Salt, Tequila, Lemon - Jason Todd X Reader

Salt, Tequila, Lemon - Jason Todd x Reader

Please read this intro, thank you very much :  

So. I posted this yesterday, but after a bug on the Tumblr app on my phone it got deleted. I’m super bummed out because it had over 200 notes and quite a few feedbacks that I never got to read because it was accidentally deleted…If the people that took the time to comment things on the story could take a bit more time to write a little comment again and give me their feedbacks, and also if the people that liked and reblog could do it once more…i’d appreciate the hell out of you <3.  So reposting it (thanks god I always have back ups of all my stories now). Written in twenty minutes during my break at work. Bam. Hope you’ll like it :

Also, since Tumblr’s new guidelines and enforcement of it, I DON’T really appear in searches anymore, so the only way for this story to be seen by others than those who follow me is to reblog it. So if you wanna, you can show your support for my writing by doing just that. Thanks very much. You can find my masterlist here : @ella-ravenwood-archives

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Ok. So. Grandma’s remedy against heartbreak ? Oh, right. 

Salt. Tequila. Lemon. 

Got it. Licking the back of your hand to make the salt stick to it, you pour yourself a massive shot of “To-Kill-Ya” in your coffee mug, not even caring about the fact that there is still some remnant of your cappuccino from last night in it. 

You focus on the sound the liquid makes as it fills your cup. Makes you think about something else. Good. Yup. This was totally gonna help right now. 

“Cheers”, you exclaim to yourself, your empty apartment echoing your voice. 

Salt. 

Wincing. Stingy. Salt on its own is gross. 

Tequila. 

More wincing. Oh my god, it burns. The coffee that was still at the bottom of the cup is an oddly nice touch. 

Lemon. 

The last of the Wincing. 

You spit the piece of lemon you just bit into in the trash and…miss. The yellow fruit falls with a little flat sound on the floor, and you honestly can’t bother to pick it up. Your apartment is a mess anyway, so you just stare at it angrily and pour yourself another drink. 

Salt. Tequila. Lemon. 

You gulp the last of the citrus and shiver. Miss the trash again. 

Damn. This was good. 

Well, actually, it was disgusting. 

You didn’t like strong alcohol and what the Hell ?! Why did you leave a bit of coffee in your cup ? Now that the aftertaste was kicking in, it was actually really gross. If the tequila itself didn’t make you wanna throw up, the stale coffee taste nearly did. Oh, and the salt and lemon combination was as awful as ever. 

You really didn’t like salt, tequila, or lemon. 

But it was still good. 

Because thanks to all this immediate awfulness, you could slowly feel yourself drift into “haze land”, and forget about your worries. 

Forget that your boyfriend of two years just cheated on you with some random woman you worked with. Woman that, by the way, he met at the Christmas “end of the year” party from you work you invited him to…You gave him free champagne and mise-en-bouche and all your love, and he broke your heart. 

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Ditz

Pairings: Damian Wayne x Reader

 Requested by anon: Hello there! Could you do Damian Wayne x Reader where the reader is super sweet and cute and stuff but she’s also really ditzy so everyone (including the rest of the Batfam) thinks she’s dumb and it’s weird, because Damian hates being around dumb people, but then they find out that she’s actually like a genius and she just comes across as ditzy like that because she just really loves being around people. By the way, I love love LOVE your writing!! Every story of yours I read makes me so happy

Thank you so much, anon! I hope you’re safe and healthy, wherever you are. I’m sorry I’ve been inactive forever, and this fic isn’t my best work, I’ve gotten really rusty- but it was really a pleasure to write this for you, and I’m glad you enjoy my fics!

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Walk Me Home - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: this is just a lil bit of fun. i think it was a request, someone asked for batman x civilian!reader with the prompts "you're pretty"/ "you're drunk" + "can i hold your hand?" so this is what came out of my brain :) might do a part 2 at some point <3 im literally about to see the batman again in like 5 minutes so like ,,, good luck to my brainrot <3

Warnings: mentions of violence/harassment, mentions of alcohol / being drunk, language, batguy is quiet and reader is a mess (if i'm not writing adrian im writing an adrian core reader ok that's who i am <3), not proof read or beta read but we die like men! <3

Word Count: 3k+ bc i have no self control!

Summary: you get escorted home by none other than Gotham's own protector.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

The streets are quiet, except for the echoing of heavy boots against the sidewalk followed by the frantic clicking of your heels.

He walks so damn fast. Which shouldn't surprise you, really. He probably has better things to be doing, and the light shining in the sky is proof of that. It's not that you're not grateful for the escort home, you're just not entirely sure why he's using his time to walk drunk you back to their place.

He'd helped you out with some creep in a back alley — and by ‘helped you out’ you mean he kicked ten bells of shit out of the guy in five seconds flat and left him incapacitated on the ground. It was impressive, actually. He helped you up, you said your 'thank you’, and assumed that would be the end of it. You assumed wrong.

It's not your fault that you just so happened to be heading in the same direction. You tried to be quiet, to keep your distance to allow him to disappear into the night, but your clicking heels and blurry vision from the numerous shots and cocktails you'd downed at the club made that a difficult task. He didn't turn around, didn't question why you were following him. He didn't say anything, actually.

But he stopped walking when he came to the end of the street, which made you stop too. He was silent, but he turned his head and glanced back at you, and you felt yourself panic.

“I— Shit. I'm sorry. I just live this way. I wasn't following you, I promise.” You reassured him quickly.

He probably didn't need your reassurance, you had quite literally just watched him take down a man in two swift punches. He could kick your ass if he wanted to. “I'm gonna take a right here, and… leave you alone forever, now. My place is like, five minutes away, so — Oh, okay. You're going right, too. That's— Yeah, perfect.” He'd already set off walking before you could finish your sentence, leaving you in the dust.

So now you're trailing behind him, feeling like you're running a marathon as he attempts to cover four miles in under a minute. Okay, maybe you're exaggerating, but you really can't keep up with him. He's like Lightning McQueen if Lightning McQueen was real, not a car, and kind of goth. That thought makes you smile to yourself.

“Hey, uh… Batman?” You call out. No response. Okay. “Alright, uh… Vengeance? Do you still use that one? I haven't really been keeping up, so…?” No response, again. You figure he doesn't go by Vengeance anymore. “Look, uh— Mr. Batman-Vengeance-…Dude-…Guy?” Wow. That's… wow. You make a mental note to slap yourself for that one later. “Could you slow down a little? Please? You're walking like, really fucking fast.” You feel slightly guilty for asking him to slow down. From what you've seen, he's a busy guy, and he probably has other places to be. But then you remember that you never asked him to walk you home, he made the choice for himself. So you feel less guilty.

He stops walking, and you stop too, almost in shock that he actually listened to you. You're still for a few seconds, and then you see his head turn, and you notice that he's glancing back at you expectantly. And then you remember that you asked him to slow down so you could catch up, and that he's stopped for your benefit. You break out into a jog— well, you try, anyway, one hand wrapped around the strap of the bag on your shoulder. Your heels are scraping against the pavement and you're one wrong move, one wayfaring stone on the pavement away from falling flat on your face. You keep your eyes locked on the ground, only looking up once his boots come into view.

You sigh in relief. “Fuck, man. You're speedy.” You reach out and grab his gloved hand. “You could probably clear the 100m in like, seven seconds flat. Which is cool, by the way." You reassure, nodding your head. "No hate to you.” You walk ahead, but you're stopped dead in your tracks when you realise you're pulling against his heavy, very much unmoving weight. You furrow your brows and tug on his hand, trying to prompt him to move, but he doesn't. So, you turn to him. “Hey, why aren't you—”

His jaw is tense, and you can see the way the veins in his neck are straining under the pressure. You can't quite make out whether he's angry, and it's freaking you out. He doesn't make eye contact with you, but he's looking down at something. You follow his line of sight, casting your eyes in the direction you think he's looking until you see your hand wrapped around his fingers, and it all makes sense.

You let go of his hand like it's hot coal, looking at him with wide eyes. “Shit— I… I'm sorry.” He clenches his fist, so hard that you can hear the leather of his gloves squeaking. “I don't— I'm not sure why I—…. Shit.” You really don't know why you took his hand. It was a mindless decision on your part, really. Something you'd do to a friend or a man you're drunkenly stumbling home with. But he's not a friend, nor is he a date or someone you're taking home to bed. He's literally Gotham’s protector. He's Vengeance or Justice or… Batman. He's Batman. And you thought it'd be a good idea to hold his hand. Fucking idiot. “I'm sorry. That was… that wasn't cool of me. I should've asked first— I mean, I shouldn't have done it in the first place, but I definitely should've asked.” You let out an awkward laugh before falling quiet. He's staring at you. Actually, his eyes are flitting between your face and his hand, which is still somewhat outstretched and balled into a fist. You don't know what comes over you, and you feel so fucking stupid for it, but you're already in too deep to be able to stop yourself. “Can I… Can I hold your hand?”

That crippling, awkward silence takes ahold of you, suffocating you like a python constricting it's prey. Your cheeks heat up, you're sure they're bright red, and you can't even bring yourself to meet his gaze. God, you're so fucking stupid. So awkward, and stupid, and weird. Which is saying a lot, considering you're stood not even a metre away from a guy who's dressed like an armoured bat. You're just about to back away slowly under his intense stare, to walk yourself home so you can wallow in your own embarrassment in the comfort of your bed, when you hear the leather squeak again.

When you look down, you're surprised to see that his hand is no longer clenched. His fingers are spread apart, almost… inviting. He's still tense, and he won't look at you, but you think he's silently telling you that you can hold his hand. Now you're wondering whether you should take his hand. It would be useful, he's a fast walker and you'd like to keep up pace. But you're also sure that he doesn't want to hold your hand, so maybe it'd be easier to refuse and then the two of you can walk separately again. But then would it be rude to refuse him now? Fuck, you have no idea but he's staring at you now, probably waiting for you to say something or do anything.

So in a split second decision, you reach out and take his hand again, nodding your head just once to affirm your choice.

He looks between your face and your intertwined fingers for just a moment before he sets off walking again. At first, he tries to maintain his pace from before, but now that he has extra weight latched on to him (you) he seems to find that difficult to manage. You're still lagging behind, practically jogging, struggling to keep up even though your hand is in his and he's pulling you along with him. You're surprised you haven't fallen flat on your face yet. Eventually, he gives it up, and brings himself down to a speed that works for both of you. It's not too slow, not too fast. It's good enough for you to steadily maintain in your heels, and you don't feel like you're going to be pulled to the floor at any given moment.

The two of you are quiet, aside from the occasional ‘take a right here’ or 'it's a left here’ coming from you. There's not much to be said, after all. He's a masked vigilante-turned-hero and you're holding his hand for no particular reason. Well, there is a reason, it's just not a very good one. You're sure you could have managed stumbling behind him alone.

Your head is still spinning from the drinks, and you feel yourself knock against him a few times as you walk down street after street, the cold armour of his suit pressing against you and covering you in goosebumps. Every time you stumble in to him, you mumble a quiet apology, and he remains silent. Which is why it comes as a surprise to you when—

“How much further?”

His sudden decision to cut through the silence makes you jump, and you whip your head around quickly. You can't quite make out whether that voice is his. It has to be, obviously. There's no one else around. But it's so soft and quiet that you think there's no way it could have possibly come from him. But it did. You're staring up at him so obviously, with the most in incredulous look on your face. “Oh. You talk.” You say eventually. He tilts his head down, and you see his eyes glance from left to right, almost in confusion, before they land on you again. “Shit. Sorry. That was rude. I just— I don't know. I assumed you're mute, or something.”

A beat of silence. Then, “It's selective.”

You nod slowly, a small smile on your lips, “And you make jokes.”

“I wasn't joking.” He mumbles under his breath, but you hear him.

“Well then, I'm flattered that you're talking to me.” You tease. You're trying to break the tension, just a little.

“How much further?” He repeats, turning his attention back to the street ahead.

“Uh… Like, maybe five minutes.” You answer slowly.

You swear you hear him scoff. “You said your place was five minutes away ten minutes ago.”

Wow. Alright. You fight the urge to bite back, to tell him that he didn't have to walk you home and that you're perfectly capable of making your own way from here. But you're not brave enough for that, and after the incident in the alley, you're grateful for his help and his company. So instead, you sigh, and say, “Yeah. I don't know why I said that. I think I— I don't know. I didn't want you to think I was following you. And I didn't wanna inconvenience you. So I just… said I lived close by. And then you started walking the same way, and you kinda never left. So I'm pretty much still inconveniencing you.” You give him an awkward, thin lipped smile.

“You're not.” He mumbles. It's barely audible, and you're not sure if you're meant to hear it, but you do.

You fall into silence again, though you're finding it hard to maintain. You're buzzing from the conversation you just had with him. It's thrilled you to your core and you want to keep talking to him. Apparently it's not enough to be walking hand in hand with him like some strange couple returning from a 2000s pop vs 90s grunge rock club night. So you decide to make conversation, as awkward as it may be.

“So…” You start, and he looks over at you immediately, caught off guard. “Is that like… your real voice?”

His mouth opens and closes a few times as he tries to figure out how to respond to you. Eventually, “Yeah.”

“Oh. That's cool.” He's still staring down at you, and you can see by the way his lips are parted that he's totally and utterly confused. You are too, honestly. “I was just asking because, uh… y’know, guys in movies and… other heroes, they usually have those weird, gravelly voices. Like they make their voices deeper. If you were in a movie I imagine you'd sound like, uh,” you clear your throat, dropping your voice, “Hi, I'm Batman. I live in Gotham and I walk drunk people home in my spare time.” You laugh at yourself, but he doesn't look so amused. Oh for fucks sake. Why did you do that? You don't even have an explanation for why you thought that was a good idea. You just keep digging yourself in deeper.

Your smile drops. He's quiet. You're quiet. He's staring at you. You're staring at him. You're not sure what to do, and honestly you're considering just dropping to the floor, curling up and dying right then and there. But then you see the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips, and he turns his head away from you, and suddenly you don't feel so embarrassed. It's encouraging to you. So you decide to continue.

“I'm glad you don't sound like that, though.”

“Why?” He responds quicker than you expect him to, and it throws you off for just a moment.

“Oh. Well… I don't know. I just don't think it'd suit you. I like your voice. It's really nice.” Soft and soothing, strangely. Completely opposite from what you thought he'd sound like. It suits him, in a weird way. He's the people’s protector, and you can understand why, because everything about him just seems so… trustworthy.

It's not just his voice that you like, though. As you walk down the street, trying your best to keep your eyes firmly trained forwards, you glance at him occasionally, and you come to the conclusion that you really, really like his face, too. The more time you spend looking at him, the more attractive he becomes to you. Sure, you can't see half of it, but that's not going to stop you from admiring him. You think you're being subtle, that you're stealing glimpses of him, but really you're staring right at him. And although he's not looking at you, he can feel your eyes on him.

“What?”

That's the second time he's made you jump, but it's a sure-fire way to break you from your Batman’s-absolutely-incredible-jawline-induced trance. You blink hard and shake your head. “Sorry.” You cant even begin to count how many times you've said sorry tonight. “You just have… a really nice face. I know I can't see much of it, but you have a really, really,” you pause, “strong jawline. And your eyes are really beautiful. I bet you have a cute nose, too. Soft lips. You're just… you're really pretty.” You admit. Honestly, you don't have it in you to be embarrassed or to cringe at yourself anymore. The hint of a smile he gave you just a minute ago was a major confidence boost to you. The alcohol helps too.

His jaw tenses, and he's trying so hard to look anywhere but at you. You're starting to wonder whether you've made him feel incredibly uncomfortable. But then you swear you feel him squeeze your hand, and although the streetlights are dim and barely illuminating what you can see of his face, you swear there's a tinge of pink to his cheeks now. “You're drunk.” He mumbles.

“And you're pretty.” You retort.

“Drunk.”

“Pretty.”

“Drunk.”

“Pre— Oh. This is me.” You say, stopping suddenly in front of the familiar small gate, and he stops too. There's disappointment laced in your tone. You don't want him to go just yet, but you're home. He's done what he intended to do, and he'll leave just as quickly as he arrived. You sigh, “Well, this has been… nice. Really. Uh, thank you. I really appreciate what you did for me.” You press your lips together. It's so quiet between the two of you now, and you take that as your queue to leave. “Okay. Good night. And thank you, again.” You smile at him and untangle your fingers from his. Maybe you're crazy, but you think you feel him grip on to your hand for just a moment longer.

Oh, fuck. He can't do this to you. Not when you're drunk and your feelings are so, so vulnerable. You have to walk away. You have to remind yourself that he's just being nice, that you don't know him, and that you'll never see him again after this. That one kind of stings, and you're not entirely sure why. No. Snap out of it. He's literally a stranger. You don't know him. But he's been so nice to you and tolerated all of your annoying, drunken rambles. And he's so pretty, and— No. Just walk away.

You take a deep breath and turn away from him, pushing your gate open and making your way through. You're doing so well. Just don't look back. You don't need to look back. It's okay. You leave your gate to shut on its own, and you're listening out for the familiar clang of metal, but it never comes. Instead, you hear heavy footsteps. You whip your head around and he's there, closing the gate gently, about to follow you up the garden path and the flight of concrete stairs that leads to your house. “W— I'm… What are you doing?”

“Walking you home.” He answers. His voice is steady and moderated, as it has been all night, but there's something in his tone that screams ‘duh, isn't it obvious?’.

“But I am home.” You tell him, pointing over your shoulder at your house.

“Not all the way home.”

“I— I think I'll be—…” You stop yourself there, glancing down at the ground then up at him. “You know what, I might need a little help up the stairs.” You smile at him and offer your hand to him. There's a second of hesitation, but he takes your hand and the two of you make your way up the path. His boots, as loud and intimidating as they may be against the concrete, have become almost a… a comfort to you now. It's probably too soon to call it that, but you like hearing his footsteps in tandem with your own. You ascend the small flight of steps that lead up to your porch slowly, with little to no problem. You wobble on your heels a few times, but he's there to steady you, so it's okay.

Soon enough, you're at your front door. You drop his hand and dig around for your keys in your bag (not without the classic ‘oh shit, have I lost my keys?’ moment), pulling them out and unlocking your door. Now you're really not sure what to do. You're home. You're safe. He's walked you here. You have your hand wrapped around the door handle, and he's still here, waiting behind you for…. What? You're not so sure.

You turn around slowly, nervously. You feel like your heart is going to jump right out of your chest. “I… Uh, do you wanna like, come in?” You ask quietly. “For a drink, or something. I think I have like— I don't know. A few beers in the fridge.” Did you seriously just ask him to come in ‘for a drink’? Maybe you meant it literally, but you know what it implies. It's never just a drink. And you know that.

“I don't think you need anymore drinks.” He says.

You can't even bring yourself to be offended. In fact, you're relieved that he took your words so literally instead of considering the implications. You let out an airy laugh, dropping your head, “Yeah. You're probably right. Ignore me."

Silence takes over once again. Fuck. You hate the silence. You're staring at each other, both completely still. It's weirdly tense, and you're unsure as to why that is. “I'm… I'm gonna head inside.” You mumble, though you make no effort to move, or to push the door handle down. You're completely frozen to the spot.

You're surprised when he moves first, taking a step towards you. Fuck. Oh fuck. What is he doing? He's standing over you now, towering above you, actually. You're eye level with the bat right in the middle of his chest plate, and for a moment you're completely transfixed by the steady rise of his chest. You're not intimidated by how close he is, by how he's looming above you. He's done nothing but make you feel safe the entire time you've been with him. It's okay. He's close to you, and that's okay. You're okay. You actually... like being this close to him. He's crowding you against your door, pressing your back against the cold wood, but you don't care. You like it.

All you can hear is your breathing, shaky and ragged. It's all you can focus on. You feel like you're losing your mind, waiting for him to do something— anything. To make any move at all. When you finally gather the courage to look up at him through your lashes, you realise he's staring down at you. His lips are parted, and his eyes are lidded from what you can tell. You have no idea what he wants, what he's doing, but he looks so pretty. You want to reach up and remove the mask. Not because you're desperate to know who he really is, because you truly don't care, but because you want to see all of his pretty face like this.

He leans down slightly, and you feel yourself start to panic just a little bit. Your faces are so close now. Just one jolt upwards from you, just one more slight bend of his knees and you'd be kissing the Batman. Holy—

Holy shit. Is he going to kiss you? Is he— Fuck. Will he kiss you? He's— He's going to kiss you. Holy fuck. He’s— “Are we gonna kiss now?” You blurt out, the tension finally becoming too much. Your question is followed by a prolonged moment of silence.

His reply comes in the click of your door latch, and the slight creak of hinges coming from behind you.

He opened your fucking door.

You're completely taken aback. Confused and reeling because… what the fuck? Did that just happen? You can add Batman being a fucking tease to the list of things you didn't expect to happen or find out tonight. Fuck. You probably have the dumbest look on your face right now. You're completely lost for words. Judging by the way his mouth is opening and closing ever so slightly, you think he feels the same.

“Good night.” He mumbles, stepping away from you, and you silently mourn the loss of his body close to yours. Maybe it's the drink talking, but you miss it already.

He's about to turn away from you, but you reach out and take his hand in yours. You smile at him, squeezing his hand gently. “Good night. And thank you, again.” He nods in acknowledgement, and you loosen your grip, allowing him to make his way make his swift exit, though your hands are still touching until the moment you're no longer in reach. You watch him descend the steps and quickly make his way down your path and out of the gate, his boots beating mercilessly against the ground. But before he can disappear into the night, you call out one last thing to him. “My name is (Y/N), by the way!”

He turns to look at you from the gate for just a moment, and you swear you see the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, though you cant be too sure. And then, he's gone, and you're left wondering when you'll see him again. If you'll see him again.

You might just.

Dance Lessons | Harry James Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter x fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Wordcount: 12200 words (Yes, really. Do you ever just start to write a little oneshot and then it turns out as a fic with over 10000 words?)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of underage drinking, sexual tension but no smut, fluff, slight angst, slow burn i guess

Summary: Harry asks you to teach him how to dance for the upcoming Spring Ball.

a/n: Set in Harry’s sixth year. English is not my native language, so there might be spelling/grammar mistakes. (The beginning is inspired by this oneshot)

Not many could say that they had faced Voldemort more than once and had survived, but Harry Potter was one of the few lucky ones that had gotten away every time. And if that wasn’t enough, Harry had defeated horrifying creatures, had broken into the Ministry and had saved the wizarding world several times – more or less accidentally, but hey. He had dealt with Umbridge and fought Death Eaters.

To the world, he was a hero, he was the Boy Who Lived.

So yes, his record of fighting the evil was quite impressive for a sixteen-year-old. But there was one thing he knew he would never impress anyone with and that were his dance skills.

Because Harry Potter couldn’t dance for shit.

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such a genuine headcannon, that damian just loves jason’s and yours baby.

but this story needs to start somewhere, and that somewhere his damian’s behavior towards you.

everyone always thought he despised children of any age, including yourself, as he was very tough exterior really only soft when he came around you and that was due to the fact you gave off a very maternal aurora, one his mother gave off, a woman he respected.

but every other time, around everyone else, he’s tough, annoyed, and spiteful, all the time.

and seeing everyone shocked by damian being rather docile, sweet even around you the moment jason had introduced you, was a cultural reset.

so much so in fact, his siblings would bring you around each time they needed to ask him something, deliver bad news, or even just wanting to talk to him. they seemed it easier to hold a conversation when he was so snappy, and well he seemed to respect you enough to not be snappy when you were around.

but that was just the start.

damian really liked you as a big sister and enjoyed spending time with you often. so much so he eventually loved hanging out with jason as well over the other siblings, though not dick, everyone knew the relationship dick and dami had was much different than everyone else’s.

but he also knew how you and jason acted around each other, he practically lived at your shared apartment and he’s a born wayne, he’s good at picking up on things.

so when you and jay had shown up to family dinner, both of you dressed rather sweetly, homely looking, damian’s interest immediately peaked.

but none the less he tried ignored it, sat himself in between grayson and yourself.

he tried to ignore the way your hand was encircled jason’s under the table and the way your nose twisted up when alfred brought out the first course for dinner that night.

he tried to ignore the way jason’s knee was bouncing almost shaking the floorboards of the whole dinning room.

and he tried to ignore the aurora both seemingly to radiate off you and his bother  simultaneously, but he’s a hot headed wayne, he can’t ignore things for longer than he absolutely has to.

“todd.” damian roughly interrupted the conversation bustling around the table about your new job and bruce’s disdain for you not coming to work for him like he offered so many times.

and in usual demon head fashion, the youngest wayne waited until all eyes were faced on him, staring waiting for him to continue. “care to explain your nervousness?”

your boyfriend scoffed, a defensive mechanism he picked up from bruce when in the confines of his family. “i’m not nervous demon spawn.”

damian’s eyes turn to you with a slight jaw hung, his head snapping away from your worrisome gaze briefly scanning the table to see if someone had been missing, yet the table was full, alfred and his father sitting at the heads with the siblings scattered in between.

damian speaks your name, his gaze taking a final look around before settling his emerald green eyes on your own bare ones, flat. watching as your lips turn down into a straight lipped expression, one that’s unreadable. (that was a trick you learned after dating jason for two years now, how to turn your expressions off and on.) “why are you nervous?”

damian was getting frustrated the longer he attempted to study your features. you were completely flat, like a white canvas waiting for depth and dimensions. your eyes didn’t sparkle in the light though the chandelier of thousands of crystals shone right above them. your lips without a glint of upturn or frown, like a zipper being pulled taunt by its owner, though the owner didn’t seem to be anyone but yourself.

he couldn’t figure out if you were thinking or even reacting. it looked as if you were in slow motion, or like the rest of the family was frozen and damian was stuck within the mind watching like an outsider.

that was until jason gave a small squeeze of your hand, a movement he barely caught from the slightest downward peripheral view, and the world began to regain traction, color coming back into the faces of those looking around between the young boy and the person who changed jason’s life.

“i’m pregnant.”

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3 <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3 <3<3<3<3

still after months, damian can’t believe the encounter, how you blurted out major life news without blinking an eye, in fact you stared at him the entire time your lips moved and people congratulated you and your lovely boyfriend, his big brother.

he was dumbfounded, pure shock, he in fact needed to ask dick multiple times if he had heard you right.

and on top of that he was already having conflicting feelings from having to be around roy harper’s daughter and hearing you may have one of your own almost frightened him.

what if he was scary? what if he couldn’t be an uncle like he has seen all two of his older brothers successfully do with Mar’i and one be the father of such a thing….a baby he means.

but that was months ago. (it still haunts him that he couldn’t figure it out, don’t let it fool you)

and now he is sitting in your living room making silly faces and noises directed toward the small baby, who’s curly dark locks spread across his knees as she gazes up at her uncle dami.

“one day” damian’s now very deep voice, seeing as he had successfully made it through puberty, sounded causing your daughters ears to perk up, eyes glittering in the light “you will be apart of the legacy, an heir to the-“

“that’s enough, give me my daughter back demon spawn.” jason was quick to interject taking two large strides in his direction. both of you had been watching from the corner of the hallway with such love in your eyes from the interaction, though as soon he damian mentioned legacy your lips fell play into a solid line.

it was rare to see damian so relaxed, so childlike even. and each time he was with your daughter he had a new found tinge in his emerald eyes, his whole demeanor would change, not an eye roll or insult was wafted in the direction of anyone.

in fact, jason joked often that it was like the plot of twilight, damian thought he loved you but in reality he was just gonna he up loving our daughter.

but thinking about it two long makes jason mad because we all know how the movie ended, and jason doesn’t need to think that his kid, demon spawn, brother was imprinted to his daughter.

jason was quick to grab his daughter, scooping her up into his large arms, her babble shooting a destined smile to his lips, turning up with a small coo in her direction.

damian was quick to his feet, reaching and snapping his voice in a low tone “todd give her back.”

“she is my child d.” jason kept his eyes glued on the curly headed girl in front of him, god how she looked like you. “i am allowed to take her from whomever i please, it’s law.”

damian did exude an eye roll at this, though you did too as you sprung from your place against the wall only to find yourself being wrapped in jason’s other very muscular arm, staring down at the most perfect human anyone had ever seen.

“well, technically yes.” damian shockingly agreed with his brothers dumb statement, hoping that his compliance would allow him to be able to hold his niece again, his goddaughter.

that had been an honor you and jay had come to a conclusion on when you were skyrocketed off the epidural, though jason didn’t really feel the need to question it or wonder if it was the drugs talking because in all honesty he wouldn’t want anyone else being the one to look after his daughter if he couldn’t.

damian may be young, but when he loves someone (which is the majority of his siblings even if he doesn’t admit it) he will do whatever for them.

and for your sweet babygirl, damian would lay his life down for her.

a proclamation he made the night you announced your pregnancy.

“don’t agree just to get to hold her again.” jason scoffed, he knew his tricks, all of them.

damian had decided you may need help once the baby was born, so when you lived at the manor for the first month he practically slept outside your door in hopes of being able to help the two of you in anyway.

he really did love his niece, though he never will truly understand why he had such a love for babies (a very hidden love that never really carried much past the age of three, though with your sweet girl he had a feeling this would be different)

(dick also was extremely salty because damian didn’t act like this with his baby girl but yet again damian didn’t act the way he does with you with kori.)

then you both moved out and he all but lived there, he there’s at least 3-4 times a week, which no one complains and your daughter does love him back, so in all honesty it hurts no one.

damian tested your name as jason handed your daughter back to you, hands extending reaching to hold your face. “didnt you have the meeting to attend? i can watch her.”

damian was trying so hard, it had been a few days since he last saw her. he had been away on a mission with bruce, a long mission that was tedious and annoying, and with jason constantly calling bruce for advice or just to talk about his daughter really made him miss his niece even more.

you sighed, knowing damian missed her and knowing you had a meeting that was very important for yours and jays new home that was underway, and even though jay wasn’t going he did patrol last night and looked like he was hit by a bus.

in fact jay was still in his uniform, his gloves rubbing small circles into the sides of your hips as his head rested on his shoulder watching his sweet baby girl being held by the truest form of a pleasing he could receive.

“yeah, i won’t be more than an hour.” damian smiled at this doing grabby hands for the small babbling 6 month old in your arms, whose eyes were bouncing around from person to person, smile planted on her lips as if it belonged there.

with a heavy jason on your back and a million plans running through your mind you began the pass over to the teen eager and willing to watch your baby, but your body pulled her back into your chest, a giggle fluttering from her lips to the air as you did so.

“but if you even mutter the word demon head, or heir, or assassins, or-“

damian had already seen this coming, the comment he made early wasn’t malicious, for him it was his way of life, being raised to know your place.

but your daughter’s place wasn’t his and he understood that now, he really did. watching both his older brother and his partner hold this angel of a daughter in their arms, he knew better than to project his own life into an innocents one.

he is still learning and he’s thankful you and jason will never hold that against him, that you understand.

“swear it.” he pounced on your words, stopping them before they could even finish leaving his lips, nodding feverishly.

you place both a kiss to your daughters head, jason leaning over and doing the same as damian reached his arms out accepting her with a smile and silly face waiting for her eyes to gaze upon.

and there jason and you stood, his body engulfing you from behind as you leaned into his physic, smiles painted to match that in damian’s face.

“god i love you” jason spoke, tilting his head down to press a kiss to your collarbone, “i love her, my angel” he spoke again, smiling now against your skin, sleepy heavy eyes barley peeking through to see his daughter reaching for the face of a boy he used to find an annoyance (still does from time to time), “thank you for giving me a life, a beautiful, perfect life, my darling.”

ALL ABORAD THE BATTRAIN

the long batman