everythingdcbxm1012

[everythingdcbxm1012]

couldn't make it any harder

summary: being in love with dick grayson sucks. dick grayson being in love with you? possibly worse.

cw/tags: reformed playboy!dick grayson, childhood best friends to lovers, angst/fluff with happy ending, reader fell first but he is down BAD, explicit language, absolutely terrible communication on both sides

note: SHOUTOUT DICK GRAYSON FOR GETTING ME THROUGH MY WRITER'S BLOCK RAHHHH also i forgot how much i like writing angst, like even though it pains me to read it is sooooo fun to write angry characters lol. again this was supposed to be shorter but hey at least it's not big ol' one-shot 1k words it's 100 way from being that though

hope you like it :) hello dc enjoyers :) hello dick grayson enjoyers :)

"people like you don't fall for people like me."

there's a pause and everything is still except for the steady rain coming down in sheets. it's the furthest thing from a romantic moment, yet he still looks just as beautiful all the same. the water makes dick's suit glisten, the lightning blue bird in the middle of his chest catching glimmers of flickering streetlight. he looks like a symbol. he looks like a god. and there you were, without an umbrella, something between frustration and pure grief driving your words.

"you don't know that," he replies roughly. it would sting less if you had cursed his entire bloodline for generations to come. "you can't say that." you scoff.

"oh, can't i?" the muscle in his jaw tightens; you want to punch it. why he was angry, you had no idea, but the red in your vision was practically scarlet. "we've known each other our entire lives, grayson. you tell me how many times i've settled for whatever piece of shit comes my way because i've learned my lesson. i've fallen for people like you, however perfect and charming they are, and i know for a fact that they never fall back."

the bouquet of flowers that he'd kept in his fridge all day to bring you after patrol lies forgotten on the sidewalk. it'd been like this since you'd broken up with your last boyfriend four months ago, and your best friend began filling the void that your ex left behind. you didn't start thinking too much of it until dick started looking at you with too much care, a tenderness in his eyes that was setting off every alarm bell in your mind. suddenly, the constant excuses to see you, buy you dinner, clean up your apartment, and all the other times he simply appeared by your side made sense. you finally realize he was pitying you while you were sitting at your kitchen table, watching black clouds roll over the starless sky, and rushing out the door to get some air. he'd caught you walking aimlessly on an empty street, landing in front of you with a dramatic flourish that quickly deflated when he saw the way you were glowering at him.

"really? who, then?" he doesn't raise his voice but he does step close enough to almost be chest-to-chest, emboldened. he was the greatest detective in the city, for fuck's sake, and he's used his skills for his entire life to remember every little detail about you. dick knows everything, down to your shoe size and favorite pair of sheets, so it'd be a new experience for him to learn about one of your crushes that he hadn't already figured out. "what self-righteous, talk-of-the-town playboy did you fall for that made you think you deserve anything less than everything i want to give--"

oh.

the realization hits him right in the abdomen, sharp and present as a bullet.

it's him. he is the reason you think he'd never love you anymore than as a friend.

he can't tell if the moisture on your face is mostly rain or tears; the look on your face is worse than a punch to the stomach. your bottom lip trembles as you look up, close your eyes, and take a breath. yet, when you finally fill in the empty space in the argument, your voice is still helplessly shaky.

"i've been in love with you for my whole life, dick," you sniffle. "i've seen the way people fall at your feet, how you make them seem special and then move on like they were less than the dirt under your boots. you can't blame me for hitting the panic button when god forbid you start making me feel special." the rain starts to lighten. his fingers twitch at his sides, unsure of whether to wipe your tears or take your hands.

"i'm sorry," he murmurs, slowly raising his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing the fresh wave of emotions falling down your face. the world must be ending, you think to yourself. dick grayson is apologizing to you. "i'm sorry i ever made you think i was pitying you."

"do you actually pity me?"

"of course not," he answers without hesitation, his expression hardening into determination. you can't see his eyes behind the whites of his domino mask, but you can feel the intensity of his stare. "everything that i've done for you--been willing to do for you--has been because you deserve it." something softens in your face, your anger replaced by a sad, resolved smile.

"that doesn't change the fact that i've become another notch in your belt." his eyebrows furrow.

"how so?"

"you can add me to that list in your phone of people who fall for you that you don't love back." he shakes his head.

"i can't."

"why not?"

"because i was under the impression that people like you don't fall for people like me," he breathes, his face dipping closer to yours. you allow both of his hands to gently hold your face. "but for the first time, i'm glad to be wrong." before you could reply, his mouth is on yours, slowly, reverently. he kisses you like a promise, his hands slipping to tighten on your hips as if you'd fall through his hands if he let go. "i love you," he whispers in between breaths, over and over and over again. "i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you."

above, the stars finally begin to twinkle.

star divider by @enchanthings :)

[everythingdcbxm1012]

Gentle Lover

Dick Grayson x Reader

Meow.

Warnings: Canon deaths(parents), death, mentions of blood, uhhh allusion to SA? I think that's how I'm gonna put it because nothing happens, but it’s implied it might happen, swearing, I think that's it! Let me know if I missed any.

Before you, his mind was always clouded over, he felt like he was missing something that he couldn't quite explain.

The moment he met you, his vision felt brighter, and the noise in his mind stopped.

Well, the second time he meets you...

The first time he met you he was a happy kid.

The second time he been through so much, his brain is all foggy. Countless nights of no sleep. Women and men alike throwing themselves at him. He didn't want all their attention... it started the ongoing conversation around him being a playboy.

A rumor he hated. Because he was nothing like that. He didn't even sleep with anyone unless he knew he loved them and... there wasn't many people that passed that.

He tried one nightstands before, don’t get him wrong, but they just weren't his style. He wasn't a casual guy. He couldn't be casual.

The first time he met you was on that tragic night...

——

You were in the crowd waiting for the circus to start punching tickets, a little girl like any other, going to the circus. A rich little girl at that.

Your parents were some of the most influential people in Gotham, your father the owner of the hospitals in Gotham, and one that gave free healthcare to underprivileged families... Your mother was an advocate for families in crime ally and the brutality they faced.

Somehow, they had a lot of enemies.

You had gone away from your parents, always the rebellious little lady, and snuck into one of the tents.

Inside were glittering outfits and mirrors, yellow lights. You heard someone behind you.

"Excuse me miss... y-you can't be back here..."

"O-oh... um..." you turned, and saw a little boy around your age, dark curly hair, bright blue eyes, tan skin. He was dressed in one of the leotards that acrobatics performers used.

You gave a small smile and a whispered apology, stating you were merely curious about the circus, which was true. He smiled back at you, and nodded.

"Alright then... um... my name is Richard Grayson! But you can call me Dick. I'm 11, um.... What's your name?" He asked, introducing himself, reaching out his hand.

You took his hand, "Y/N L/N... I'm 10. Wait Grayson like-"

He laughed and nodded proudly, you didn't even have to finish the sentence for him to know what you meant. With his hand in yours, he took you around showing you different things in the circus. It wasn't allowed... but he made an exception just because! Totally not cuz you were really pretty... no on course not.

"Woah... what are those?" You marveled, pointing at the dark green silks hanging from a beam.

"Oh those are aerial silks... they're pretty cool," he said, walking over to them. He smiled brightly, "D'you wanna... try them out? I can teach you... won't let you get hurt..."

You thought for a moment and looked at the time. You still had about an hour to kill. So you nodded, walking closer.

"D'you have shorts under your skirt? It would be improper for me to help you and accidentally make you indecent," he asked, almost eloquently.

You blushed and nodded, having safety shorts under all of your dresses.

——

A little while later you were hanging upside down from the silks.

"Dick I'm scared!" You whimper, seeing the fall to the ground.

"Don't be scared. Trust me."

He said it like he had magic that would stop you midair, with so much reassurance, you couldn't help but trust him. You did what he showed you, and dropped down, the silk unfolding and stopping before you hit the ground. You squealed and laughed, having so much fun, the rush of the fall, your hair whipping around, your skirts puffing out.

"That was so much fun! You get to do this everyday?" You asked as he helped you out of the silks.

He laughed and shook his head, "No... I don't do silks. I mean I know how to use them but I don't do it as my main thing."

He lay down and did a handstand on one hand, showing off with a 'ta daaaa' that made you laugh. He stood back up and smiled. Your laugh was infectious. He wanted to hear you do it over and over and over.

"Richard Grayson!"

He flinched and turned around with a sheepish look on his face.

"Hi dad..." he mumbled, knowing he was in trouble... maybe.

"We were worried about you kiddo... oh? Who's your friend...?" His father asked, kneeling down to be more at eye level with his son, noticing you standing behind him.

You fidgeted with your skirt waving at the older man.

"Oh this is Y/N! I-I was teaching her some stuff... she was um lost... back here..." Dick explained, softly putting an arm around your shoulders.

"Y/N L/N!"

You heard a shrill voice shriek as your mother came marching in.

"H-hi momma..." you said, now even more embarrassed.

"Are you okay? Why would you run off?! Who is this boy? Did he-"

"Momma! I'm fine... this is Richard Grayson... he was just showing me the stuff they do," you defended.

She sighed and smiled, relieved you had been accompanied the whole time, before urging you to say your goodbyes.

"Alright honey, say good bye... your father is waiting for us at our seats."

You pouted and looked over at Dick who also had a semblance of a pout. You sighed.

"Bye bye Dick... good luck tonight... I-I'm sure you'll do great!" You whispered softly.

"We don't need luck! We've never made a mistake!" He laughed, saying it proudly, puffing up his chest.

You laughed, nodding, "What kinda treat should I get? They allow me one every time we go watch something... plus we get popcorn to share."

He thought for a moment before answering, "Cotton Candy... it's sweet... just like you."

You blushed at the boy's declaration, nodding. While your respective parents spoke behind you, you gave him a quick peck on the cheek before running over to your mother, who stared to lead you away.

"Wowza..."

He would definitely keep his eyes peeled for you in the crowd....

Then he turned to his dad and asked, "Hey when did you meet mom?"

——

The circus was entertaining but you were looking out for one person in particular. At one point he came out just to do small things around the edge of the arena. You were at the front and stood up, giggling when he went past you. He smirked and pulled you into the arena.

"What are you doing?!" You whisper yelled.

"It's a part of the performance! Usually my mom or dad come do it but... I asked cuz I wanted to do it with you..."

You laughed and he grabbed your hand, leading in a silly waltz as the performers behind him did their actual dance. It was like a comedy. He did a handstand, then motioned for you to do the same. You shook your head.

He shrugged and did a quick backbend to get back up.

"C'mon... I'll help!" He whispered.

You gave in, nodding. He helped you get your legs up, and held your skirt so it wouldn't fly up. You giggled and he helped you back up, giving you a twirl and hoisting you up on his shoulder. You squealed, and held him. He put you on the border, so you could go back to your seat. Your hand held onto his still before he had to slip out of your grip.

You sat back down, almost pouting at the loss off talking to the boy. Your parents merely laughed and said that was cute.

Eventually, the Flying Graysons were announced and you watched in soft amazement for the first few minutes before...

You watched as his parents fell, but before anything else happened, you felt your parents cover your eyes.

Two loud bangs were heard, and you felt your parents cover you.

The crowd around you screamed and panicked but you were too little to lift your parents off of you.

"Momma... momma what's wrong...? You're crying... so much... it's getting me all wet," you whispered softly, tears filling your own eyes. "Daddy? What's happening I'm scared!"

A while later, you were sat next to Dick, wrapped in a blanket in blood stained clothes, he was still in his show clothes. The EMTs tried to explain what happened in terms a child would understand but... even then it was pretty heavy news.

You cried and cried, Dick doing the same next to you. You both held each other tightly until your aunt came to get you.

"Promise you'll find me?"

"Promise."

——

You had been placed into your favorite aunt's care after that. You never did hear from Dick again until a few years later.

You were 21 now, attending your final semester at Gotham University, and decided to walk to get ice cream. Yeah, that was a stupid idea because now, you were tied up in an alley by some guys.

They had already beaten you up a little, gotten you pretty good with that switchblade. But you refused to be their victim. You kicked when they got close, as they were unable to tie your legs, and you seemed to be decently strong.

"Let me go you assholes! Help-"

"Shut it princess. Cmon... no one is coming to save ya so how about you use that pretty lil mouth-"

Suddenly you watched them fall to ground with a groan. You saw a man standing behind them, holding two metal staffs, and saw the blue mark on his chest.

Nightwing.

"Oh, sorry... what was that you were saying? Cuz it seems like your mouth could be used for something else too... cuz right now you're choking on your own words... Lucky it's me on patrol and not Red Hood or you'd be choking on the barrel of a gun. So, I'll give you both ten seconds to get the hell outta here. 10...9..."

At the man's words, both started bolting. As soon as they were gone, he kneeled down in front of you, undoing your bindings.

"Are you alright Miss...?" He asks softly, noticing the nasty looking gash on your thigh.

"L/N... Y/N L/N."

You watched as the vigilante's eyes widened. He helped you up.

Could it be...?

"L/N huh? Crazy question... did you go to a circus say... 12 years ago?"

You nodded, and frowned.

"Um... um... we're gonna need to patch you up... if you don't mind... coming with me?" He asked, suddenly a bit nervous at the thought.

_-_-_

He had explained to Batman why he was taking you back to the batcave... and the bat knew better than to stop him, even through his protests, he could see that this went past helping an injured civilian.

You lay in a chair of sorts as the man patched you up. It was quiet except for your winces and his soft apologies.

"You... remind me of someone I knew..." you whisper finally. He looks up, and bites his lip. Should... he?

I mean, it's you... he could tell you... right?

"Who knows maybe I am?" He joked, looking up from your injury as he finished bandaging you up.

You laughed, and he smiled that charming smile of his. He missed that laugh... your laugh hadn't changed a bit. Still as bright and cheerful as that day.

"Well... you're all patched up," he said awkwardly.

"And you're sure none of these stitches will pop out? Should I wish you luck?" You joked, standing up from the chair, back turned the masked vigilante.

"We don't need luck! We've never made a mistake..."

You froze up, and turned slowly to face him. However, the man was no longer wearing his mask.

"Hey..."

"...hi."

"Long time no see- hmph-"

You almost tackled him as you hugged him. He was unsure of what to do with the sudden affection but returned it once it registered in his mind.

_-_-_

He had taken you up to the manor, and told you everything you'd missed the past 12 years, and you returned the favor.

"My god... I never... I mean I heard Dick Grayson on the news occasionally... like son of Bruce Wayne but I never... god it never clicked!" You explained, feeling stupid.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up.... You found me eventually?" he tried to comfort.

"Yeah... yeah."

——

After that, he never let you go again. Truly. He asked you out on dates and always invited you to galas. You never really liked attending and going through the front where all the paparazzi could see you two.

You kept your relationship on the more private side. Private, but not a secret.

However, for this gala, it was imperative you made the public appearance. No sneaking in through the multitude of secret doors and rooms around the mansion.

Paparazzi were everywhere outside Wayne manor, and you had your arm hooked with Dick's. You unhooked your arm with his and posed for pictures with him smiling sweetly as you reached up, fixing his hair.

He gave you that charming smile you got so used to seeing, melting into your touch.

Someone from a news station called you over and you obliged, dragging Dick along with you. He followed, hand on the small of your back, leading you over.

"Miss! So, you've actually been around him for a while yes?" They ask.

You nod softly, explaining how you had met at that circus all those years ago, and how... you found each other again because of a mutual late night ice cream craving… that was the civilian story…

"Well, consider us shocked. Has one of Gotham's biggest playboys finally settled down?"

You felt Dick tense beside you. This question always made you upset. Dick was not a playboy. He may have been a lot of things, but a man who messes with love is not one.

"I've answered this question before. Calling Dick a playboy is like calling the Joker sane. It's absolutely not true. Your perception of him is completely off if you think that of him," you defended, feeling his hand find yours. "Dick, darling, why don't we head inside?"

He was more than happy to oblige.

"You know you don't... have to defend me against the evil force that is gossip bloggers right?" He said, giving you a silly smile, though you could see his sadness through it.

"I always will though. Wanna know why? Because I know you. They don't. And the way they perceive you makes you upset. If it makes you upset, then it upsets me as well."

He smiled at you, squeezing your hand.

Through the whole night you could tell he was getting tired, all the people, reporters... the people flirting with him.

"Oh cmon why don't you come with me... I'm sure your little plaything won't mind~" a woman cooed, touching his arm.

You were right beside him, glaring at her, about to step in to tell her to get her hands off your man, when he spoke up.

He pulled away from her grip, "No thanks. I'm taken by my girlfriend. I don't have playthings. Plus I don't really sleep with anyone I don't have feelings for, and honestly none of your attributes, physical or otherwise interest me in the slightest. Also, the biggest point here is that I am a taken man, and not a cheater."

She huffed and walked away, muttering, “Some playboy he is…”

Dick let out a tired groan.

"Wanna go home babe?" You asked quietly.

He nodded. He didn't want to think. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to be responsible. He didn’t want to keep masking how he really felt all the time. He was so used to caring for everyone else, he was always shocked when you cared for him. He had forgotten what that felt like until you.

You both headed out to his car. He opened the passenger side door for you, letting you get in before softly closing the door. When he got into the car, he held your hand on the center console, the other on the steering wheel as he took you home.

When you entered your apartment, Dick immediately began taking off his tie and suit jacket, holding them as he made a direct trail to the room. You laughed, following closely.

You took off your jewelry,  then took bobby-pins after bobby-pins out of your hair, you wiped off your makeup, and asked Dick for his help in getting out of the dress.

Dick, who was already in his boxers laying starfish on your shared bed, sat up and walked over, softly unzipping it.

"God... it feels so good to breathe," you joked, getting out of your clothes and into your pajamas as Dick got back into the bed, groaning.

A moment of silence passed until you heard him take a deep breath.

"...Y/N do you think I'm a playboy? Do I like... come off as a person who only wants a fun time? Like... do you think I'll leave you if someone new comes around like just at the drop of a hat-"

You frown. Your poor traumatized boyfriend. You crawled into the bed, softly caressing his face.

"Dick, of course not. I know you. And you are not a playboy... you said it yourself you only sleep with people you have a relationship with... a connection. It was with us and how long were we together before we had sex? We were official, and you still took it slow… and that’s what I love about you… You're a romantic sap, and you admit it and I love that about you… you’re honest and straightforward about what you want. You’re not a casual lover, and you don’t do casual relationships. I know you would never leave me just because. You love like it’s your last day every single day," you whisper comforting him.

You knew the tabloids got to him, they often mistook his actions and mischaracterized him in the media. They had been saying for years he was a playboy, but now that he was in a relationship, they couldn't feed the drama anymore. So, they tried to speculate on your relationship, even photoshopping pictures of both of you together and making them look like another person. You never paid any mind to them, knowing your beloved would never betray you. A relationship had to be built on trust, and you trusted Dick more than anyone in your life.

He sighed, "I'm sorry I'm such a mess babe..."

"Dick, it's okay to need help... it’s okay to need reassurance… I'm your girlfriend, that's what girlfriends do," you mumbled, pressing soft kisses to his knuckles.

"No... not all girlfriends... just you."

Dick had always had to be the strong one in his past relationships. He was already tired from everything else going on in his life, from the Titans.. to the justice league… to the young justice league… Vigilantes like Red Hood… scratch that, god Jason was his own category of mess… to the family affairs... he just couldn't catch a break. He was an exhausted oldest brother, caring for everyone all the time. He was the one everyone went to for advice and for help. The one they went to when they shattered and couldn’t piece themselves back together again…

And he felt like he could just melt when he was in your arms.  He sighed and began to kiss your shoulder and neck, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you closer to him.

"I love you s’much... you're so perfect for me I love you," he muttered between gentle kisses as his hands traveled to your waist, his thumbs rubbing in circles. "So beautiful... so lovely... so sweet and wonderful... so caring… and gorgeous… oh my Y/N… my Y/N… all mine… I love you so much."

You giggled, and held his hand softly.

"Dick..."

"I do... I love you... love you s'much...never letting you go... never..."

Dick Grayson was a lot of things. But above all, he was a lover boy with a need to express his affections to you.

"Gonna... marry... you... one... day..." he murmured between kisses, making you blush, and tense up a bit at the declaration.

He froze, realizing what he had just said.

"Sorry I... fuck I messed up didn't I...? I'm sorry just forget I said anything I-" he started apologizing, pulling away from you.

You turned to face him, gently cupping his face, fixing his dark hair.

"Don't apologize my love... that was cute..." you whisper, as he sought out your touch.

"Don't think I'm moving too fast...?" He mumbled. "You aren't gonna leave cuz I said that?"

"Oh Dick... I would never leave for something so pure... I love you too y'know? And I can't wait to marry you one day," you say, gently kissing his lips.

He smiles into the kiss, holding you tightly against him.

Yeah…. He would never let you go again.

[everythingdcbxm1012]

You: Oh!! Ghirardelli caramel squares. *Showing Dick the bag* Lucious filling.

Dick: You're lucious and filling.

[everythingdcbxm1012]

Kiss, marry, kill?

[everythingdcbxm1012]

as someone who constantly bites their lip, i like the idea that whenever you subconsciously start rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, Jason takes note and uses his thumb to gently tug it free before going back to whatever he was doing before he noticed.

you're sat on the couch, hes in the kitchen making something to eat when he glances over and sees you biting at your lip hard enough to make the skin redden and split. you're distracted. on your phone or something, so he pads quietly across the room, tips your head up with his palm until you're focused entirely on him, and pulls it free using his thumb.

as soon as hes satisfied with the correction he goes back to the kitchen and carries on as normal. when he next glances over you're already watching him, a slightly wide, love-sick look in your eye.

and Jason? well, he does what he always does when you look at him like that.

he smiles.

[everythingdcbxm1012]

Dick: *stumbling into your shared apartment after patrol*

Y/N: You look like hell.

Dick: *grinning* I'm told that hell is hot

Y/N: *rolls their eyes*

[everythingdcbxm1012]

When the Truth Comes Out

Request: Reader asks, "So, when are you going to ask me to marry you?" I hope I did your prompt justice!

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: It’s been three and a half years since Jason asked you out, and he knows you’re the one. He knows every part of you, the good and bad, and loves it all. The problem is that you don’t know everything about him… and his secrets may ruin everything.

Word count: 3.5k

Jason’s never been one to window shop, but lately he’s been noticing the glint of jewelry.

You give him a weird look when he stumbles in the middle of the department store. It’s because a ring display caught him off guard like a punch to the gut, but he can’t explain that, so Jason waves off your concerned questioning.

You give him a weird look before turning back to the toy aisle. The two of you spent the morning bickering over what present to give Damian for Christmasukkah. You want to give him a keyboard to learn piano, but Jason’s sure that Damian would be happier receiving an art kit. He knows violin, which is a strings instrument, not whatever the piano is. Besides, the kid’s a brat. He’d want a full-size grand piano that originally belonged to Mozart or some shit and costs a hundred thousand dollars, which isn’t exactly pocket cash for the two of you.

And, sure, Jason’s got one of Bruce’s credit cards in his wallet—Bruce offered to give him one in Jason’s name, but it was the principle of using the stolen card, so Jason turned him down—but he’d be damned before he spoiled the kid any more than he already is.

He keeps his eyes firmly on you after that. It’s where they’re supposed to be, anyway.

You end up getting the keyboard after surreptitiously checking your bank account against your projected budget several times. It’s funny. After three years, you still think you can hide stuff like that from Jason. Probably because he pretends not to notice. He makes a mental note to stop by your landlord’s and see if the Red Hood can make any suggestions about lowering rent for your building.

As the two of you walk out of the store, a cold gust of wind tries to steal your breath away. You step closer to Jason, cold fingers twining with his, and he easily drapes an arm over your shoulders to keep you close. “Was that the last one?”

“I think so,” you reply, checking your list again. “The keyboard for Damian, massage gun for Dick, matching pajamas for Cass and Steph, Pokemon expansion pack for Duke, and the fuzzy socks for Tim.”

The socks are decorated with the words ‘I BREACHED CONTAINMENT’ in black stitching. Jason saw them in a tourist trap he saved from a D-list rogue and remembered how Tim looked like the bog monster after falling into the sewers the day before. They’ve been sitting in his closet since the end of August.

“I have too many siblings,” Jason sighs.

“Have you figured out what you’re giving Bruce?”

Jason bites his lip.

You say, “Ah. Well, you still have a couple days.”

Yeah. Jason has two. He’d been supposed to look out for anything to catch his eye in the store, but all he noticed was the stupid ring display.

He opens the car door for you, then shoves the keyboard in its box into the backseat and starts the engine. Jason drives home one-handed. The other holds yours loosely over the console. You’re checking your bank account again on your phone, frowning slightly, thumb brushing up and down Jason’s palm. He keeps an eye on you as he drives, playing idly by squeezing your fingers one by one until you have to try to hide a smile by looking out the window. 

He doesn’t let go of your third finger. Something nags at the back of his mind, like—

Jason realizes that he’s trying to find a ring, and his heart stops. The car jumps forward when he slams on the gas, and he drops your hand to put both of his on the wheel as he swerves around a minivan. You let out a startled yelp, hands flying out for something to grab onto. The stupid keyboard slides off the back seat and into the footwell.

Two cars lay on their horns when he nearly sideswipes them. Jason responds with an emphatic middle finger and cuts across three lanes to get away. The poor car doesn’t respond as well to his driving as his motorcycle does, and the engine whines as he leaves the other cars in the dust until he eases off.

As soon as the car reaches a relatively normal speed, you say, “Jay! What just happened?”

“Sorry,” is all he can say, keeping both arms stiff on the wheel. “Sorry, honey.”

“You okay?”

“‘M good. You good?”

“I’m okay, I was just…” You keep looking at him, and Jason’s skin prickles. Do you know? Can you tell?

Jason creaks like old wood, but he pulls back his right arm and puts his hand on the console, palm up. After a moment, you put your left overtop it. He can feel your pulse racing through the thin skin of your wrist.

He squeezes.

You squeeze back.

The day before Christmas, Jason still doesn’t know what to give Bruce. He’d hoped that baking would fix the block, but as he abuses the poor sopapilla dough, he’s no further to any answers.

You’re at the counter, offering moral support but not physical help. Jason’s a bit of a control freak in the kitchen when he’s anxious.

He’s not anxious. He’s not! It doesn’t matter if he gives Bruce something for Chrismukkah. Bruce doesn’t even celebrate Christmas. ‘Not trying to kill him’ is probably a good enough present.

Or the sopapillas. Sure, everyone’s bringing a dish, but no one said it couldn’t also be Jason’s present. But if he goes that route, then the pastries have to be perfect, and the last batch didn’t fluff up the way they did when Catherine made them.

“Jay,” you say after another five minutes of Jason punching dough that is already thoroughly kneaded.

“Yes, love?”

“I think the oil might be ready.”

Judging by the hiss and pops behind him, it is, and has been for several minutes.

Jason tries his best to follow his mother’s actions through his memory, but this batch doesn’t turn out right, either.

“Here,” he says wearily, placing the overflowing plate in front of you. “Let ‘em cool off.”

You wait as long as you can, fingers drumming on the counter as you watch tiny curls of steam drift up from the pile of pastries. Finally, you give in. “Oh my gosh,” you say around a mouthful that was a little too hot, judging by your wince. “Jay, these are amazing.”

“It’s not right, though,” he argues.

“Jay, I didn’t even think it was possible, but these are better than your last batch.”

He shakes his head stubbornly.

“Well, we’ll keep working on it,” you decide. “But really, if you bring these tomorrow, no one will complain. If they do…” You hold up a fist and shake it, mustering up (what you think is) a ferocious scowl.

Jason’s lips twitch. “What if Damian complains? Are you prepared to hit a child?”

“I can’t believe you would even ask me that,” you say. “I live in Gotham. I’ve been waiting for that moment my entire life.”

Despite himself, Jason laughs. He picks up one of the pastries from the dish and bites into it. They could have used more honey. Maybe that was the problem. But you’re right. These are good, and if they’re not, so what? It’s not like Bruce expects much from him anyway.

Jason’s chest squeezes.

Bruce should just be grateful that Jason is there at all.

Fuck.

It’s getting too hard to deny. Despite all his best efforts, Jason has to admit… maybe he does love his family.

It’s the first holiday season where he hasn’t been incandescent with rage toward one of them or another, and he’d underestimated just how nervous he would be. Despite everything that happened between them, he wants tomorrow to go well. The first night of Hanukkah is the same day as Christmas this year, which hasn’t happened for about twenty years. It’ll be Damian’s third Chrismukkah and the first where everyone is in attendance—Jason wasn’t on speaking terms with the family his first year, and Bruce was in the time stream and Tim was across the world last year.

“Hey, Jay.”

“Hmm.”

You swallow without making eye contact, and if he was paying even a little bit more attention, he would have known to prepare himself for what you said next.

“When are you gonna ask me to marry you?”

Jason is a selfish asshole. It’s a miracle that you haven’t figured that out yet after three years of dating him. He half-expects to come back to the apartment to find his stuff in bags. That’s the main reason he’s still out in the cold.

He’s in the middle of another drag when a teasing voice says from behind, “Ooh, must have been a rough day.”

Jason’s hand twitches for his gun, but he recognizes the voice. So he only rolls his eyes and says around the cigarette, “What do you want?”

“Your partner asked me to check up on you. Apparently you looked pretty freaked when you took off.”

Fuck. Jason groans. “How worried did they seem?”

“Ummm….”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, you kind of messed up.” Spoiler sits next to him, dangles her legs over the side of the roof, and lets them swing idly. “Or they messed up. I thought you quit smoking?”

He exhales a thick plume of smoke. “I did,” Jason says. Dying from smoke inhalation was bad once, but a habit is a habit.

“If it makes you feel any better, they seemed more concerned about you. Not, like, mad or anything.”

Well, that’s something.

“So what happened?”

Jason grunts. Maybe if he stares into the horizon long enough, Spoiler will give up. That was the technique Batman always used when Robin asked the tough questions like, ‘Why am I going home early so you can interrogate Catwoman on your own?’

It only worked sometimes.

Unfortunately, Spoiler seems immune.

Jason grunts and drops the butt of his cigarette. He itches for another, but you’ll already wrinkle up your nose at the smell of one. And, shit, what are you even going to think about him high-tailing it out after that question, leaving for hours, and coming back stinking of smoke?

“I’m a fucking idiot. And an asshole.”

Spoiler huffs. “Everyone already knows that, dumbass. They certainly do.”

“Thanks,” Jason says drily.

“Anytime!” she chirps.

Her heels beat against the side of the building.

She’s not leaving anytime soon, so Jason sighs and gives in. “They asked when I was planning on proposing.”

Spoiler gasps and jumps to her feet. “Oh my God!”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my God!”

“Yep.”

“So you’re engaged?”

“What? No.”

“What?”

“They asked when I would propose. That wasn’t a proposal… I don’t think so. I mean, there wasn’t a ring,” Jason says helplessly.

Spoiler socks him in the shoulder.

“Ow!” Damn, but the girl can pack a punch. He rubs at the sore spot, scowling.

“You stupid idiot!”

“I know.”

“And you just ran away?”

Jason cringes and admits to his lap, “Yes.”

Spoiler hits him in the exact same spot on his shoulder.

“Goddamn it, stop that!”

“I’m going to kill you, Jason Peter Todd.”

“You could certainly try, Stephanie… Brown,” he shoots back.

“You don’t even know my middle name?”

“I don’t care about you.”

She lifts her fist again, but Jason twists out of the way before she can hit him a third time in the same shoulder. It’ll be bruised tomorrow.

“You don’t get it,” he says, balancing on the edge of the roof and feeling exceptionally unstable, even though he’s walked across ledges like this since he was twelve.

“What don’t I get? That you have an awesome partner waiting for you at home? One that wants to get married? One that—”

“One that has no idea who I am,” Jason hisses. He brandishes his helmet at the girl. “We’ve been together for three years. They have no idea that I’m the Red Hood. It made sense, at first; I can’t go around telling everyone I kiss what my identity is—”

“Right,” she scoffs sarcastically, “like you’re some kind of serial kisser, Todd. Half the city would know your identity if you did that.”

“Shut up,” Jason half-says, half-groans, and by some miracle, she does. “At first, obviously I couldn’t tell them. Then I wanted to keep waiting. I wanted to know that they were, you know, the one and everything.”

Spoiler fake-gags. Jason ignores her.

“And after that it was just too late. I waited too long. I can’t marry them unless they know about the mask, but who would agree to marry someone that’s been lying to them for three years? The entire time they’ve known me?”

“Huh,” says Spoiler.

‘Huh’ indeed.

“So I ran,” Jason says. “I don’t even know if I said anything. The next thing I knew, I was in the street with a pack of cigs and a lighter in my pocket. I came up here to smoke a couple before going back and ending things.”

“You—wait, ‘ending things?’” Spoiler’s head whips around, the white lenses of her domino widening. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t lie to them,” says Jason. “When I go back, I’ll tell them the truth. And they’ll break up with me for lying for years. I was just trying to put it off.”

The worst thing was, he wasn’t even trying to lie for most of it. You took his excuses easily, believed him about a boxing gym membership to explain away the bruises, and never uttered a complaint about the odd hours he worked. Every time he was late to a date or canceled, you understood. Every time he forgot something important, odds were that you’d forgotten, too, without him to remind you.

All things considered, Jason might have found the single least curious person in all of Gotham, if you hadn’t figured it out after three years. But he’d gotten so comfortable that he’d forgotten that it was a secret, really. It had all rushed back in when he heard your words like a smack to the face, and he’d panicked.

“You don’t know that,” Spoiler says softly.

“Could you forgive someone for something like this?”

She stays silent, and that’s answer enough.

Jason huffs. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the pack of cigarettes and lighter, and considers them. Then he sighs and drops both on the ground. “Might as well get this over with.”

The cold Gotham air whips away the reek of smoke by the time he’s back at your apartment. Jason looks at the door like a condemned man looks at the gallows. He could sneak in through the window like he usually does, but he selfishly wants you to open the door for him. Show that he’s welcome now, even though he won’t be for long.

Seconds drag on like torturous minutes until he hears the familiar click of the lock. The door inches open with a screech.

Jason’s mouth goes dry at the sight of your wide eyes. “Hey, darling.”

Wordlessly, you open the door further and step aside to let him in.

Funny how a place he’s practically lived in can feel so unfamiliar. Jason shifts between feet as you re-lock your door.

The moment you turn around, he blurts out, “I’m sorry.”

You say the same thing.

“What?” Jason asks.

“You don’t need to apologize,” you say.

“No, I was an ass,” he insists. “I shouldn’t have left.”

“I didn’t mean to push you. I just saw you looking at rings, and we’ve talked about it, but still, marriage is a big step, so I wanted to be prepared,” you ramble. “I mean, we said that we could get married, but we never discussed when, or when the proposal would be—”

“Honey!”

You fall silent.

“Just wait,” Jason begs. He can’t stand any more of your endless understanding. You’ve only ever understood him, no matter what, and he’s going to miss it so much. He’s going to miss you so much. “Wait one second.” He retreats to the bedroom and returns a moment later with something clutched behind his back. Your eyes dart to the awkward way he’s contorted his arm.

Your face goes blank when he pulls out the spare helmet he keeps below your bed. He’d only used a domino when out with Spoiler, but that wouldn’t do for the grand reveal.

“I’m the Red Hood,” he says in a rush, then braces for your judgment.

You don’t react except to say, “Jason.”

He doesn’t understand. You’re not scared of the killer in your apartment. You’re not furious at the man that’s lied to you for three years. Obviously you don’t understand what he’s saying. “Honey, I’m the Red Hood. The vigilante.”

“Jay—”

You’re still just standing with no reaction. Jason holds the mask up so you’re making eye contact with it.

You push it out of the way and cradle his face with both your hands. “Jason Peter Todd, look at me,” you command.

Jason holds your gaze. It’s the last time he’ll ever be so close to you, and he never wants to forget what your presence feels like.

“Jay, I’ve known basically the whole time.”

What.

Jason blinks.

“What?”

“I already knew.”

“Honey, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. I’m the—”

“Red Hood, yes, I know.” You muster up a tremulous smile. “And Bruce is Batman. Dick is Nightwing. Steph is Spoiler, Damian is Robin, Tim is—”

“Oh my God, you knew? How did you know?”

“Jason. My love. My darling. My honey bunchkin.” You give him a mildly scolding look. “I’m not an idiot.”

Jason’s ears heat. “And you’re not… mad?”

“That you’re the Red Hood?” You cock your head. “Of course not. I worry about you, of course. But you have to do it. I know that. Or am I mad that you tried to keep it a secret for three years?” You press your lips together to hide a growing smile. “No. I’m not mad about that either. You can’t exactly go around telling your secret identity to everyone you kiss. It’s just something I had to figure out on my own.”

“You knew,” Jason marvels. “You knew this whole time.”

“Most of the whole time,” you say. “But yes.”

“Oh my God.” Jason’s moving before he can stop himself, and he wraps you up in his arms and spins you around. “I thought you would hate me,” he confesses, still clutching you like his life depends on it. “When I finally told you.”

A soft hand runs through his hair. “Is that why you ran?” you ask softly.

“Yes. I’m so sorry, honey, I just—”

“I get it,” you interrupt.

“You were scared.”

A thought occurs to Jason with such clarity he nearly drops you. “Wait, so you were going to marry me even after you knew about the mask?”

“Of course,” you say. “I love you, Jay. Mask and all.”

“I don’t have a ring.”

“I don’t need one. Don’t you get it? I only need you.”

“I only need you, too.”

“Good.”

“Good,” Jason agrees, and he probably looks like a fool with his wide grin, but you can’t stop smiling either. He dips his head, and you rise up to press your lips to his, even though with both your grins you end up clicking teeth.

“Good,” you repeat.

“Good,” Jason says, just for good measure, and this time he makes sure the kiss is better. Lightning shoots up his spine and he pulls back to ask, “Wait, are we engaged now?”

“Um… yes?”

“That’s awesome.”

Your smile is so wide that your eyes nearly close. Jason’s pretty sure he looks the same as he sweeps you up and spins you around. You fit perfectly into his arms. He’s never going to let you go.

“My fianceé,” he says fondly. “I’m never going to get tired of saying that.”

“I’m marrying you,” you marvel, sweeping your thumb over his mouth. “I have the prettiest husband-to-be in the whole world.”

“I love you,” Jason confesses. “So much.”

“I love you, too.”

Seconds before your mouths meet for another kiss, Jason’s phone buzzes. On the off-chance it’s an important alert, he pulls it out, but it’s just Spoiler asking for an update.

Jason stows the device. “I have an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I know how to make the sopapillas the right way.”

“Oh? And how’s that?”

It turns out that Jason’s right.

Making them with your help turns out to be what was missing the whole time.

DC Taglist

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My inbox is open! Stop by to request something or just to say hi!

[everythingdcbxm1012]

Image how confused the entire Bat family would be if Jason— touch repulsed, wants to work alone, barely even tolerates them most days— Todd finally gets sucked into one of Bruce's charity events, only to come with a date who he *cannot* keep his hands off. I'm talking, has his arm draped around her waist or over her shoulder whenever they're walking, hugging her from behind with his jaw on top of her hair (carefully though, so he won't mess it up), occasionally randomly kissing the back of her hand, or her cheek, or very quickly her neck before she smacks him away playfully.

And the media LOVES this.

The reporters who usually bother Bruce about his company, Dick about his romantic life, Damian about school, Duke about being recently legally adopted, Cass about her improving speech skills, Tim about recent publicity statements, all suddenly leave them alone to take picture after picture of Jason and whoever his date is. And Jason—has threatened, attempted, and actually punched reporters— Todd doesn't even care. He doesn't bat an eye, (pun intended) because they should take pictures with how gorgeous she looks.

He'd be offended if they didn't.

And when she blushes, getting a bit shy after hearing a few too many clicks, he runs a hand up and down her arm, tearing her away from the buffet to dance. Dance. Yes, Bruce thought he'd lost his mind when he saw his son whisk a beautiful woman into the middle of the room, willingly, even eagerly wrapping his arms around her comfortably and familiarly, while she rests her head against his chest and he rests his cheek against the side of your head, his eyes fluttering shut every once in a while.

Of course, his family tried to get to talk to him, really, they did. Something or someone conveniently got in the way every single time, until the event is over and Jason and his date manage to slip out in the crowd before the family gets to interrogate him about it.

His phone? He has to shut it off from all the calls and texts that overwhelm his inbox. Alfred even sent an email.

When he eventually does pick it up after having it on do not disturb for a while, he simply types in the group chat, "You told me to bring a date." Before putting it face down on the nightstand and rolling over in bed to wrap his arms around her, kissing her temple softly as she sleeps, out of your fancy dress and in his arms, where she belongs.

[everythingdcbxm1012]

Thinking about Jason Todd who comes home after a hard day, starving, tired, and sore, but needs you more than anything else. Just imagine being in the kitchen when he comes home, immediately walking over to the stove, shutting it off and pulling you down onto the couch with him for a deep, languished kiss that turns into you two laying there for half an hour while he relaxes. He'd start off mumbling about his day, about how glad he is to be home and how much he missed you, then give up, just holding onto you while slowly and sloppily kissing you until he ran out of breath, pulling back and resting his forehead on yours for a few quiet seconds before starting again, over and over until he felt satisfied and went to shower while you set two plates in front of the TV. When he comes back, he'd absolutely insist you sit on his lap, holding onto your thigh as you eat dinner, finally catching up properly before watching some television or putting on a movie.

[everythingdcbxm1012]

Bruce showing Jason around after he first brings him home

Bruce: ...and don't worry all the chandeliers are reinforced so they won't break while you swing on them

Jason: Why would I do that?

Bruce: ...you don't want to swing on the chandeliers and parkour around the furniture?

Jason: No???

Bruce, tearing up: thank you

[everythingdcbxm1012]

PORTRAIT jason hates taking photos. it's a shame you find him so beautiful.

Jason Todd isn’t one to take pictures. Standing there with a fake smile, posing for a deceptively happy vignette of an unhappy reality feels awkward. He never knows what to do with his hands. He doesn’t like the way his face translates through the lens; the green of his eyes glows just this side of too spectral, his broad, stocky frame towers over that of his siblings, and the scars on his face bring memories of a darker time, an intentional carelessness for his life he used to carry. He leans away when others huddle together to smile. Pretends to notice something behind him when caught in the background of the lens.

Enter you. Only capable of looking at him with hearts in your eyes. Serving on a silver platter what he used to starve and scavenge for in dimly lit bars on the lips of women who only saw him as something to sink their teeth into and then spit out, never sticking around for longer than one night. Jason feasted at first, he’ll admit, stuffing himself to sickness on your unconditional adoration until it was almost too much to bear.

You take pictures of him and gush over them, telling him how pretty he is. How he belongs in a museum. He never believed you, never bothering to actually look at the pictures you take. But pretty soon he’s everywhere; you set him as your lock screen and screensaver, and print photos to frame on your bedside table. When your storage is maxed out, you steal Jason’s phone to flood his camera roll, and he finds that he keeps going back to stare at the photos you take. Selfies where you kiss his cheek and his mouth curves upward just enough to transform him from brooding to disarming; portraits where he looks, not at the camera, but just beyond and his eyes crinkle, the tips of his sharp canines peeking out over his bottom lip. He looks…different. Better. He starts to believe the things you tell him; his beauty is ancient. Michelangelo himself carved the contours of his body. The Trojans and the Greeks fought for a decade over him.

But what is it about this camera, he wonders, that makes his appearance digestible? Is it the way you frame him front and center, the backlighting sun rays extending in all directions behind him, encircling him with a holiness he doesn’t deserve? The scenery against which you capture him, busy nighttime streets under city lights, just dark enough to smooth out his rough edges? 

Or maybe it’s just you. Seeing himself from your point of view. Seeing himself as yours. His hooked nose, crooked from being broken one too many times, belongs to you for the early mornings when you trace down the bridge, around his lips, and up his jaw, drawing a portrait with your fingertips. His unruly hair, with streaks of white that make him stick out like a sore thumb, exists only for you to run your fingers through when he lays his head in your lap. His scars are for you to kiss on those difficult days until he can bear to look in the mirror again. He wants nothing more than to be a museum of all things you.

Jason Todd isn’t one to take pictures. But when you ask so nicely, showering him with compliments and promises of thank-you-kisses later on, how can he say no?

why are we as a society still striving for more definition and higher quality photos for anything other than, like, x-ray imaging and space exploration. I don't want 8k ultra-max hd in my phone that highlights every hair and pore and eye bag i want grainy and dark and fuzzy because it makes me look hotter and that's a fact. rant over

anyway he's so pretty i wanna take candids of him and kiss his face and squeeze his huge ti-*GUNSHOTS*

this is gonna be my last post for the next few weeks because i have finals. see you on the other side🫡 (born to be a farmer on a remote island, forced to study STEM) i'll be on requests as soon as i'm back trust

[everythingdcbxm1012]

WEIRD QUIRKS BATBOYS HAVE IN A RELATIONSHIP ── .✦

A/n: I can’t stop thinking about batboys who have gen z humor in relationships like please💔 RELEASE ME. Like imagine these fighting crime then laughing while watching TikTok on a random Sunday??

(Tags: batboys x fem!reader weird quirks)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Emotional Support Golden Retriever BF: Dick will send you a random “I love you” text with 15 heart emojis and the rainbow hearts in one line (ugh DISGUSTING 🤢) followed by “I miss you” five minutes later… even if you’re in the same room. (STUPID MILLENNIAL.)

Chaotic Selfies: He’s the type to send you selfies with the dumbest captions like, “Why am I kinda hot tho?” or “Babe, if you leave me, you’re blind.”

Random Dance Breaks: Dick will randomly break out in TikTok dances in the middle of your conversations. You’ll be arguing about what to have for dinner, and he’ll just hit this (here) saying, “Can’t be mad at this, babe.”

His Comedy Bit: Anytime you trip or stumble, Dick’s like, “Are you falling for me again?” Cue your eyeroll as he grins like he just invented comedy.

JASON TODD ── .✦

The "I Hate Everyone but You" BF: Jason sends you TikToks that scream “us” energy. Think of the “grumpy bf, sunshine gf” trope in meme form.

Trash-Talking Together: He doesn’t even pretend to like people. “He looks like wind whistles through his head,” he’ll whisper to you about someone in a coffee shop, and you’ll lose it laughing.

Petty King: He sends screenshots of your arguments back to you like, “Tell me I wasn’t right tho.” But he’ll also say, “We’re not fighting, I just think I’m funnier.”

Affection, Jason Style: If you’re cold, Jason’s like, “You should’ve brought a jacket,” then gives you his. But only after making a snarky comment like, “This makes me look good, doesn’t it?”

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

The “I Can’t Sleep” BF: Tim sends you memes at 3 a.m. with “this is us” captions. Then he sends another an hour later saying, “No fr, we need to sleep.”

Weird Intellectual Tangents: Tim will randomly look up from his laptop and ask, “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or 100 duck-sized horses?” You’re too used to it at this point.

Social Media Detective: He likes your posts so fast it’s suspicious and always is the first comment with “❤️” . “How did you see that in two seconds?” you ask. He shrugs. “I have notifications on.”

Soft Nerd Energy: He makes playlists with names like “thinking about you in the Batcave” or “late-night snack runs with you.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Blunt Affection: Damian’s the type to say, “You look ridiculous,” but if anyone else says it, he’ll glare and be like, “She’s perfect.”

Random Acts of Service: He’s not into grand gestures, but suddenly your favorite snack is waiting on your desk, and he’ll just mutter, “Don’t make it a big deal.”

Reluctant Meme User: He pretends he’s too sophisticated for memes, but you’ll catch him smirking at one you sent. “It’s not that funny,” he’ll insist, but you know better.

Sass King: If you call him cute, he’ll say, “I know.” But if you ignore him for too long, he’ll sulk like, “I don’t require your attention. But also, why haven’t you looked at me in 10 minutes?”

[everythingdcbxm1012]

Y/n, about Jason: He's definitely out of my league.

Roy: ...

Y/n : Actually, we're not even playing the same sport.

Roy: Y/n-

Y/n : It's kind of like he's in the NBA and I work at the muffler store across the stadium.

[everythingdcbxm1012]

Drabblish, Dick Grayson x Reader

TW - Mentioned abuse.

You are beyond thankful for Dick Grayson. He is everything you needed. He' was's willing to be goofy for you, with you. He tried learning sign language, because he knew you were learning it to. He swung by one night during a patrol, hanging upside down outside your bedroom window. Screams were screamed. He tried signing, kiss. He messed up and signed, number instead.

You're also thankful that he's passed every test and filter you could find. You'd always seen and heard that people with abusive parents were more likely to end up in abusive partnerships. Always hearing stories of people getting murdered by their husbands. Your brother was good at ratting out the bad ones and he approved of Dick so that had to mean something. Besides, when you were trying to save a spider you accidentally killed and cried. Dick dressed in black and held a miniature funeral for it. He cried.

Yes, you are very thankful for Dick Grayson.

[everythingdcbxm1012]

Nightwing by Gleb Melnikov

[everythingdcbxm1012]

Jason: I'm trash.

You: As someone who's environmentally conscious, it's my duty to pick you up. Does 7 work for you?

Jason:

Jason: You smooth motherfucker.

Jason: And yes it does.

[everythingdcbxm1012]

Jason: Y/n, why are you sitting on top of the fridge?

Y/n: Can't I just sit wherever I want?

Jason:

Jason: Where's the spider?

Y/n, quietly: Under the table