'll protest, he's doing this for you, because he wants to so don't be stubborn about it!

heian era!sukuna who buys you new garments incase of a ceremony or when he's out. he could see a kimono your size and picture your smiling face when you receive his gift. it does something to his dead heart, so he just gets it for you no matter how much it costs. and he just likes showing you off to everyone around him by dressing you up all pretty, with you hair and makeup done by only the finest stylists in the area.

heian era!sukuna who made sure that all the workers know that you're not on their level. he has your chambers adorned with whatever he find fits you. the most comfortable bed, the prettiest mirror so you can look all pretty for him, a huge wardrobe with your many garments and more. he spoils you completely rotten a treatment that no one except you gets. not even his concubines.

heian era!sukuna who prefers sharing meals with you privately. just looking at you place bite after bite in your mouth as elegantly as you can fills so type of void in his heart. you get sauce on your cheek or the corner of your mouth and he reaches out and wipes it away with his thumb before licking it.

heian era!sukuna who pulls you closer into his warm embrace and presses soft kisses to your face when you're sleeping happy that you've accepted him and feel safe around him.

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝐅𝐋𝐕𝐕𝐅𝐅𝐘

[67bottles-of-milk]

Hi, I just finished reading your most recent post and I LOVED IT, your writing is unlike anything I’ve seen and yet it’s exactly what I’ve been looking for. It’s totally okay if not, but if you are still taking requests, would it be okay to ask for more slice-of-life/ long stories in the same format, especially Jason Todd x reader? Thank you anyway :)

STOP I DIDN'T SEE THIS SORRY

1, thank you so much, that's literlly so sweet and B, yes i'm absolutely taking requests and can confidently say i've got like four longer stories planned/ in the beginning stages of writing for jason (he is literally the only character im writing for lately and my notes app very clearly shows it)

[67bottles-of-milk]

a little bit of makeup

This is a treat for myself for finishing my exams last month (it sucked so much ass). A lot shorter than I normally like to write but I have plans. Big ones.

~700 words

—

“No, stop, sit still.”

“But my leg’s cramping, I need to move.” 

“Absolutely not, lose your leg for all I care, you will sit still because if I fuck up your eyeliner now, I’m gonna have to wipe it all off and start all over again.” You looked pointedly at Jason, leaning awkwardly over him, elbows braced on his shoulders to steady your hands. After a week of convincing, he finally caved in letting you do his makeup. After an hour of meticulous focus and attention to detail, you were on the final steps; eyeliner and lashes. 

Despite your pointed remarks and even sharper glare, he continued to shuffle uncomfortably, trying to move his leg out from under the other one. With a heavy sigh, you sat back on the bed and waved a hand. 

“Fine, move your leg. I suppose I prefer you with both since you can carry me better.” Instantly, Jason was sitting with his legs crossed with his hands reaching for your waist to pull you into his lap. “You know what, this is a much better angle. Maybe you should've moved sooner.” His deadpan stare was met with a cheeky smile. 

“Yeah. Why didn’t I think of that? It’s not like I’ve been asking to move for thirty whole minutes now.” His stare was a lot less menacing when his eyes were shadowed in a soft pink and his lips were glossy in the light of the lamp set up to the side.

“Details, details. What matters now is two things. 1, I can get a much better wing on you from this angle and B, you are so much easier to kiss from a higher angle.” To prove a point, you put aside the eyeliner pen in your hand to cup his jaw in both hands and press a long kiss to his lips. On instinct he leaned into your touch, flexing his fingers against your waist. 

“Aww man, I smudged it.” You frowned, reaching out a thumb to wipe the pigment from under his lip. Even from its place on his jaw, you could feel the warmth as Jason’s entire face and neck flushes from the action. A teasing smile replaced the pout on your face as the man in front of you turned his head away.

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. That was hot. End of.” 

“Alright, Gorgeous, whatever you say. Now let me finish your eyeliner.” You picked the pen back up and tilted his head back. “Close your eyes. Please don’t flinch.” He flinched. It didn’t smudge but the angle wasn’t quite what you were hoping for. It was fine, you could make it work. 

“Are we still going for coffee after this?” He asked, voice low. 

“Yeah, let me just get a couple pictures when I’m done so we can get this washed off before we go.” You said, leaning back and turning his head side to side, checking the wings were even. At that, he opened his eyes and gave an odd glance your way. 

“Why would I wash it off? Baby, you’ve spent like what? An hour on this. I’m not just gonna wash it off straight away. That would be such a waste! I’m keeping it on, we’re getting coffee, maybe some late lunch, and when we get home, then we can wash it off.” Now it was your turn to be confused.

“But.. wouldn’t you be embarrassed to be wearing makeup in public?” You couldn’t quite understand. Your previous boyfriend wouldn’t even let you do the most basic makeup on him, let alone a full face. But Jason was willing to not only keep it on for more than a few pictures but also go out for an extended period of time where so many people would see? It seemed unthinkable. 

“You telling me men can’t wear makeup? Sweetheart, I think Dickwing would die if he couldn’t,” Jason joked as his hands rubbed soothing circles into your skin. “Besides, I look fucking fantastic. Why wouldn’t I want to show off my gorgeous girl’s hard work?” You conceded with a small grin. 

“Okay, whatever you say, Jay. BUT. We’re getting you a good outfit to go with it. I am not having you go out in full glam and a damn hoodie and sweats. You’re better than that.” 

[67bottles-of-milk]

For the birthday blurb specials I would LOOOVE to see a Jason Todd Secret Dating. He really gives the vibes of "doesn't tell his family until someone puts the pieces together" or just drops the information on them casually one day like nothing is going on.

The Birthday Blurbs Special

"They're going to find out, you know-" You said sweetly, settling down on Jason's lap.

He tilted his head back, getting comfy, leaning against the headboard, his hands on your thighs that ran up and down.

"It's been five months, sweetheart-" He smiled, "If they were gonna, they would've in the first few days."

"House full of detectives and not one person figured out you've been a lovestruck idiot, hm?" You mused, smoothing out his hair in place.

He scoffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, pulling your hands away from his hair and messing it up again.

"Baby, if they cared, they would've found out already." He held your hands against his chest. "I'm not hiding you but I'm not gonna parade you around, either. That's like painting a target on your back."

You pouted even though you knew he was right.

"So... you'll never tell them?" You asked and he sat up a little straighter.

"Don't.. don't make that face, baby. It makes me forget logic." He sighed, cupping your face.

You gave him your best pitiful face, doe eyed and bottom lip out. Jason groaned sofly, head lolling back on the couch.

"You know what? Bandaid ripping off right now." He grabbed his phone, quickly typed a text and sent it on the family group chat, then tossed it aside. "Done."

"Wh-What? Just like that?" You blinked in surprised.

"Baby, you look at me with those eyes and reason goes out the door," He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist, flipping the two of you over.

Suddenly, you were under him and his impressively large body was hovering over yours.

Jason's phone started going off, buzzing and ringing. He ignored it, pressing gentle kisses against your cheek, jaw and neck.

"You- Your phone, Jay." You said softly, getting comfortable under him.

"Who gives a fuck- I did what you wanted, how about I get a little thank you, hm?" He licked a stripe at your neck, his hands snaking up your thighs.

You were just about to turn off your mind when the door was assaulted with a barrage of knocks.

"Open the door! We wanna meet her!!" Dick shouted from the other side, his voice was echoed with Damian's.

Jason groaned and pulled your dress down and made it proper again. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he mumbled, "And that's why I preferred us being under wraps."

[67bottles-of-milk]

؛ ଓ _ _ 𓏴𓏴 THE FRIENDS TO LOVERS TROPE WITH _ _ j. todd .ᐟ ‿◞ˇ

.... 🌷 ... . ! just my thoughts on why the friends to lovers trope would be best for jason todd, i mentioned this in my “as a boyfriend” post for jason, wanted to touch up on it even more here. do not mind the moodboards — they do not dictate the physical description of the reader in my works.

𐔌 ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙.꩜‹　𝓹airing𓈒　j. todd　friend ! reader𓈒 　　†

؛ ଓ ✶ friends to lovers trope with jay　 𝜗 ། 　fluff﹐1.4k wc　 𝜗 ། 　𝓵inks𓈒　　mlist　　rules𓈒

Jason is a man that loves quietly. Love— as a feeling— slowly creeps up to him. He doesn’t even notice it at first. All of it it began such a long time ago and he gets so used to the warm feeling that he doesn’t even want to let go. He’ll never let go of it. Why would he want to lose you? His only friend. His only confidant and now— his only love.

Meeting him would be so strangely normal. He’s used to always being paranoid of his surroundings. The anxiety in his blood has become almost mundane in his every-day-to-day life. He doesn’t even question it. He walks into every building— cafe, bookstore, library, market— as if they’re ticking bombs and he needs to have an exit strategy as if his life depends on it.

It all changes at the register of the shop just near his apartment.

Jason is on high alert, just like always. His fingers dig into the leather of his wallet as he pays up, just like always. His eyes dart around the building searching for something, just like always. It’s a familiar dance.

Suddenly, he realizes he’s short on change. That breaks through the so called dance— a routine he’s built up.

“Shit, sorry. Give me a second.” He curses, muttering apologies to the cashier.

The person behind the register couldn’t care less. They’re eyes just drift off somewhere else. It’s probably nothing. They’re giving him time, but Jason somehow overthinks the entire situation.

I’m taking too long. Why does every minor inconvenience happen to me? Where is my god damn change?

He’s digging through his pockets when he hears a voice behind him. Not too soft, but not too loud to alert him either.

“Here.”

You’re there, moving around him— keeping a healthy distance to, as if not to touch him— giving the cashier the change.

He stares blankly at you— a deer caught in headlights. His sea-green eyes have a confused glint in them. He shuffles away from the register as you approach it, setting your groceries on the surface.

“Thanks.” He mumbles only that simple word, even though he’d like to say more.

Jason is trying to be more sociable. Alfred says it’s a step. A step in the right direction. Unfortunately Jason’s compass is all over the place, so he can’t really tell what the right direction truly is.

“You’re welcome.” You smile at him. Though it isn’t strained, nor forced. You just smiled at him, as if he did something good. “I like that brand.”

He hears you again. His eyes dart from your face to the bag of chips he’s bought. It’s a decent brand. He likes it. Turns out you do as well.

“It’s not too artificial.” He says, his voice somewhat higher than he’s used to. “The taste is—”

“Normal? Not ‘too much’ because for some reason other brands add so many condiments you wanna barf every time you take a bite? Yea, I know.”

“Yea. Normal.”

“Tell me about it.” You chuckle while putting all of your groceries in your bag.

Jason helps you out with it. You smile at him again.

“I just moved to this part of town. I don’t have many friends. Especially not ones I can talk shit with about even shittier chip brands.”

He thinks he looks ridiculous. He understands you’re trying to be-friend him— the man in the grocery store that seems to big and confused about where he fits in. His hand instinctively scratches at his neck. For the first time, he smiles back. Hell— he even laughs. It isn’t forced. It’s real. Just like the easy smile you’re giving him.

Giving you his name came easy after that. It felt like a reward hearing your name in return. You two would run into each other around Crime Alley’s most famous spots— even more groceries stores, in which you two would pick out products together; the run-down book store, in which you two might have had a small argument about Tolstoy’s and Dostoevsky’s books.

It felt good. Normal even. He made a friend. Now your number is in his contracts. Your number in his phone— he can’t believe it. Other than his family and Roy, there aren’t many in his list of numbers he keeps. Now he has someone to call when he wants to hang out, when he just needs a moment to feel normal again.

The feelings bloom from there— like a bouquet that was being formed with every time you two decided to spend together.

Jason slowly opened up to you, and you— to him. Suddenly, visiting each other became the norm. Lazy week-days spent in each other’s apartment was almost instinct to the two of you.

Movie nights when you’d tease him for liking the 2004 adaptation of “Pride and Prejudice” - “Bride and Prejudice” instead of the 2005 adaptation with Keira Knightley suddenly was something familiar— something that made him feel good.

“Seriously? You like the adaptation with the songs and dancing instead of the one with brooding feelings?”

You’re perched on the couch right next to him. Almost touching. He tries to ignore the proximity and how it’s making his heartbeat speed up and voice higher.

“It’s a good movie, what can I say? I like how lively it is, plus—” He raises a brow while the corners of his lips curl up. He likes explaining it all— his thought process to you.

You listen.

He turns your way, eyes leaving the screen playing the movie. He notices you’ve been looking at him— not the movie.

“What is it?” He asks, voice now quiet and soft.

Your eyes widen a bit, realizing you’ve been caught staring. He sees how your hands grip the arm of the couch— knuckles a bit white. There’s a slight pink hue on your cheeks.

Why does he feel like there’s the same type of tinge on his cheeks too? Is he truly something to like looking at? And more importantly, do you like looking at him?

“Just—” You smile too. Jason has come to like your smile even more after these few months of friendship. “—keep talking about why you like it. You might convert me to your ideals, who knows?”

“I’ll have you know the songs are actually amazing in that movie.”

“Sure, Jay.”

“Are you doubting me?”

“I’d never!”

“That’s it, get up! You’re dancing to one of the songs right now.”

“Only if you dance with me, Todd.”

Jason falls first but denies it aggressively— he’ll argue with Dick about how “it’s not like that” while texting you at 2am.

He immediately goes into denial mode, starts pulling away and being extra harsh during patrol like he can punch the feelings out of himself.

Dick notices Jason’s weird behavior and makes some throwaway comment about you, and Jason’s defensive reaction is so over-the-top that even Tim raises an eyebrow.

Jason starts overthinking every interaction— was that smile different? Why did you let your hand linger when passing him coffee? He’s a detective but suddenly can’t read you at all.

He lies awake analyzing conversations from three weeks ago, wondering if you were flirting or just being friendly when you said his hoodie looked good on him.

Your realization is more gradual— it starts when you notice you’ve been unconsciously planning your day around when Jason might text or show up.

The moment that breaks you is probably when you see him being unexpectedly gentle— reading to kids at the library for community service, or carefully moving a stray cat out of harm’s way.

You catch yourself staring at his hands while he’s just going about his day, thinking about how those same fingers are always so careful when they touch you.

You start having dreams about him that you can’t shake, and suddenly every romance novel feels like it’s written about this stupid, complicated man who eats your leftovers and leaves poetry books on your nightstand.

Like I said, the love between the two of you blooms slowly. But it is all-consuming— being wrapped in a blanket of the warmest feeling ever. You both can’t get enough. Falling for each other was truly easy.

You can’t think of anyone else who makes you feel this way. And he can’t imagine a life without you.

... ! .. 🌱 .. a/n: trying go get back into writing bigger works. this just came to me a few hours ago and i wrote it at 3am. i’m a sucker for this trope— especially with our best boy jay. he deserves some quiet and the process of having a crush in his life +++ all the fluffy feelings that come alongside it. i love the 2004 adaptation of pride and prejudice btw. it’s so good. the songs r even better. i can imagine reader and jason dancing to those songs !!! ++ this was only proof read once so ☹️☹️

﹒   ♪   ┊ INBOX OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

˖ `· . 𓏵 © 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐂𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒 don’t use my work without my consent. ... ⏤ㅤ Ⳋ ⊹

[67bottles-of-milk]

Save The Date

Pairing: Jason Todd/Reader

Summary: Jason doesn't realize that it's because of him that the wedding is so big.

Arthur's Note: Inspired by this post and written because @alialucille and @theendofthematerialgworl asked.

“You can’t be serious.” Jason grumbled for the fourth time. But he wasn’t saying it at you so you were choosing to ignore him. 

There were binders, fabric swatches, flower pictures, and clothing options and papers fo a million other things scattered around you, meanwhile you’d given Jason the duty of handling the seating chart. 

He kept looking at the names and switching the placements around. Groaning and grumbling to himself with heightened annoyance.

“Are you serious, right now?!” He mumbled to himself again and finally turned to you. “Baby, these are too many people.” He folded his arms. “You gotta cut people out. We can’t invite every single person you’ve ever met.” He looked at you as if you were at fault. “And look at this-” He pointed to the main binder. “Why do we need to have such a big thing? Why can’t we just marry with our close friends and family? Why do we need 200 people to just witness-” He sighed and sat on the couch. 

Continue Reading. . . . Fic Masterlist.

[67bottles-of-milk]

"So, you're an alien from another semi-aquatic planet, and now you are here because you accidentally sneaked onto a rocket ship that hit Earth before it could bring you home?"

You nodded to confirm Dick's reaffirming question. Yet, that is exactly what happened. Yes, you are aware that it was a risk to sneak onto the ship, but you were curious! You've never seen such a machine! How were you supposed to know it would take you off the planet? You were along for the ride and played hide and seek the whole ride to earth.

This is another headache case for the Bat family to figure out now. They found you before any of them could question the person who crash landed on the planet, unfortunately.

They feared it was an alien invasion originally, but it was just you relaxing on the burning rubble, unsure what else to really do. You claimed it was a human on the planet, but they are still searching. You awkwardly asked,

"Is it possible I work with him?"

You made a gesture to Tim before whispering,

"Everybody else here makes me nervous."

Tim was the only one who seemed unbothered. Whether he simply didn't notice you or he was completely calm about the situation was yet to be determined.

Dick blinked in surprise, but he hesitantly took you over to Tim, who was just relaxing on a nearby chair with his focus zoned in on his laptop. He probably wouldn't mind, right? Tim finds aliens fascinating. He never shut up when he met Korri, and he asked Clark millions of questions when they first met. Surely you wouldn't be any different. Dick snaps a specific code to get Tim's attention and waited to find out.

Tim reluctantly turned his eyes to you after finishing typing something and nearly gasped when he saw you. Your eyes were a glowing orange colour, and your skin had a thick layer of dark green scales, which seemed to blend in with the BatCave walls. You had a set of horns like an elk and flippers like an orca whale with a long and graceful tail.

He was fascinated and completely fixated on you now. This is going to be the first true alien he's seen that he found an immediate attraction towards. He set aside his laptop and walked over to you. He was in awe.

"You're gorgeous."

He couldn't stop himself from saying in wonder, lightly running a hand along the rough scales that felt like plated armour. You blushed green and touched his soft fleshy body lightly, being equally mindful of your rough scales that could tear his skin to shreds. You tilted your head with an equally curious gaze. You recognise his species now.

"I've met one of you before. You're so much cuter than he was."

You were equally awed. Tim was beautiful. His eyes shined the beautiful blue you were so used to on your water planet, and his black hair looked like the floating kelp on your planet. His mind is where he really shined. You could tell immediately when your brain briefly brushed against his own.

"I need your help, śẅēæï."

Tim stared at your beautiful face without really acknowledging what you were saying, nor did he even hear what the problem was to begin with. His brain was stuck on the alien nickname you gave him. He wonders what it means on your planet.

He was so distracted by how attractive you are that he couldn't focus on anything you were saying. He just nodded along as if he was paying close attention, but you seemed to notice as you paused speaking mid-sentence. You grabbed his chin and tilted it so he could face you before continuing to speak.

His eyes widened as he looked at you. You were within kissing distance now. When did you get so close to him? His eyes wandered to your lips. You stopped speaking when you noticed his intense gaze. How odd. Do you kiss each other on this planet to get the other to focus again? It was worth a try. You were close enough to do so.

You pulled Tim's body into your arms, and you kissed him lazily. It felt like you were taking your time to get him to focus solely on you. It worked. His entire focus was now on your glimmering arms that were holding him in place and your sea salt lips on his own.

He surrendered all thoughts and melted into the kiss almost immediately. He didn't even care that your rough scales were hurting him. All that mattered was you in that very moment.

You felt as if you just unlocked a part of yourself that you had no idea existed. Granted, you are the only humanoid being on your home planet since the last extinction event, so of course you don't have much interaction or even much time to experiment with the human who did land on your planet.

Dick tried to pretend he wasn't watching Tim kiss this alien fish person, but he can't help it. Is this how the others felt when he kissed Korri? Surely not. Korri is more human looking than this alien. Jason hit the back of his head while rolling his eyes. Let the idiot do whatever he wants. Who are they to really judge? If he gets an alien disease, so be it.

Bruce walked in and frowned. First off, who is this fish hybrid? Second off, why is Tim kissing you so passionately? What did Dick drag into the cave? Do you even know each other? Did Tim hide you from them? Bruce doesn't know if he even wants the answers to his questions.

Damian followed Bruce and regretted that decision immediately. His question was too important to leave Bruce's side, however, so he stayed. He stared at the scene, then at Bruce, then back at the kissing duo.

Damian shook his head like the scene would disappear from his head if he did so. It did not. He'll be scarred forever seeing Tim willingly kiss a fish hybrid. Does he have to worry about Goliath now? Are you intelligent enough to understand what kissing means on earth?

If you were a mermaid, it would be different, but you didn't look human enough in everybody else's opinion, and Damian was questioning everything. Damian was horrified. He entirely forgot what he wanted to ask Bruce.

You pulled away from the kiss first and quickly retracted your fish qualities to appear more human now that you were gaining a crowd.

Your flippers turned into human hands, your powerful tail split into legs, and your scales turned into normal skin. Why didn't you do that before you kissed Tim? Tim looked at his bleeding hands from when he grabbed your hips, then his torn up clothes and smiled. Worth it. He's dealt with far worse injuries.

Tim mumbled something to you, which made you chirp happily. Everybody assumed that was your laugh, and nobody knew how to feel about it except Tim. He looked like he was in love with you. It didn't matter to him that you sounded like a dolphin when you laughed or that your scales shredded his palms and torn his clothes.

"We really need to make a rule of no kissing in the cave."

Jason said gruffly. He tried to ignore the duo, he really did, but he couldn't stop side-eyeing the kissing duo while he busied himself with fixing the damage Damian caused to the Batmobile while they were on patrol. Jason knows about the monster community, but he never anticipated Tim to be into it. Then again, why would he be? Tim has been on every corner of the internet.

Maybe it was because Tim grew up with the Twilight craze and he dug too deep in the rabbit hole to get out or maybe he played too many video games and found an attractive fish character that he decided to look at too closely. Whatever the case, he thought it was odd. You didn't look very human except for shape and behaviour. At least your face is normal enough. He would struggle to stop judging if you looked like your monstrous father.

Tim decided to ignore the agreed rule and kiss you again anyway. Jason immediately reinforced the rule and pulled him away from you. He's had enough. He will drag Tim kicking and screaming to Texas if he has to, but he will not see Tim make out with you again.

Jason noticed Tim's torn hands, and he was floored that he wanted a repeat. Seriously? Then again, you did get rid of the scales. He wouldn't get hurt any further. Jason said,

"Kiss in your room like a normal person, idiot."

Tim sighed like a cartoon character fallen in love, which made Jason drop him like Tim burned him and storm out of the cave. Tim didn't hear a word that he said, and he wasn't about to stick around for Tim's second alien kiss.

Never again. He won't be returning to the cave until you are either gone or Tim has the guts to date you. Tim finally found the right person for him, and that's fine. Jason just wished he wasn't around to find out.

[67bottles-of-milk]

DEVOTION ❀ damian wayne

dabble | rushed, written on my laptop

you'd always known damian wayne to be intense, but nothing could have prepared you for how gentle his intensity could be— how every look, every touch, every word felt like a secret between just the two of you. as much as damian is stoic and often presented as rude, he is such a romantic at heart. at this point you were sure he got his inspiration from rom-coms. it started with flowers.

you were sitting on the balcony of wayne manor's libary, legs curled beneath you, reading when you felt a shadow fall across the book. damians silhouette framed by the fading sunset. he held a bouquet of white lilies in one hand— delicate and elegant, ones that made you think of spring. “for you, beloved,” he said softly, his voice low and even, as if stating a fact. you looked up, blinking while your face warmed. you gently took them, standing up. you set your book down, your eyes full of love. “'beloved'? dami...”

a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, through it didn't reach his eyes the same way it might with someone else. it was subtle, but you saw it. “yes. its what you are,” you opened your mouth to protest— embrassed and unsure of how to respond. but he leaned in, his lips brushing on the top of your head in a delicate kiss. “ya hayati,” he muttered then, the syllables in arabic sliding off his tongue like honey. your stomach flipped, though you had no idea what it meant. “you know i dont understand when you do that.” you stammered.

he tilted his head slightly, a quiet amusement dancing in his green eyes. “thats precisely why i do it.” you scowled, flustered. “damian-”

he reached out, his hand resting at your waist, steady and warm even through the layers of fabric. “you don't need to understand the words to understand how i feel.” his thumb brushed over your side, slow and deliberate. “but if it helps...” he paused, his voice dipping to near whisper as he leaned closer. “ya hayati, means my life,” your eyes widen, as the heat in your cheeks spread down your neck. “that’s—that’s…”

he smirked, his free hand finding yours, guiding it to rest on his bicep as if he needed you to hold on. “exactly.” in public, it was no different. Whether it was at a wayne gala or simply a quiet evening walk, damian kept you close, his hand at your waist or your fingers looped around his arm. you knew the looks people gave you—the quiet curiosity, the raised eyebrows at gotham’s most stoic son being so openly affectionate.

you would always duck your head, your heart hammering in your chest. but damian never faltered. his grip stayed firm, his presence unwavering. “relax,” he’d murmur, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “you’re with me.”and in those moments, even if you couldn’t always find the words to say it back, you felt it—his devotion, his unwavering love—like a promise in every quiet touch.