so i've actually come to realize I don't have a lot of things here and the ones I do are really old and I'm personally not a fan of the way 16yo me wrote soo,, I will be writing more but for now the masterlist stays tiny
Dick Grayson
α―β to be added
Jason Todd
α―β Desperate
part one | part two
Bart Allen
α―β I ship it
Headcanons
qπ¦ΉΒ°β§ How would the Batboys + Batman + Alfred react to a new baby
qπ¦ΉΒ°β§ The Batboys+Batman+Alfred taking pictures for Christmas Cards
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Finally finished this piece after months of reworking. Far from perfect, but Iβm glad itβs done. Inspired by the amazing Bruno Redondo, Dan Mora, and especially Dexter Soy.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
i could be soft and sweet, i could be hard and loud, i could be anything you ever need somehow.
prequel to simplicity!!!
or; an entire summer of chance encounters with the so-called prince of gotham [9.5k]
Jason todd x f!reader warnings: intoxication & vomiting (w/ description), suggestiveness, discussions of toxic relationships (cheating, emotional manipulation, misogyny); special dedication to @fluffy-anna who inspired this au with the ask that started it allβΌοΈβΌοΈπ³
part one | part two | series masterlist
June 12th
Jason finds his brother at the entrance of the event, waiting for him with crossed arms and looking displeased.
βYou are very late, Todd.β Damian looks up at him. His face is shadowed in front of Jason, whose head blocks the sun from Damianβs view. He wears a t-shirt with the Wayne Animal Sanctuary logo printed across the front and a name tag on the left side of his chest.
βSorry, kid,β Jason says, and he means it. βTraffic.β
βNo matter. I have a job for you.β Damian turns toward a table with a sign that reads, βVolunteer Sign-inβ, but Jason stays rooted in place.
βWhat? No, Iβm not letting you put me to work,β Jason scoffs.
βWhy else would you be here?β Damian asks, looking affronted.
βYou asked me to show up, I showed up. Isnβt that enough?β
βIt is not, Todd. All you have to do is sit in a chair and ensure no one steals a dog. Is that too much work for you?β
βIf someone manages to steal a dog from you of all people, they deserve to keep it.β
βFlattery is not going to get you out of doing work. Do not push me.β
Jason snickers. βDonβt push you? Or what? Youβre half my size. Iβm so scared.β
Damian huffs. His bright eyes narrow to something more menacing. He takes a sharp breath in for what Jason thinks is an attempt at puffing his chest and appearing intimidatingβ heβs wrong.
βWow, Todd,β Damian bursts out loud enough for the surrounding tables to turn their attention. βYou think we should send them to a kill shelter? Shame on you!β
Jason can feel the scathing stares shot at him without breaking his glare at Damian. βFunny. Thatβs really funny, Damian.β Jason says, sarcastically. βIβm leaving now.β
βYou think we should abandon them on the side of the road?β Damian shrieks. βThatβs low even for you.β He shakes his head disapprovingly.
Jason doesnβt engage, only turning around to walk back to his bike. He stops short, however, when he sees a little boy looking up at him with widened eyes. He's frowning, one tiny hand fisted in the hem of his cat-decorated shirt. The other is wrapped around the fingers of another man, presumably his father. Though Jason towers over him, the father looks at him with disgust.
He stifles a groan and turns back to Damian, who sports a brilliantly cheerful smile. Jason drops his head and sighs. βWhere do I go?β
βYou have to sign in, first.β Damian leads him to the center table, and Jason accepts a pen from the stink-eyed woman behind it to add his name to the list.
βWill you be making a donation?β Damian asks. When Jason hands back the pen, the woman purses her lips in contempt. Jason glares at Damian, but he is unmoving in his fake oblivion.
Jason reaches for his wallet.
βYou could at least pretend youβre excited to be here.β
You hold your hand in front of your face, shielding it from the brightness of the afternoon. βWhy?β You grumble. βI doubt the animals care.β
βOf course they do!β Your friend is much too bubbly for someone who stayed up until early morning drinking wine and watching reruns of nineties sitcoms on cable. βThey can literally smell your emotions. Theyβll know if you hate them.β
βI donβt hate them.β You roll your eyes, though itβs blocked by your large sunglasses. βI would just really rather be in bed right now. And Iβm surprised that you wouldnβt. How are you not hungover?β
βUm, maybe because I didnβt drink an entire bottle all on my own.β He takes your hand and leads you through the throngs of people gathered around playpens of cats and bunnies.
βDid I drink that much?β You say it quietly, more to yourself than to him, but he picks it up anyway.
βYeahβ¦I only drank, like, two glasses? You didnβt notice?β Heβs stopped at the end of a line leading to a pen of small rescue dogs.
You tilt your head, squinting at him through your sunglasses. βDoes it look like I noticed?β
The line moves up as others clear out, having had their fill of playing with the dogs. The late spring sun beats down on your neck and arms, the light and sounds intensifying your headache, and you canβt help but sigh.
βOh, what now? I planned this for you. I thought you wanted to adopt a dog.β He says, lifting up your sunglasses to get a peek of your eyes before you swat his hand away.
βTo adopt a dog, you need a place to live.β The two of you move up forward in the line. βIβm sleeping on your couch right now.β Your stomach twists, and youβre not sure if itβs from the hangover or the reminder.
βRight now,β he reminds you. βBut youβll find a new place, and a new guy, and then you can take it on walks to your old place and make it poop on the lawn.β
Your forehead crinkles as you draw your brows together. βThe guy or the dog?β
βWhichever one you want.β
This earns your first (sober) smile all week, and he brightens up.
βI donβt think I want a new guy just yet,β you say, crossing your arms.
βWell, you donβt need, like, a serious guy,β he says. βJust, like, a rebound.β
βA rebound? Seriously?β You scoff at the idea.
βYeah, seriously. Just to get back out there, you know? Take your mind off ofβ¦β His voice fades out, both of you already knowing where he was going.
βI donβt think a rebound is what I need right now,β you say, avoiding his eyes. βI just need to find a new place to live.β
βNot even if itβs him?β
You follow his gaze to the person manning the area, his face coming into view as more patrons clear out.
βDamn.β Your friend fans himself as he comes into full view.
βYou are so dramatic,β you say, but you canβt stop your gaze from sliding across his broad shoulders.
βOh my god, I think Iβm about to pass out. He looks like marble.β He grips your arm, pushing his weight onto you with a pleading cry of your name. You swat him away. βPlease. Please. If not for you, for me.β
The man isβ¦well, he really could pass as marble. His face is composed of sharp angles and rigid features, with a hard facial structure and crooked nose stolen from David himself. He sits in a chair next to the playpen with a relaxed posture, his arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of him. He looks indifferent to the noise around himβlazy, evenβbut thereβs no mistaking the alertness of his eyes, the way they scan along the length of the park, surveying each passing patron with mechanical precision; as the line moves up and people speak to him, he studies their faces, eyes falling to their hands, their pockets, and their shoes. It earns him some uneasy glancesβ the discomfort his probing, baring gaze causes, but he doesnβt seem to notice. Or maybe he does, and he just doesnβt care.
By the time itβs your turn, the crowd has lessened. The sun is just past its peak, and the late-afternoon drowsiness has set in for most people. The dogs are romping around in the shady grass underneath a tent to protect them from the heat, and youβre grateful to get a break from the harsh sunlight when you approach, finally able to lift your huge sunglasses and rest them atop your head.
The manβJason, the sticker on his shirt readsβtakes your tickets and you let yourselves into the playpen. He looks you up and down with the accusatory eye of a trained spy; you begin to feel guilty for things you never did, every small mistake youβve ever made coming to the front of your mind. He looks at you like he can sense it. Now that youβre seeing him up close, thereβs a small tuft of white hair at the front of his hairline that, from afar, looked like a reflection of sunlight. Itβs a bit jarring, making someone so young-looking stick out in a crowd. You catch yourself staring, and so does he. His jaw tenses and he looks away.
βFive minutes,β he says.
Immediately, you and your friend are overrun by small and medium-sized dogs jumping onto your legs and climbing over each other for your attention.Β
βOkay, wow. Hi there!β You squeal, kneeling on the ground as they crowd around you and your friend. All the dogs have tags on their collars with their names and the Sanctuary logo on the front. Your friend zeroes in on an excitable retriever puppy who jumped into his lap and is licking all over his face.Β
βLucy,β he reads from her name tag. The dogβs tongue lolls out, teeth baring in a smile as he scratches under her chin.
βCute,β you say, watching their interaction. Lucy jumps into his arms and he coos, attacking her with kisses.
βIsnβt she?β He scoots closer to you. βArenβt you feeling better?β
βI guess so,β you sigh, patting another dog's head before it notices two other dogs fighting over an enticing twig and scampers away to join.
βYou know what would make it even better?β He asks, and you raise your eyebrow, though you know where heβs going.
He jerks his head towards Jason, eyes widening suggestively. When you stare at him, unamused, he scoffs and smacks your arm with the back of his hand.
βCome on, heβs perfect!β He whisper-shouts. βJust look at him. God, if I were singleβ¦β
You roll your eyes but look at him anyway. He looks flushed from the sun. That, or his decision to wear jeans and a leather jacket in this weather.
βIβm not sure I trust someone who dresses that warm in June,β you reply.
βWhy worry about how heβs dressed? Just worry about un-dressing him.β Your friend snorts at his own joke, and Lucy startles at the sound, sniffing around his face for the source.
βBesides,β he continues, βIβm not sure youβre in the place to judge what heβs wearing.β His gaze drops to your shirt. βLike, I get the whole βputting-in-no-effort-post-breakupβ thing, but what is that shirt? Why is there a cockroach on it? And why is he holding a briefcase?β
Youβre a little offended by that. βItβsβ¦itβs The Metamorphosis. We read it in high school. Together.β
He narrows his eyes. βYou know I blocked out everything from before I turned twenty-one.β
You press your lips together. βFair enough.β
You spare a quick glance back to Jason, but heβs busy staring down someone walking by. Near his chair, in the corner of the pen, you notice for the first time a slightly older dog sleeping under small streaks of sunlight that seep through holes in the corner of the tent. Itβs almost silly how it mirrors Jasonβ dark, furry legs sprawled out in the grass against black denim doing the same. Its ears flop open, just like the black waves that stick up in some places. The dog is even graying around its nose, white whiskers stark against the expanse of black fur.
You shuffle over on your knees, and the dogβs ears twitch, brown eyes opening to peer at you.
βHi,β you murmur, palm outstretched for him to sniff. His tail thumps against the grass. You rub his belly and he rolls completely onto his back, tail wagging harder.Β
You canβt help but giggle. βWhat are you doing all the way over here? Didnβt want to play with your friends?β
βSenior dogs arenβt as popular.β
You look up; Jasonβs gaze is fixed on you, calculated, yet unreadable. You feel warm under his stare.
βSorry?β
βHeβs a senior dog. Most people prefer the puppies. More energy. Cuter.β He looks across the pen, to where your friend is holding multiple puppies in his lap. βEasier, emotionally speaking. βCause theyβve got more life left.β
Your heart sinks as you look down at the dog in front of you. He pushes himself onto his legs, and it's clear he moves much slower than the younger dogs, but heβs just as adorable. His nose pushes at your handβ a request to keep petting him.
βThat reallyβ¦sucks.β You scratch behind the dogβs ear and his back leg twitches.
βNot much we can do about it.β He sounds aloof, but he rubs at a spot over his chest as he says it.
βWell, Iβd adopt him if I could. Littleβ¦β You check the tag hanging from his collar, leaning closer to make out the engraving. ββ¦Monsterβ¦Truck?β
Jasonβs brows knit together. βSeriously?β He turns toward you, and you show him. He laughsβ it surprises you. He looks so different when his face is broken into a smile. Nothing like the guarded, indifferent look he wore until now.
Jason looks behind you, squinting. βHe seemsβ¦eager.β
Your friend is lying on his back, laughing as the dogs climb over him.
βHe is.β
βGood idea to come here,β Jason notes. βSeen a lot of couples around; fun place for a date.β
Your lips quirk up and you shake your head, opening your mouth to correct him when youβre interrupted.
βNO!β
You both whip around and see your friend bolting upright. The dogs skitter away from him, and he crawls over to you.
βWe are not a couple, I guarantee you.β Your friend is close to shouting. βIβm actuallyββ He flicks his wrist down, and you stifle a groan. βAnd also taken. So thisββ He gestures between the two of you. βNot happening.β
Jason nods. βOh, okay. Umβ¦sorry.β
He points to himself. βNot single,β he says, then points to you. βSingle. Not single,β he points to himself again, then back to you. βSingle.β
βI think he got it.β You keep your eyes locked on the ground in front of you.
βJust making sure! You know, weβre in the middle of a misinformation crisis. So, you should always be fact-checking.β He pats you on the back and looks Jason right in the eye. βShe is single.β
You face him, eyes wide with pursed lips. βThank you,β you say, through gritted teeth. βFor that.βΒ
βAnytime,β He flashes a bright smile and shuffles away.
You take a steadying breath and slowly turn back to Jason. He looks confused more than anything else.
βSorry.β
βNoβno worries.β
You stay silent, patting βMonster Truckβ on the head.
βNice shirt, by the way,β Jason says, after a minute of silence.
βOh! Thank you,β you grin. βDo youβ¦like Kafka?β
βYeah, I do. Is The Metamorphosis your favorite?β
βDefinitely. Although I might be biased; I have a preference for tragedies.β
Jason leans closer. βYou think itβs a tragedy?β
You tilt your head. βHow is it not? Gregor never wanted to become what he did, but his parents still blamed him for it. They hated him, hurt him, and were relieved when he died when all he wanted was to keep being their son.β The dog rests his head on your knee, and you move your scratches to his back. Thereβs a quirk in Jasonβs cheek, like an almost smile. βBut the tragedy is that, in their eyes, he stopped being their son the second he changed. He was a monster to them, and he stayed that way until he died. He hoped that they would love him again, but he was doomed from the day he changed.β
βYou donβt think Gregor was a monster?β Jason asks amusedly; you didnβt mean to get so passionate about Gregor Samsa today, but heβs clearly not complaining.
βOf course not,β you scoff. βDo you?β
βNo, not at all.β
βGood. Iβm surprised you donβt think itβs a tragedy. What is it to you?β
He shrugs. βHorror?β
You narrow your eyes. βOkay, sure.β
He chuckles. βYou donβt agree?β
βI didnβt say that.β
βSeems like you donβt,β Jason teases.
βPlease donβt put words in my mouth, Jason.β
He laughs again, louder this time, and it sounds like music. You canβt help it; you break into a grinβsomething about his laugh is so contagious. You want to swallow the sound and be drunk on it for days.
βSeems unfair that you know my name and I donβt know yours,β Jason says.
A high-pitched squeak sounds from behind you, followed by a gruff throat-clearing, and a mumbled Sorry. You ignore it, eyes squeezing shut in a silent prayer that he canβt sense the sheer amount of heat radiating off of you.
You tell him your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. Like itβs something special to be held close.
He tears his eyes away from you when more people approach the pen, a line beginning to accumulate. You realize youβve been here way longer than five minutes, and stand, brushing grass and dirt from your knees.
βWe should probablyβ¦β You nod towards the people waiting.
βYeah,β Jason agrees, sounding disheartened.
He stands, offering a hand so you can step over the playpen walls. His skin is rough, but warm, and your skin buzzes under the contact. As you swing your legs over, Monster Truck whines and paws at the walls of the enclosure.
You frown, leaning down to give him one final scratch under his chin. βSorry buddy, Iβll miss you.β
Your friend climbs out after you, but steps away, giving you some distance.
βMaybe, umβ¦β Jasonβs hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. βIβll see you later?β
You nod, smiling. βDefinitely.β
The sun is setting, and youβre drowsy and sun-tired from spending the day walking around the park. At every table and tent you visited, application forms for adoption and fostering taunted you from their piles, and you thought about little Monster Truck, old and lonely in his cage at the shelter, while thereβs nothing you can do about it. Then you thought about Jason, his interesting views on literature that youβd love to hear more about, and how good he looked under the dappled sunlight shining down on him through the trees. Maybe he could be a good rebound, you think as you walk around the park, stealing glances at where he sits in the hopes of catching him as he leaves. But the more you think about him, the more your traitorous mind, too romantic for your own good, spins βreboundβ into possibilities of βcasualβ into ideals of βrelationship.β
Your friend is pulling the car around when you spot him a few tables down, an easy smile on his face as he talks to a beautiful woman with red hair and glasses.
Heβs standing so close to her, you notice. He laughs at something she says. Itβs the same laugh he gave to you. It leaves a bad taste on your tongue.
How much do you even know this guy? One conversation isnβt enough to gauge his character. You were presumptuous to assume he was flirting with you; thereβs no way someone like that is single. Looking at him now, youβre brought back to days as a bright-eyed tween girl with a crush on the poolβs college-aged lifeguard. In other wordsβ delusional.
He leans down and kisses the top of her head.
βRelationshipβ suddenly follows a thread of lies, manipulation, and excuses, all woven into a tapestry bearing nothing but three wasted years.
And for what? Ideals?
Shame sinks into your stomach, burning through to the surface of your skin. Itβs like he can feel your stare because he looks up and his eyes immediately find yours. Frustrated tears prick at your eyelids as he squeezes the womanβs shoulder in goodbye and makes his way over.
Two seconds too late, the car pulls up to the park's edge. Your friend waves you over, and youβre half-tempted to make a run for it. But Jason calls to you, and on instinct, you turn.
βHey, I was looking for you.β
You manage a strained smile, unable to form any words.
βAre you leaving?β
βMhm.β You give him a nod.
The minute tilt of his head tells you he knows something is off.
He rubs the back of his neck. βOkay, well, thereβs a good place for coffee not far from here. If youβre interested.β
βIβll be sure to check it out.β
Thereβs a shift in the air. You both feel it.
βActually, I meantβ¦if you wanted to go now,β he says.
The fucking nerve of this guy.
βWhy would I want to do that?β
This gives him pause. He looks at you with those calculating eyes, searching for something you refuse to give him. After a few too many seconds, he responds.βI thought you maybe wanted toββ
βOh my god, Jason, no!β You spit. The force of it catches both of you by surprise.
He clears his throat, stuffing his hands into his pockets. βOkay. Sorry to bother you.β He walks away before you can say anything.
Your legs carry you through your haze of indistinguishable emotions and into your friendβs car.
βWhat was that?β He asks, as soon as your seatbelt clicks into place.
βI donβt know.β
You spare one last look at the park. You have a clear view of Jason through the crowd, back with the same woman and now joined by another man. Heβs shorter than Jason, and a little more tanned. He claps Jason on the back in a warm, familiar fashion. He and the womanβs hands are interlaced, and from the way she looks at him, itβs clear you made a mistake.
βOh, fuck me.β You lean back against the headrest, taking a deep breath to soothe the stabbing pain in your chest.
βDo you want to go back?β Your friend offers. He peers at you sympathetically, and that only makes you feel worse.
βNo. No, please just drive.β You drop your face into your hands, voice cracking.
His palm finds your shoulder. βMaybe itβs for the better. Like, everything happens for a reason, you know? For all you know, he could be a murderer. Or something.β
You want to find comfort in his attempts, but you just canβt.
βDrive. Please.β
βThings are gonna get better for you. I can feel it.β He shifts gears and peels away from the curb. The park disappears in your rearview mirror, and you can only hope heβs right.
June 30th
Things got worse.
On one particularly difficult day, you drag yourself back to the animal shelter because you just couldnβt get Monster Truck out of your mind.
βFor the record,β the employee says as he leads you to his enclosure, βWe just call him Monty.β
Monty, having already heard your voice as you approached, was waiting at the gate with wide eyes. His tail swung from side to side, and the sight of him had you melting.
The employee unlocks the gate and Monty lumbers out, panting happily and jumping onto you as you kneel.
βHi, buddy!β You smush his face between your hands. βI missed you.β
βHave you filled out an application?β The employee asks.
βOh.β You flush. βIβm sort ofβ¦in the process of moving right now. Soβ¦no.β Itβs a half-truth. Your stuff is all in boxes and ready to be moved. You just donβt know where yet.
βThatβs okay, you can still fill one out now! The process might take some time, anyway. Where are you moving to?β He has an unsettlingly bright smile. You feel like heβs already judging you.
βIβmβ¦not sure. Yet.β
βI see.β He smiles even wider, somehow. βThen where are you living now?β
You blow out a sigh. βAt a friendβs.β
βSo, youβre essentially homeless?β
βWoah, dude.β
βIf you arenβt planning to adopt, then you canβt visit the animals as you please. This isnβt a petting zoo.β
You share a few choice words with the employee, including a not-so-whispered βjackassβ (to which he says, βI heard thatβ and you shout a βYou were meant to!β) on your way out the door.
Later on that month, you heard about a modest one-bedroom apartment from a friend of a friend, whose friend knew the landlord; a little above your price range, but you could manage. You went through all the proceedingsβ references, background check, credit check, coming up with the money for a depositβyou were all ready to sign the lease and move in when you got the call.
These things fall through sometimes, the landlord said. Sorry it didnβt work out.
So tonight, when your friend, sick of your week-long pity party on his couch, hauled you into his Uber to join his date night, you thought, what the hell. Sure.Β
Your friend and his boyfriend are insufferably cute. Normally, youβd smile at the way theyβre all over each other on the drive to the club; kissing each otherβs palms and stroking one anotherβs hair.Β
Now it feels gloating.
Although this, you suppose, is your normal now, and while you can bear their playing footsie in the Uber, bear the hands in each otherβs back pockets while waiting in line, bear playing photographer for them over the first round of shots, you draw the line at the sensuous, touchy dance moves happening three feet away from you. Not wanting to be the jealous and bitter third-wheel, you manage to grab their attention long enough to point to the bar and make your escape.
Still fairly early in the night, most of the stools are empty. You slide into one, and the bartender, a dark-haired woman whose name tag reads βLuisaβ, approaches with a smile.
βWhat can I get you?β
You order a shot and, after a quick glance back to your friends (theyβve escalated to full-on grinding), you add a cocktail.
You throw back the shot with barely a grimace and start downing the cocktail. Luisa whistles.
βEverything okay?β
You merely shrug, not bothering to remove your mouth from the glass. Or breathe. The liquid level lowers at a steady speed until youβre left with only a few ice cubes.
Someone from a few chairs down scoots over to the seat next to you.Β
βWow.β
You donβt look at him, but the voice sounds male.
"I like a girl who can handle her liquor. Canβ"
βNo,β you say, not lifting your eyes from the counter.
You hear him scoff from beside you. βYou could at leastβ"
βNope.β You swish the straw around in the glass, pushing the ice cubes about. They clink against the corners of the cup.
βThereβs no needββ
Something about this guy, and every guy to ever exist, fills you with exhaustion and rage. You drop your head into your hands, and groan. Loudly.
You hear his footsteps receding, as well as some curses flicked your way, but take an extra minute to hide in your hands. You think to yourself, when did men get so much audacity?
Another glass is set down in front of you. You look up; itβs Luisa. She wears an understanding grimace.
βThanks,β you mumble.
βBreak-up?β She asks, and you nod. βThis oneβs taken care of.β
βBy who?β
βDonβt worry about it. Though, I do expect a generous tip later.β She winks, and you crack a smile for the first time that night.
βWhy are men soβ¦β You pause, searching for a word that adequately sums up what youβre feeling, but come up with nothing. She seems to get the point.
βTrust me, I know.β
βYeah? What happened to you?β You sip the drink; the glass is cold in your hands, and it feels good against the humidity of the packed club.
She sighs, resting her forearms against the bar counter, fingers playing with the edges of her apron. βWhat didnβt?β At your sympathetic look, she continues. βI was with this guy for a few months, and everything was great. He was so sweet and loving. I thought he was, like, the one. Met each otherβs families and everything. He started talking about moving in togetherβ¦I was worried we might be moving too fast but he kept pushing it, saying stuff like βI want to be with you for the rest of my life, and I want the rest of my life to start right now!ββ She accentuates her imitation with finger quotes and a high-pitched voice.
You squint at her with furrowed brows. βIsnβt thatβ¦When Harry met Sally?β
She laughs dryly. βYeah. I hadnβt seen it. You want another?β She nods toward the glass you set down, now empty.
βPlease.β
While assembling yet another cocktail for you, she resumes her story. βSo I agreed, and he moved into my place, and thenβ¦β Luisa trails off, muddling mint and lime juice at the bottom of a shaker.
βThenβ¦?β You prompt.
βWell, I found out that the day he started pressuring me into moving in togetherβ¦that was the day he got his first eviction notice.β
βNo.β
βYes.β She pours your drink into a fresh glass and adds a straw, then slides it over the counter to you. βAnd I found out because he was four months behind on rent, and the landlord came to my place looking for him.β
βOh my god!β You gasp, your chest burning with anger on her behalf. βWhat did you do?β
βI called my sisters. While he was at work, we changed the locks, packed up all his stuff, and left it on the curb.β She smiles at the memory. βThen I never saw him again.β
You snort into your hand. βSoβ¦you evicted him.β
βEssentially,β Luisa shrugs. βWhat about you?β
You huff. βCheated,β is the only word you can get out, shoulders sagging as you fiddle with the straw.
βIβm sorry,β Luisa says.
"S'not your fault," you slur. Your three drinks are catching up to you. That doesn't stop you from ordering another.
Later into the night, when the crowd density around the bar has almost doubled, Luisa excuses herself to tend to the rising drink demand. You miss talking to her as soon as she leaves, but it's no matter because you're not sure your speech is even intelligible at this point. You're left with a grand total of three cocktails and two shots, the empty glasses surrounding your personal pity party at the bar. You're entertaining yourself by stacking the glasses atop one another when you hear a second set of footsteps behind the counter, though you're in no condition to comprehend the exchange.
"Hey, have you gone on break yet?"
"No, not yet."
"Okay, go. I'll cover you."
Your phone vibrates, and it takes a few tries for your clumsy hands to wrestle it out of your jeans' minuscule front pockets.
Unknown Number
hey
i want to fix this
we can't throw away three whole years just because of one silly argument
You
sho is yhid
Unknown Number
i had to get a new number because you blocked me
You
new nuumbrt who ids
oj
Unknown Number
wait are you drunk right now?
You
y7es
Unknown Number
i can't believe you, i'm trying to fight for our relationship and you're out drinking?
You
fuvk ogg
twat
"New number my ass. D'you see this shit?" You hold the phone up, facing the screen to Luisa. "How much you wanna bet he jus' borrowedβ oh."
When you look up to where Luisa's face was, you're met with...nothing. A black void encapsulates your entire field of view.
"Am I passing out?" You ask, to no one in particular.
"What?"
The sound comes from above the black, and you follow it.
"Oh, shit."
You find a pair of green eyes narrowed at you, scanning you up and down. If you were more sober, you might feel somewhat intimidated by the burning stare. But any hint of sobriety has been thrown out the window and apparently took your filter along with it.
His face is somewhat blurry, but the unmistakable streak of white hair has you ninety percent confident that itβs...him in front of you.
Jason. From the animal shelter. Who you got along with, and then treated like shit.
βWoah! Whatβre you doinβ here!β It comes out as an exclamation more than a question and your words blend together, the alcohol making any speech require ten times the usual effort.
βWhat am I doing here?β Itβs not accusatory, but rather genuinely confused. His voice is even, distant. Not a trace of the warmth you had last time to be heard.
You mimic his expression. βDo you, likeβ¦work here or something?β
He stares at you, dumbfounded. His face reads, this must be a prank. His mouth reads, after a momentβs pause, ββ¦Or something.β
You sweep another look down his body. A black, short-sleeve T-shirt, well-loved jeans, and a pair of work boots grace his deific figure. You linger on his arms for a few seconds.
He clears his throat, and youβre drawn back to his face. He raises his eyebrows, unamused. The morning will be clouded by a haze of regret for how openly you check him out. But the morningβs not here just yet.
βYouβre the bartenβthe barβ¦bar-man?β
He opens his mouth to respond, but you answer your own question.
βNah, youβreβ¦you areβ¦canβt be bar-man. You donβt gotta apron!β You point at him, jabbing your finger so aggressively it shakes your whole bodyβa clear mistake from the way it makes the alcohol slosh in your stomach.
He says nothing and steps away to deal with the other customers. You return to your cup-stacking but, a moment later, the glasses are pulled from your reach. Your arm follows them with a whining protest, and a tall glass is placed in your hand.
βI didnβt order any more rum.β
βThis is water.β Jason begins to turn away, but stops. βDid you think I brought you a full glass of rum?β
βMaybe. I donβt know. Iβm kinda drunk,β you mumble. You take a few sips, and then place it back on the table.Β
βOh, are you?β His tone has a bite to it. You look down at the cup, tapping your nails against the glass. You donβt give yourself the right to be offended; you deserve it, you think, as the events of that day replay in your head.
βSorry for being such a bitch.β It comes out quieter, scarcely audible over the raucous sounds of the club.
βAll you said was, βYouβre not wearing an apronβ.β
βNot now. Before. Last time.β
He doesnβt say anything. Then, βJust drink the water.β
βNo, Iβm gonna go throw up.β
βWaitββ
You jump from your stool, threading through the hordes of sweaty bodies to round the corner and bolt for the bathroom. You barge through the first door marked βvacantβ that you see and hurl in the toilet. Several times.
When your stomach is finally empty, you sit back against the wall, head hitting the tiles. A mixture of vomit and spit dribbles down your chin and onto your top. You take a deep breath, but the air stinks of sweat and smoke and you retch, but thereβs nothing left for your body to purge.
The cold tiles do little to soothe your damp, heated skin. You need water. Water and fresh air and maybe a time machine, so you can go back and warn yourself to eat something before going out, or to pay more attention to whatβs right in front of you, or maybe just go back and make sure you never say yes in the first place to that fuckingβ
βYou in here?β
A swift knock on the door. Stern enough to knock you to your senses, and also rouse some shame. The amount of times youβve embarrassed yourself this month aloneβ it brings another wave of nausea.
You donβt answerβyou canβt, not with the acid and bile burning your throat and your head spinning from the glaring fluorescent lights. The door handle is pushed down achingly slowly, rusty hinges screaming in protest as the door is cracked open. Jason peeks his head in, the familiar tuft of white poking out from behind the door first, followed by the rest of him.
βCan I come in?βΒ
You nod. He leaves a crack in the door and approaches carefully, as if youβre a wounded animal in the wild, ready to bolt at the first sudden movement. He squats down to eye-level, careful to avoid touching his knees to the floor. Smart, you think, becoming acutely aware of your shoes sticking to the ground by way of some mystery substance.
βSorry βbout this,β you croak, closing your eyes in the hopes that it will relieve some of the ache.
βItβs fine.β
βNo,β you slur, ββs not. Canβt stop embarrassing myself.β
βBelieve me, Iβve seen much worse.β
βDoubt it.β You open your eyes to look at him. He remains a respectable distance from you, so his features are still a bit fuzzy, but you can make out the thin line of his lips pressed together. Heβs indecipherable, and you wonder if itβs on purpose that he hides himself, or if thatβs just his face.
βCan you stand?β He asks, rising back to his full height. Still delirious, you manage a soft groan from the back of your throat and extend your arm to him. He gets the message, taking ahold of your elbow and pulling you to your feet with ease like you weigh nothing.
You hobble over to the sink and splash cool water on your face, wiping at your mouth and neck and cursing at the stains on your shirt.
βDo you need a new one?βΒ
It almost doesnβt register over the ringing in your ears, which is only compounded by the loud bass that bleeds through the walls and reverberates through your skull.
βYouβ¦hm?β Your voice crackles as you turn to face him. Heβs oddly relaxed in his stance where he leans against the door, hands in his pockets and watching you intently.Β
βI can give you a shirt. If you want one,β he says. His voice is soft, but whether itβs from sympathy or pity, you canβt tell.Β
βYeah, sure. Fine,β you reply, breaking eye contact to stare at the grimy wall behind him. More than anything else, you want a break from the way he looks at you; as if heβs peeling back your layers and staring right into the center of you. It makes you feel like a scolded child, walking to the principalβs office with a pit in your stomach and no idea what you did wrong, but knowing there must be something.
Your hands feel cold, suddenly, and you flinch at the unexpected sensation. Looking down, you see Jason pressing a bottle of water into your hands. You hadnβt even noticed he stepped closer.
He slips out the door, closing it behind him. You rinse out your mouth a few times, but the dry, acidic burn in your throat remains, so you go for the water bottle, but your fingers are too weak and shaky to remove the cap.Β You set it down forcefully on the sinkβs edge and lean your weight against the sink, hands gripping the porcelain so hard your knuckles turn white. You stare at them, unable to bear your own reflection. You can feel the pressure building behind your eyes and screw them shut, clamping a hand over your mouth to muffle the choked-out sob that breaks from you.
βFuck,β you mutter to yourself, wiping away at the moisture. βGet it together.β
Youβre trying to steady your breathing when he knocks on the door, his request to come in muffled through the wall.
A stiff βYeah,β is all you can manage; itβs so quiet you donβt think he heard you, but a moment later the door creaks open again and Jasonβs head peeks in. You steal a quick glance at him in the mirror, and thatβs all it takes for him to notice the shine of your red-rimmed eyes. He freezes, hovering halfway into the bathroom, unsure if he should come in or give you your privacy.
βHere,β he says quietly. You turn around at the light rustle of him holding out a large, light blue t-shirt, and a plastic grocery bag. βIβll let youββ
βWait,β you say, without thinking.
He looks at you expectantly, and after a few seconds of silence, you realize you need to say something.
βCan youββ You fumble for the water bottle that sits on the sink and hold it out to him. βCan you open this?β
He twists the cap open and hands it back to you. You take a small sip. The two of you stare at each other.
βIs thereβ¦anything else?β
βI, uhβ¦β
There is something else. But youβre not sure what it is. The only thing your drunkβand clearly stupidβmind can think about right now is how much you want him to stay.
βYou remember Monty?β
βMonty?β Jason raises his eyebrows.
βYeah, you know. Monty.β You lean against the wall, resting your head on the tiles that are definitely carrying some kind of virus. At least theyβre cold.
βNo, sorry.β He shakes his head.
βJason.β You cross your arms. βMonty!β
βI donβtβ¦know who that is.β His ears are turning pink as he looks you up and down, likely wondering if the bacteria in this bathroom can cause hallucinations.
βMonster Truck. The dog.β
You can see the gears turning in his brain, and the moment the light bulb flickers on. βOh,β he sighs. βYeah.β His shoulder leans against the doorframe, and he pushes the door open a few more inches.
βYβknow I went to see him?βΒ
He hums in response and tilts his chin up, signaling for you to continue.
βMotherfuckers kicked me out.β
At this, his mouth falls open. βTheyβ¦what?β
You nod vigorously, grateful that youβre not alone in your outrage. βSaid if I donβt have a place to live, being thereβs basically loitering.β
At his silence, paired with his microscopic frown, you wonder if he agrees. It occurs to you that this is the first heβs heard of your living situationβyou rush to defend yourself.
βI had a place to live. Then I moved out. Was about to move into this new place, literally jusβ had to sign some shit, but this old bitch pulled it out from under me. Worst part is, sheβs not even gonna live there. Just wanted it βcause it was around the fashion district, anβ I guess she just wanted a place to, like, put her feet up or something after a long day of shopping.β
If Jason wants to cut in, you donβt notice. Youβre fully aware that youβre rambling, but canβt bring yourself to care; it feels nice to finally get all this out. Even if it is making you look even worse in his eyes.
βAnd you wanna know the worst part? I had the apartment. Was basically mine already. But then she had to go and bribe the damn landlord with all herβ¦damn rich lady money!β Your volume increases as you go on, getting angrier at the injustice. βAnd then he lied to me about it! Said it just βfell through.β Then I showed up to talk to him in person about it, and he broke like aβ¦likeβlike something that breaks easily, I donβt know. Like, if youβre gonna fuck people over, at least be good at it. Donβt be a snitch!
βAnd, apparently, the ladyβshe said that she wanted that apartment because it was βthe safest she could findβ and she didnβt wanna βget mugged,ββ you say, using air quotes. βBitch! If you wanna live somewhere safe, get the hell out of Gotham!β Youβre practically yelling now, and Jason suppresses a smile. You know itβs probably mocking, but still, he listens patiently to your rant.
βBut, actually, she was kinda right. It was a nice place. On Tyler Street. Totally bougieβthe muggers donβt even come out βtil after midnight.β
He actually snorts at this, and you feel yourself smiling at it.
Your eyes fall to the shirt in your hands. You hold it up to get a good look. Itβs an icy-blue color with a monocled cartoon penguin in front of an iceberg. Underneath is written βThe Iceberg Lounge: Gotham Waterfront.βΒ
Itβs so cheesy, you canβt help but laugh. βWhy do you have this?β
βFrom the gift shop.β
βWhat kinda club has a gift shop?β
Jason shrugs. βThis one.β
He steps out, shutting the door behind him. You peel off your old shirt and stuff it in the plastic bag before tugging on the new shirt; itβs soft and surprisingly good quality. After a few moments of deliberation, you decide to stuff the plastic bag in the trashβitβs not like youβll miss it.
You open the door, startled when you see that Jason is waiting outside.
βIβm good, you can go back to work,β you tell him.
βHow are you gonna get home?β
ββS fine,β you mumble. βIβll jusβ call an Uber.β You drag yourself out of the bathroom, leaning one hand against the wall for support. Jason follows, hovering like an anxious parent. You shoot your friend a text letting him know, and he replies telling you to call him from the car.
βThatβsββ He rests his hand on your back and maneuvers you around a flock of drunk dancers whom youβre too absorbed in your phone to notice. βI can give you a ride.β
βItβs okay. Youβre working.β You donβt listen for his answer, making a beeline for the exit. He stays on your tail, and you realize as he guides you in the opposite direction that you donβt actually know your way around this place.
βNot anymore.β He pushes open the front door and holds it for you.
βYou canβt just leave in the middle of your shift, Jason.β The door swings shut behind you, and sounds of traffic and light chatter replace the ear-splitting music. Jason nods to the bouncer at the entrance before turning back to you.
βI wouldnβt worry about it.β He leads you around the side of the building.
βNo, I will worry about it. You already hate me enough. I canβt be the reason you get fired.β
Jason stops walking. βYou thinkββ
βIβm calling an Uber.β He tries to interject, but you donβt let him. βLook! George is three miles away, and he has a five-star rating.β
βI donβt want you getting into some randoβs car. I can take you home.β
You narrow your eyes at him. βWhatβs your problem? You donβt like George?β
βI donβt trust anyone in Gotham this late, and neither should you,β Jason says firmly.
βThen why should I trust you?β
He opens his mouth, then closes it. You scroll through your recent messages, surprised to see your exβs βnew numberβ has called you four times in the last hour. Two of those calls have voicemails.
You skim through the voicemail transcripts. βFuckinβ weirdo,β you seethe.
βWhatβs wrong?β Jason asks.
βNothinβ.β Your shaky fingers try to navigate to the βblockβ button, but the screen shifts to an incoming call. Itβs him. Again. You decline it. Not even a moment later, he calls again.
βLeave me alone,β you mutter, rushing to press βblockβ before he can call again.
Releasing a heavy sigh, you drop to the curb, head falling into your palms. After a moment, you hear Jason sit down next to you.
βIs someone bothering you?β His tone is rigid, and itβs a shocking switch, abrupt and cold enough to send a chill down your spine. You lift your head to look at him. βIf you donβt feel safeββ
βNo, itβs just my stupid ex. Probably only calling βcause his fuckinβ mistress finally left him. Good for her, I guess. Bad for me, though. Now heβs lonely and wonβt leave me alone.β
βHow many times has he called you?β
βI donβt know, five? Itβs fine. Heβll give up.β
βAre you sure?β
You nod. His shoulders relax. Barely. You donβt miss the way his jaw tightens, or how his hand flexes as he stares at your phone.
βIf he keeps harassing you, tell someone.β At the way he speaks, you almost fear for your ex.
βIβ¦donβt know if Iβd call it harassment. Heβs just an idiot.β
Jason looks you in the eye. βThatβs not an excuse.β His gaze is sharp. You look away, something burning in your chest.
Quiet settles in the space between you.
βFeels like youβre judging me,β you murmur.
βIβm not judging you,β he says gently. βWhy would I judge you?β
βI donβt know, justβ¦for being with someone like that.β
It takes him some time to respond.
βPeople change.β
βAnd what if I told you he was always like that?β
βI still wouldnβt judge you.β This time, his reply is immediate.
βMaybe you should. I was with him for three years.β
βWhy?β He asks, but itβs not critical; itβs curious.
βWe were friends for a while first. I guess I was kind of a late bloomer if you wanna call it that. Never got much attention fromβ¦whatever.βΒ The alcoholβs lingering effects weigh heavy on your tongue, making all your admissions come too easily. βThen one day, that changed. He was the first guy who asked me out. Claimed heβd βalways had a crush on meβ. Guess I got excited, or something. I was so high on the feeling of beingβ¦wanted. Never noticed how selfish he actually was.β
βWhat did he do?β
βIt was subtle. He wasnβt the only one who started noticing me; I started getting approached more. But it felt worse, almost. βCause itβs likeβ¦I donβt knowβ¦I didnβt even change anything.β You hug your knees closer to your chest. βBut then all of a sudden I was getting all this attention. And I didnβt know why, and he was like, βyou really donβt know? You got super hot over the summer.ββ
You hear Jason wince next to you. You tilt your head back and take a deep breath, filling your lungs with fresh air when all the remembering brings a familiar pressure to your chest.
βAnd I know it was supposed to be a compliment,β you continue, feeling yourself sobering at the memory. βEvery time it happened, I would tell him about it, thinking we could laugh, but then heβd say some shit like, βWell they only like you now. I was the only one who liked you even before.β
βSo, until now, youβ¦lived with him?β Jasonβs eyes are on the side of your face, you can feel it, but you donβt dare to look at him.
βYeah. Moved in together after graduation with a lease in his name βcause I didnβt know any better.β You chuckle self-deprecatingly. βFound out in the spring that heβd been cheating on me for months, so I moved out. Been moving between friendsβ couches ever since.β
A bout of heat runs through your veins as the gravity of everything youβve told him settles in. You breathe out a long sigh, keeping your eyes trained on the sky above. There are no stars in Gotham, not since the sudden boom in factories and highways and airborne bio-weapons, and the moon is barely visible, waxing on the edge of a new moon. The sky is an endless expanse of gray.
βWhat about you? Donβt make me the only naked one here.β
The blinking light of an airplane catches your attention, and you track it across the sky. The alcohol has slowed your cognition; itβs nearly a full minute before you realize Jason hasnβt responded. You finally look at himβhis lips are parted, eyes narrowed.
You frown. βWhat?β
ββ¦Naked?β He asks.
βYeah.β You shrug. βNever heard that before? It doesnβt mean naked naked. It means, likeβ¦naked.β
His face remains blank.
βCβmon, Jason, I have no interest in seeing you naked naked.β You look him up and down with distaste, hoping to support your statement, but get caughtβagainβon his arms. But who can blame you? Youβre drunk, and lonely, and his sleeves are hugging his biceps like that, and they look big enough to crush your head.
When your eyes find his again, his jaw is tensed.
You dart to your feet, too quick to help your dizziness and burning with embarrassment.
βWhatever, can we go?β
βPlease,β he says, and leads you down the street.
You stumble, tripping over your own feet as you walk and almost crashing into him. Jason huffs and reaches out to wrap his hand around your upper arm. His grip is firm, but not painful, and it holds you upright for the remainder of the walk. In the back of your mind, you wonder if heβs holding up your entire body weight in one hand.
βWait a secondβwait.β You freeze in the middle of the sidewalk, and he jerks to a stop. βThat thing? βM not gettinβ on that.β You swallow back the lump forming in your throat as you stare at the massive motorcycle parked at the side door.
βWhy not?β You can tell heβs getting antsy now, having to look after you like a babysitter, but not even the fear of being a burden can outweigh the uneasiness that comes fromβ¦that.
You take a step back. βThatβsβyou know how dangerous those things are?β
He looks to the sky, taking a deep breath. βOnly if you donβt know how to drive them. I do.β
βLook, I get it, you got that whole thing goinβ on, with the bike, and the leather, and the big musclesββ His eyes widen a bit at that last part. ββBut do you know what the chances are of being injured when youβre in a motorcycle accident? Do you, Jason? Eiββ
βEighty-two percent,β he cuts in.
You jerk back, narrowing your eyes. βHowβd you know that?β
He scoffs. βHow did I know that? You donβt even have a motorcycle!β
βYou donβt know that!β
βI do,β he snaps. βBecause if you did, you wouldnβt be throwing a fit right now. So please, just get on the bike so I can take you home.β Jason shoves the helmet out to you, his expression fiery and pleading in a way youβve never seen before. Still, you hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip and looking between him and the helmet.
Your eyes meet, and he sighs. βIβll drive slowly.β He speaks softer, and somehow, it settles some of your nerves.
You take a deep breath and take the helmet, sliding it over your head. Jason tightens the strap below your chin, and his fingers brush against your neck. You feel dizzy again, your eyelids drooping with sleepiness. With him standing so close, you can smell the cologne wafting from him, layered on top of something deeper; a mixture of fresh soap and natural musk.Β
βYou smell good,β you murmur.
He snaps your visor shut.
βGood?β He asks.
βGood,β you say, though itβs muffled through the helmet, so you nod.
Once youβre both on the bike, you wrap your arms around his waist, squeezing tightly for fear of falling off. You feel his body vibrate as he says something, but youβre too tired to worry about what it is.
He revs up the bike and takes off, circling back to the front of the building and merging onto the main road. And yeah, heβs not going that fast, but itβs fast enough to leave your stomach a few feet behind. You cling to Jason, pressing yourself impossibly tighter to him.
Your eyes are closed the whole way, but the cold wind blowing against you feels nice on your skin. Youβre so lost in the hum of the engine sending relaxing vibrations through you, how soft Jason feels, and the helmet drowning out the sounds of Gotham traffic that you donβt even notice when he stops in front of your friendβs building and takes off his helmet. When the light taps to your knee donβt work, he squeezes your leg with a stern call of your name. You jump in surprise, knocked out of your reverie, but pry yourself off of his back.
He gets off first, holds his arm out to offer stability as you clamber off, then undoes your helmet. By now, youβve sobered up considerably, but you still lack just enough of your senses to stand on your toes and throw your arms around his neck. Itβs a split-second embrace, so quick that you barely catch the fresh earthiness of his scent before pulling away. You swear the air feels heavier on your lower back, warmth bleeding through fabric where a hesitant touch hovers, but when you step back his arms are firmly at his sides.
Looking up at him, the tips of his ears are dusted with pink, and his eyelashes flutter in a gust of summer wind.Β
βThanks for putting up with me,β You mumble through a drowsy grin. ββSpecially after I fumbled you that badly.β
Jason blushes harder. βGet some rest,β he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. βAnd call your friend,β he calls as you climb the steps. You wave goodbye, and he just nods, waiting until you get through the door to mount his bike again.Β
Heβs just about to kick it into gear when he pauses. He stares at the door for several seconds, fighting with himself, before groaning out a string of curses, pulling out his phone, and searching up Tyler Street.
divider
there are so many notes bc this was so long omg. it ended up being longer than i anticipated so i split it into 2 parts don't hate meπ«₯
omg...the birth of an au...i still can't believe so many people liked the first part, this is a prequel for how they met. ty for reading my writingπ€i looove writing iceberg lounge jason!! part 2 of this fic and more parts coming soon!!!
so uh...maybe i'm going crazy but i could've sworn that wayne animal sanctuary was a canon thing when i started this, but then i tried to look it up and couldn't find anything :/ but then i included it anyway bc i'm The Author and i can do whatever i want!
the metamorphosis shirt is based on this "working bug" design that i β€οΈ (i have the sticker!).
the motorcycle accident stats were for 2013-2017 from the new jersey division of highway traffic and safety website- basically if you were in a motorcycle accident in those years you had an 82% chance of sustaining injuries from it. wasn't sure if it was clearπ¬
So I'm desperately looking for a Jason Todd fanfic here on Tumblr where the reader goes to some charity (?) event and Damian makes Jason work there with puppies so that's how they meet and they strike up a conversation about the metamorphosis because of the shirt reader is wearing. (The writer mentioned having a metamorphosis shirt on I think, or maybe a sticker on a laptop?)
At the end, reader sees Jason with Barbara and thinks they are dating when in reality she's with Dick. I CAN'T FIND IT SOMEONE HELP
how on earth did you come back after 8 years? π±π I love youπππ
hiii dear anon! Aaaa thank you so much for reaching out, feels so good to hear this π«Άπ»
I honestly couldn't tell you ahaha my life took so many turns and recently I've gotten my dc hyperfixation back and was able to recover this account's password! I promise I will post something soooon
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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The Batkids doing that "Suspect" tiktok trend where they take turns filming each other running and say increasingly personal and deranged shit to make each other laugh.
Spoiler, recording Red Robin: *in a confused voice* Suspect listens to Green Day and Enya, like my guy pick a struggle
Nightwing, recording Red Hood: Suspect died once and made it his entire personality
Red Hood, recording Robin: Suspect has a superiority complex that is way too big for someone his size
Robin, recording Nightwing: Suspect has been engaged at least twice and married never
Red Robin, recording Spoiler: Suspect thinks assaulting people with bricks is a legitimate flirting strategy (Spoiler: It worked on you!)
Signal, who came out at night solely for this, recording Red Robin: Suspect can't come up with an original name and keeps stealing everyone else's
Red Hood, recording Nightwing: Suspect is actually a huge asshole but hides it behind that cheerful demeanor so everyone thinks I'm lying about it
Robin, recording Red Hood: I'm going to let the Suspect keep running because he needs the exercise
Signal, recording Red Hood: Suspect acts tough but has read every Jane Austen novel at least six times
Belated anniversary to this post. Here's a slightly updated version. Legend says they're still arguing about who gets the Pink ranger to this day. Both of them are losing <3.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
η§γ―γΉγΏγΌ β¨ thatβs all Iβll say about that song. love you, Megan. also kinda laughing cause I initially thought this song was θͺ°γγγΉγΏγΌ from Wish LOL
went with pastels this time instead of my usual rainbow ! I may release the rainbow version later :)
ur posts are all from ages ago but i just wanted to let yk that ur mega talented π«ΆπΌ
i hope life is going well for you sweets :)
hii!
I have no idea how long ago this was sent but thank you so much for your kind words even though my blog was dormant! I am back now and will get back to writing soon!