Hello everyone, I will be using this account for tag lists, due to the recent termination of blogs that tag a large number of people. (Post for reference)
summary: Turns out you had met the Waynes well before meeting your husband.
pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader
tags and warning(s): Nothing as far as I'm aware, wrote this in an hour and I'm way too sleepy to proofread this. some info might not be accurate, Maybe OOC
word count:1.1k
dc mlist bruce wayne mlist
Bruce Wayne had a hollow pit in his heart that ached for the simple things in life, such as Jason picking up his call, dick staying the night at the manor, among others. But like everyone else, he wished for things that could never happen, like his parents alive and well beyond their early thirties, and meeting you, his wife.
But what if fate had other plans?
It's a random Tuesday as Bruce, and you stand in the middle of your grandfather's beloved attic. The wooden floors creak under your weight, dust particles moving in spirals as the early rays of sunshine flit through the glass panes of the dormer window. Your mother had asked for your help in cleaning your grandparents' place, and so you pulled in Bruce - offering him a break from his corporate duties, which he gladly agreed to.
"Wow, I did not realise my grandad hoarded so many things", you say, looking at the vast number of trinkets and boxes stacked along the walls on both sides of the attic. Each was well organised, with a label pasted on the top.
"Your grandad was a man of culture", Bruce chuckles, looking at the various band posters from the 40s and 50s. There were even autographs from some of them, neatly preserved.
Both of you got to work immediately, knowing it would be hours before everything was cleaned out. You had decided to split the work by concentrating on different ends of the triangular room.
Bruce had struck gold by ending up in the corner where your granddad had seemed to store much of the photo albums and cassettes, stacked on top of each other, labeled in detail about what the insides contained. It gave Bruce an insight to your family, a family from looking at the albums that had photos from back since your grandparents got married, having their daughter — your mother, to her getting married, and having you.
He had seen a lot of your photos since the early days of dating, but these were different. Your grandfather was an avid photographer, and Bruce could sense it through the varied angles and poses that he made everyone do.
"Having fun, huh?" you mumble, looking at Bruce as he suppresses a chuckle while looking at the pictures of you — a two-year-old, wearing a princess gown and a wand gripped tightly within your grubby fingers.
"You get stuck with the more fun part, while I have to dust some old documents", you grumble, looking at files and files of documents.
"Do you wanna exchange, sweetheart?"
"Nope," you say, emphasizing the 'p' as you shift to the next box, "Besides, I like hearing you laugh, even if it comes at the cost of my pictures"
An hour passes by.
You had finished four out of the twelve boxes. Heaving a sigh, you decide it's time for a well-deserved break. And what better to do than annoy your beautiful husband?
"Bruce, Brucie Wayne," you turn to look at him at the lack of any response "Bruce?"
Bruce doesn't answer, his broad back turned towards you. There is something different in the air from a few minutes ago, almost tinged with melancholic fragrance. You move towards, hoping to see what made him go so still, only to let out a gasp when you see it.
There you were, maybe five or six years old, wearing a large doctor's coat that reached well beyond your limbs, dragging onto the marble floor and a cute pink stethoscope around your neck. But that was not what made you gasp; it was the couple you were standing with in the photo.
Thomas and Martha Wayne.
Both of them were crouched next to you on either side. Thomas Wayne in his fitting black suit paired with a dark blue silk necktie embellished with motifs, while Martha Wayne wore a simple black silk dress paired with a blue plaid jacket.
There was a tiny piece of description below the photograph, a little shabby, like your grandpa wasn't sure what to write.
' Y/N & famous couple from Gotham (VHS #155)'
Bruce let out a laugh— loud but bittersweet. It made sense for your grandad to not know them, considering the only people he thought to be rich were the Queens.
You looked at Bruce, his eyes a little glazed as you cupped his face, fingers rubbing against the expanse of his cheek. Pressing a small kiss on his forehead, you whisper, "Shall we watch the VHS tape?"
He hums as you both try finding the exact tape among two hundred of them. Once retrieved, you dust the Toshiba VCR at the corner, pulling it slightly towards the center. You and Bruce try to get it to start since it probably hasn't been used in a while.
After a few minutes, the VCR lights up. Inserting the tape, you press play, and both of you stand back, Bruce's arm over your shoulder as you lay your head on his chest, arms wrapped around his waist.
The VCR displays a blue gradient before buzzing to a grainy film of you in a purple and pink frock , smiling widely at the camera. There's a lot of noise around you — people clapping , speeches being read as your grandad records the stage when Thomas Wayne was giving his speech. Bruce shifted a little, hand holding yours a little tighter, from hearing his father's voice after so many years.
The video then shifts to you, standing in front of the couple, wearing a pink stethoscope and a white coat a little too large for your frame. Martha Wayne smiles , a smile so radiant, before crouching down to her knees as she shakes your hand.
"Hi, there. What's your name?"
You say your name before letting out a giggle at her calling you beautiful.
"You want to be a doctor when you grow up?" She asks, hands pointing at the instrument hanging around your neck.
"Yes, ma'am. I want to be a heart doctor," you say, peering at the woman beside you. Thomas Wayne smiles before exchanging pleasantries with your grandfather.
"Oh, that's wonderful! You will be a great doctor one day, my dear."
And with that, the VHS comes to an end.
Bruce sniffles a little , his hands holding your waist, chin placed on top of your head. Silence fills the space along with the sounds of your nieces playing around the house. You don't know how long the both of you stayed like that, but it could have been forever, and you didn't mind at all.
Bruce is beyond happy. While it may not be visible to the naked eye, you could feel the joy emanating from the open crevices of grief and gaps of affection. He was happy that you —his wife, the love of his life — had met his parents. And they had gotten the chance to meet you.
Perhaps both of you really were soulmates.
A/N: Comments and Reblogs appreciated! Writing something for bruce after a long time.
chapter title: Jason Todd and his muse
chapter summary: "But one should be realistic." He murmurs, the sound caressed by the wind.
"Hope is realistic, Jason."
It is not. And Jason knew that better than anyone.
tags and warnings: fluff, original character appearance ( Serena - who has been described), slight angst towards the end, a lot about themes of hope. Big bro Dick Grayson, Sibling shenanigans, Also Red Hood painting (please let me know if you guys could visualize it !) And Angsty Angst (But it's pretty minimal compared to the next chapter), mentions of trafficking, drugs, gangs and domestic violence (nothing major)
author's note: Huge thanks to @batwngs for proof reading!!! Also to preface, I’m not an artist. A lot of this is a combination of little research and my imagination ! would love to know your thoughts on this chapter. Reblogs and comments appreciated.
word count: 6794
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Warm sunlight paints the wooden floor in patterns of light due to the fluttering of the yellow linen curtains, dust light dancing around the air in swirls akin to that of a ballet dancer spotlighted on the Vinyl Marley floors. It was early morning and Jason was already at the studio. You had him change into Red Hood's costume, while you set up the backdrop.
Silks of red sit against the wall while a bunch of teddy bears sat in one corner. The background was just for your point of reference. The silk red would turn into the red brick stacked against each to form the wall of crime alley and the teddy bears — each separated from one another at a distance would lie on one side of Jason, would represent the children of crime alley.
All Jason had to do was lean against the red silk, arms folded and one leg over the other while looking ahead. The twist of the door knob signals Jason's return from the changing room, clad in the familiar creation of yours.
He still looked handso — Nope, we are not going there right now.
"Can you wear these on your back?" you ask, handing over the pair of angel wings — one cut and sprinkled with red from it's stem. It was a lot heavier than you had expected as they were made out of resin, with small flecks of bronze caressing its edges.
Jason knew today was the day he would be cosplaying as himself. To say the least, he was curious how you were going to portray him. He was no angel like Bruce or an inspiration like Barbara.
He was nothing really.
Nothing angelic enough to even hold one of the celestial plume.
He loops his arms over the straps regardless. You were kneeling down, trying to spread the silk uniformly against the wooden floor. You wore a brown apron, cinched tightly at the waist, a little faded from multiple washes over the months. Jason could tell you hadn't slept the previous night, if the dark bags under your gorgeous eyes acted as any proof.
The tiny studio was already ready for his presence early in the morning with the pallette of red paint stacked near a wooden easel that held the rectangular white canvas painted in a layer of red mud, positioned horizontally. Printouts of the photos you had taken of him yesterday was now pinned to the corkboard replacing Stephanie's. There were other pictures pinned along with his to form a collage such as those of crime alley, a movie still of kids running, and the same pair of angel wings.
"Okay, so let me just tell you a brief run through of what I have planned for the portrait."
Jason should really listen, but how can he if you looked like that. It looked like the sun was your personal stylist, it's rays highlighting every tiny detail across your face while your eyes gleamed with zeal. Your hands are turning, twisting as you explain the way you were going to draw him — yet Jason didn't hear a word.
Instead in the small enclosed four-walled room of the art studio, Jason becomes the artist and you, his muse, as he tries committing every part of you to memory. He was not artistic like you, but as a lover of words, Jason had the most beautiful combination of letters associated to you, to your very being.
Safe to say, Jason was falling for you just as easily as the moon falls for the sun.
He just hoped you would fall for him too.
A very fickle thing, since he likes to tell himself he doesn't believe in hope.
"Jason, are you listening?" The only reason you felt he wasn't, was because of how still he stood. Maybe without the domino mask, you would have been able to see green eyes locked on to you for the past five minutes just like you had been caught twice before.
His arms rubs the sensitive skin riddled with goosebumps at the back of his neck, red blooming across his body like hibiscus sprouting to life. Fortunately for him, you were not able to witness his pathetic flustering akin to that of a teenage boy who had seen his crush look at him for the first time.
"Sorry, was just thinking about something." He murmurs, his eyes darting to the red silk because that was so much easier than telling you how he found his home in your eyes.
"Are the wings too heavy ? Are you unco—?" you ask trying to find any reason that could be bothering him.
"No, they're perfectly fine." Jason says quickly, his ears turning pink as he realizes he just interrupted you out of his own fluster.
There's a brief silence that wraps around both of you — not awkward, just there — before your voice cut's through the silence.
"Let me go through it again." Jason nods, intent on listening to you this time and not getting lost in the beauty that was you.
"The red silk ," you say pointing at the fabric, "Will be the red brick walls of crime alley. I need you to lean against it such that one wing is fluttering high."
Jason nods.
"The teddy bears you see placed at a distance from each other," The fur feels soft against your skin as you position the teddy bears better against the floor. "They will be the children of Crime Alley running."
You point towards the stumped side of his wings,"The other side, there will be a dark shadow cast. I know it's kind of confusing, but you will see what I mean once we start. Do you have any suggestions?"
Jason might have had something to say if he listened, but he was lost again.
Just this time in his thoughts — a never ending cycle. Jason loves his family more than they will ever know. But sometimes it made him forget about all the good he ever did just because he did not do it the 'right' way. Jason was no way as good as Bruce Wayne but he saved others too.
He was a protector. A savior to many living in Crime Alley. How many kids had he saved from the ever impeding doom of being involved in drugs and gangs? How many women had he helped move out of unsafe homes and from trafficking rings? Even news outlets never spoke much about his work in Crime Alley — the positives at least.
To have a total stranger think of him in such a way was rather surprising and heartwarming.
"No, I-I think it's perfect."
You smile, lips stretched wide as you start maneuvering around to make this feel as comfortable as it can be for one. There is a tiny speaker at one corner of the room that you deliberately brought from your dorm. It had become a small tradition — creating a playlist before you started working on a painting— in the last four years. But since you were working with a muse, you opted for something that would make him feel more comfortable.
"Shall we start?" you ask Jason, though already pulling him by his arm towards the backdrop. Anyone could tell you were excited — the sparkling eyes, wide smile, bouncing foot from foot and for one, you wouldn't have had the confidence to drag Jason by his arms. But if you had looked behind, you would have seen him smiling wide.
He'd love to be dragged anywhere, if it was with you.
Turning towards him, you place your arms on top of his shoulders, voice firm, "If you need to take any breaks or feel uncomfortable, just let me know. We can take a pause anytime. So please voice it out at the very moment."
"Yes, sweetheart."
The words leave his mouth before his brain can even process. Both of you turn statuesque, sculpted by the shared beating of your heart, like muses waiting to be painting.
"Sorry, if that—" Jason says, hands twitching at his sides.
"No, No. It's fine , I mean — Let's j-just get back to work."
You turn your back to him, hoping he wouldn't notice the way you took deep breaths, trying to calm your beating heart or the silly grin on your face.
In a few minutes, Jason was leaning against the silk, arms crossed and his right leg over his left. He looked glorious like that of a royal knight, guarding his kingdom.
Like that of Red Hood guarding Crime Alley.
You stand beside him to fix the angel wing that was slightly tilted. As the soft feather bristles against your fingertips, you could feel his eyes on you. A shiver runs through your spine at the close proximity, butterflies zooming in your stomach. You take a deep breath to calm yourself down only for his heavy scent to course through your body, heat washing over you like waves.
Stay professional, the words ring in your head.
But how could you in the presence of someone like him.
Taking a step back from him, you take a final look at the entire scene ahead of you , rechecking if everything was in it's right position.
"Would it be okay if I played some music?" you ask Jason, fiddling around with the speaker.
"Go ahead," his voice a little muffled as he fixes his shirt.
"Do you want to play any specific Genre? Artists?"
"Not really, I'm fine with anything."
The soft melody of "Futile Devices" by Sufjan Stevens waft through the room, caressing every object in it's way. You had chosen the instrumental version as it provided you with enough concentration to not focus too much on the lyrics.
Sitting behind the easel on the wooden chair, you prep the canvas, coating it with another layer of red. A tiny circular wooden table rests next to you, a black cylindrical pen stand holding clean brushes of varying widths. Your thumb curves itself into thumbhole of the wooden color pallette, covered in pints of red, black, white and other colors formed as a result of the combination of the primary colors.
You start by making streaks of light grey, outlining his silhouette at the center of the canvas. Leaning closer to the canvas, you switch the brush for a thinner one to outline his features and proportions. Shifting against the cushion of the chair, you simultaneously paint a brief outline of the bricks in the background to make sure nothing was being miscalculated or else you would have to redo the whole painting again.
Jason can see your eyes flickering to his form regularly as well as to the pictures pinned on to the cork board, orbs squinting in focus over the borders of the canvas. There was a slight streak of red on the stretch of your cheeks when you had rubbed the back of your hand mindlessly against your face.
He could see the way your eyes narrow in concentration, leaning closer to the canvas while your body was almost off the chair. He noticed the way you would hum along to the instrumentals, your mouth whispering some of the lyrics that would have accompanied the music. He noticed the way you stretched your arms, groaning at the slight strain in the muscles from holding them in one position for too long.
And he noticed, he was falling fast. Very fast.
It had been two hours and you had finished till his shoulders, along with the red brick walls of Crime Alley. Deciding it was the apt time to take a well deserved break, you stretch your arms above your head, swaying side to side. That's when you notice, the way Jason stood too still.
Some if not most of your muses could sit without moving, but they were human too, shifting a little here and there that caused minuscule changes in the position of their arms or legs.
But Jason, he just stood still like he had been replaced by a statue dressed in Red Hood's costume.
"Let's take a break."
Jason finally moves, walking towards the the small rectangular table in the corner, housing two chairs. You wash your hands and bring a bowl of potato chips and two energy bars. Handing one over, you plop down to the plush of the chair with a sigh.
"How did you stay so still, Jason, for like two hours."
Honestly, the only reason Jason could stand motionlessly was because the subject of his concentration was you. He could look at you for hours, untouched by the outside world — almost like the world blurred around him when you were there.
"Daydreaming about my books," he answers instead.
"Oh, which book?" you ask, taking another bite of the protein bar.
"Frankenstein."
"Oh my god! Have you seen the movie?" your hands clasp together. "It was so fucking beautiful. Even the costumes, especially the blue gown Mia Goth wore. "
Jason hadn't watched the film. He wanted too but knowing how the words would translate to real life people on a screen would hit far too close to home and he did not have the courage to watch it just yet.
He hums regardless.
"Shall we continue?"
Throughout the next hour, you had painted till his waist, covering his huge biceps. Before continuing further, a curse leaves your mouth at the lack of the black paint from the tube. The extra set of tubes were stacked high up in the supplies room and you would need to get a ladder to get them down.
"All okay?" Jason questions, already walking a little front to see you better.
"Yeah, it's just that the black paint tube is empty and I still need them," you mumble, trying to squeeze the aluminum of the tube just in case you were mistaken but alas!
"Are there not extra tubes?"
"There are. It's just a little inconvenient," you groan, head falling back.
The next few minutes that could have been spent painting, you were rather hauling a large ladder to the shelves of the supply room. Jason had come along, citing he'd like to explore the art center as much as possible.
You step onto the ladder, one rung at a time with your hands firmly clutching the red side rails. Reaching the last rung, your hands were at arms length to grab at the white plastic container housing the new set of tubes.
It happens fast.
One second your fingertips graze against the container, the next your arms are flailing in the air as your feet slips off the ladder. This was going to cause a sprain or worse, a fracture. But in the small moment you're afloat, you remind of yourself to stay positive even if things don't seem that way.
Squeezing your eyes, you wait for the ground to cradle you but it never happens. Instead you're cradled by rather soft yet taut muscles, one under your waist and the other, under your knees.
You could see the white tuft of hair blending against the black, the small tiny scars on the expanse of his skin that was not covered by the masks, the very faint cinnamon freckles scattered around his cheekbones — not many in number. His arm under your t-shirt is hot, the warmth transcending past the fabric as it caresses against your skin. Jason looks down at you and murmurs an 'are you okay'.
And all you want to do was kiss him.
Nope. Stay professional.
"Wow, yo-you have fast reflexes."
He laughs — a deep rumble in his chest that scratches at your pulse. Jason sets you down on your feet gently with his hands on your waist, the skin now burning with heat and hands you the pack of new paint tubes that he retrieved by climbing the ladder himself.
Both of you don't speak till you get back to the studio.
Every moment spent with each other is making it only harder and harder not to like your muse.
The same stands true for Jason.
Evenings are always a lot busier in the university than the mornings.
A lot more noise.
A lot more warmth.
Students shuffle around the campus in groups after a long exhausting day of classes, some laughing with friends to lay off the stress while others rush to grace their humble abode.
The art studio specifically had visitors on the rise between 4 pm and 7 pm — some professors visiting the space as other students would hang out with their friends who were art majors. The evenings were also the time workshops and other extracurriculars would be conducted — open to all students despite of their major and sometimes even the general public.
It had been a few hours now, and you finally had finished painting Red Hood onto the canvas. The only part that was left, was the children and the shadow which could be completed in a few hours. Jason could finally get out off the costume and return back to his leather jacket and tight t-shirt (the ones that you oh so admired, every time he stepped foot into the studio).
It was 4 p.m — well past lunch time —again— and the cafeteria wouldn't be open for so long nor would the food taste good. You had insisted to have lunch around 1pm but Jason did not mind posing till the painting was complete. Said he wasn't hungry.
Thus you had decided to order some takeout from the local Chinese restaurant next to Gotham University.
The rooftops of the art building was a secret picnic spot for a few students, including you. The evenings would involve some of your friends sat against the cotton picnic mat or laying back on it, embraced by the occasional colored skies of dusk.
"Shall we go to the rooftop? It's a pretty good spot to eat," you ask Jason. It wasn't that you couldn't have it here, surrounded by paint and varnish. This was something you were used to but not Jason.
"Sure."
The paper of the takeout bag scrunches under your palm as you walk toward the staircase. A soft sniffle stop you in your tracks.
Turning around, you try to check the source when your eyes land on one of the neighboring studio's — Serena's. Her auburn hair was hunched over her shoulders , hands rubbing against the splotchy skin of her face. Serena's eyes were red and swollen like she had been crying for a while.
After a knock on the glass door, you let yourself in. Jason stood near the doorway enough to hear the words spoken inside but not encroaching another's private space. He sees you sitting beside her, just rubbing her back. You hadn't spoken immediately, just waiting till Serena herself wanted to speak about it.
Once the sniffling died down, you squeeze her hands.
"What happened?" you ask softly, still rubbing her back in circles.
"I still have five paintings left," she whispers your name "And the one I finally did, a bottle of paint fell on top of it. I-I don't know what to do. I'm going to fail and —"
Serena starts crying again, her eyes flickering towards the now red splattered painting.
"Hey, listen to me," You try diverting her attention from the fallen painting to you. "You still have time, Serena. Start slow and once you feel confident enough, you will be able to finish them much faster. I know it's not easy."
You grab her shoulders gently, turning to face you. "And you might even hate me for saying this, but don't lose hope."
Her blue eyes water again, and you tell her to let it out.
Let it all out.
Jason had his back against the wall, his eyes looking at the sky through the glass windows. It was light blue, a color he hadn't witnessed often in Gotham over the years. Jason's ears don't pick up what you told Serena after the last three words that passed through his ears, and settled like a heavy brick in his mind.
Don't lose hope.
It's just three words, but it strikes Jason like glass piercing skin. Red fills his mind but it's not anger. No, he doesn't think he can feel that way about you, but rather it's annoyance.
Hope is promise.
And as they say, promises aren't meant to be broken.
Though a part of Jason fills with annoyance, there's small spurts of yellow bursting through, even without his knowledge. After all, his anger is towards the man he first found hope in. When Jason met Batman, he felt hope. A promise almost. His life was going to get better, he was going to study and help people like his mother - Catherine. He was going to make his father proud.
But as history goes, promises are lies.
Hope is a lie.
After a few minutes, she turns to you, her lips in a straight line. But her eyes were clearer, not happy, not hopeless — somewhere in between.
"Do you want to have some dumplings? I got them from the old grandma who's restaurant is near the university," you hand her the tiny box.
She shakes her head, trying to give it back to you. But you push it further into her lap.
"It's okay, just eat them and you'll feel energized," Bumping against her shoulders, you grin "Grandma's dumplings does that."
You invite her to the rooftop to which she politely declines citing she will start working on her project after eating the dumplings.
"Okay then, I will drop by later," you utter, waving as you walk back to the door until Serena calls out your name.
"Thank you."
You offer her a smile in return.
Jason thinks you're a little foolish.
The edges of the rooftop are low, just a few blocks tall with a flat metallic surface, glinting in the last rays of sun. You could see the entirety of Gotham University in all it's glory — tall buildings with Gothic architecture huddled among endless lush of green.
The sky was a hue of deep orange and light pink, bleeding out it's yellow as the night sky starts taking over. The days are quite short compared to the nights in Gotham. You lean against your elbows, the cotton fabric scrunching under your forearms. Jason sat next to you, legs crossed. The both of you had just finished eating — he had Chop Suey and you, Chilli Crisp noodles.
The takeout bag lies next to you, folded neatly so you could dispose of it appropriately. At this height in the rooftop, the sounds of Gotham dimmed into a sort of lullaby, along with the winds giving the perfect environment for one to doze off in it's ambience.
"You know that Serena finishing all five paintings within this week is not really possible right?" Jason mumbles, the first since having eaten lunch. He was no painter, but he knew a thing or two about how much time it would take for the paint to dry. It's not impossible but it would still be extremely hard.
Jason just did not understand why you had to give someone false hope instead of being realistic.
Sometimes hearing the truth feels better than false hope.
"You think I should have told her that it's going to be extremely hard?" you ask, turning your head towards him. The wind flutters through his hair, as the leather covering his arms scrunch at random crevices.
"No…I-i just think it's bad giving false hope to someone."
"I'm not Jason. I - I just told her the truth." you mutter, sitting upright.
"But one should be realistic."
"Hope is realistic, Jason."
It was not.
Jason of all people knew that. Hope wasn't realistic. Hope was for fools, he thinks, though it was still only hours ago he hoped you liked him. But if you knew him, really knew all about him, you could understand why he believed in what he did. He had hope in Bruce, but not only was it shattered to pieces, it made him loose trust in the four letter word all together.
"You think I'm foolish, don't you?"
The words are harsher than intended.
No, you were not annoyed at him. It just reminded you of the people you haven't been able to prove wrong yet.
"I'm sorry —" he starts before your voice interrupts him.
"No, it's fine. I'm not offended," you say, your voice soft as you look out into the pink sky. "I am foolish. I know that."
A slight pause. Jason looks at you, your eyes closed as the setting sun cast's it's last rays over you.
You looked peaceful.
Would having hope make him peaceful too?
Would it make it easier, to watch as the day passes and the moon shines, and have this belief that everything was going to turn out okay?
That maybe, just maybe, him coming back from the dead was for something.
Or was it only him who deserved to rot when he had hope? Why did everything turn to dust when he felt it? With Bruce. with Sheila.
Maybe he was cursed. Cursed to see hope as something not to hold, not to inherently believe in.
No, he is cursed. Because why did he have to meet you — the rendition of hope on this earth — fall in love with you, when he knows he can't have you.
When he can't have hope.
"But I think it's better than being hopeless." your voice lands like that of water in the endless stretch of desert. Hope. But it was him, who had to figure if it was real or a mirage.
Maybe Jason was going to truly believe this one day.
Maybe in another life.
Or just maybe you would be the one to prove it to him.
"What's got you so happy, Little Wing?"
Dick Grayson's words cling to the air as he leans against one of the pillars of the bat cave, a sly smile on his face accompanied by deepening dimples on both sides of his cheek. He was still in the latex suit of Nightwing, just the domino mask off.
Dick likes to think he knows his little brother. Which maybe is true, but only to a certain extent. He is not aware where his little brother lives now. Nor had his personal phone number. He knows Jason works as a mechanic, but where? No idea.
But Dick Grayson knows the little things about Jason Todd, like now as he sees him smile off in the distance at seemingly nothing. Just smiling out in the open, with his pearly whites in view. It was a beautiful sight, to see his younger smiling again in the presence of him. Indeed a rare sight, he wishes he could bask in more.
Jason rolls his eyes, smile replaced by the downturn quirk to his lips that was specifically meant for his brothers. He gathers his jacket, ready to leave only for dick to stand in front of him — arms and legs stretched as wide as a human could like that of a starfish — obstructing his path to exit.
"So, there's a girl, isn't it ?" Richard asks, wiggling his eyebrows like a lunatic.
"What, N-No. Just Shut up," Jason groans, pushing him out of the way but if he thought Dick was going to leave it at that, he was wrong. Dick had immediately noticed the red blossoming across Jason's face and ears. Honestly, he had just guessed it was about a girl (or a boy), something he did to almost all of his younger siblings like every older sibling did.
But now that it was really about a girl, just know that Dick Grayson was going to be one annoying wingman. But first he needed to know who you were, without using his detective skills (aka techniques to stalk criminals) that helped solve cases and were borderline illegal. The only other way was to ask Jason.
Meanwhile, the both of you had been texting about when you and him would be unconstrained by other duties to coordinate for his portrait.
It had been two hours, two whole hours of Dick Grayson essentially torturing his younger brother about you. Questions about how you two met, where you met, and when you met, had eventually Jason break the dam.
"I am cosplaying as Red Hood for her," Jason's voice is loud as it echoes against the dark walls of the cave. It was only the two of them underground as the rest were either asleep or completing their other daytime duties.
"YOU-WHAT." Dick was now on the floor, hands pressed against his stomach as his hysterical laughter rings throughout the cave. Jason drags a palm across his face, hiding the quirk of his lips. He turns to leave, when Dick immediately stops him.
"Okay, no laughing," he says, while laughing.
"Okay, so….how did this happen?" Dick asks, a fist to his mouth to stop the giggle from flowing past his lips, but his eyes were enough to convey the absolute mirth coursing through his body.
Jason briefly mentioned the circumstances — of how he saw you at the library, then near Crime Alley and the proposal to be the muse for your Red Hood painting — without conveying the full story.
Dick hums, his palm cradling his jaw as his elbow sits on his knee. During the conversation both of them had moved to the couch (really on Dick's insistence).
"So, you like her?"
"No."
"If you say so, because you have been awfully smiley since the day you met her, if I tally the timeline right." Dick's palm clasps against Jason's shoulder and giving it a tiny squeeze before leaving him to embrace the ambience of the bat cave alone.
"If she makes you happy, tell her."
Jason is at the studio early the next day.
Today was the day you were going to paint a portrait of him — not Red Hood, but Jason Todd. Another reminder that this would be likely be the last day he could bask in the presence of you. The door to your space was unlocked, to which he let's himself inside after knocking on it twice.
There you were, face mushed against the teakwood of the table, one hand laid next to your face. You were fast asleep, chest rising evenly with every breath. He wanted to remove the tiny paint streak on your cheek, sway the baby hair away from your forehead but retracted his hands.
You looked angelic.
He moves to the finished painting on the easel — the Red Hood painting.
He knew you would excel, after looking at the paintings of other vigilantes. But it still blew him away when he sees the final canvas. There he stood leaning against the wall at the center, some graffiti etched on the red brick while a street sign with 'CRIME ALLEY' gleamed at the front.
The white angel wing towered large on the left side, as the rays of the sun hit every feather. Like you had mentioned, in place of the teddy bears were children — both boys and girls — running towards the light with wide grins on their faces. The right side of him, where the angel wing was not present, a stump sprinkled with red instead had a large shadow cast on the street. It looked almost black but if you looked closer and titled a little, under the intensity of different wavelengths of light, you could see packets of drugs, sharp shredded knives scattered around the street and blue ribbons clumped together, symbolizing human trafficking.
"Jason?"
Your voice huddled with sleep breaks him out his gaze at the painting. You rub your eyes, yawning slightly before swiftly getting off the chair. Yesterday's clothes stick to your body and you looked like you hadn't slept, which was true as you had only laid your head down on the table an hour ago. The night before was spent on preparing your thesis statement and shifting all your finished paintings that were coated with varnish to the assigned space in the exhibit for your final grading.
You also had helped Serena by giving her company and encouraging her with ideas. She was finally able to finish all of them on time — though they weren't perfect, there were present and that's all that mattered at the end of the day.
"I'm so sorry, Jason," you fumble around to put on your shoes. "Just give me thirty minutes and I will be back. I am so—"
"Hey, it's fine. Take your time. I can look around the currently open exhibitions right?" He asks, hands tucked into his jacket. Even in your haze of looking absolutely horrendous and embarrassed, you did not forget to observe the way his white t-shirt stretched across his chest, moving with every breath.
Fucking hell.
"Yes. You can visit them." you say before, muttering a 'thank you'. You rush out of the building to your dorm to get ready. You had already called Zara to cook some light breakfast that you could just grab before running as fast as possible to your dorm room. All you had to do was brush your teeth, take a shower, be presentable enough.
You could do this. In thirty minutes? Hopefully.
Meanwhile Jason roams around the third and fourth floor of the building, a few exhibits open. One was depicting the art of sculpting — the various techniques, the variety of raw materials that are being used, some exhibits of sculpture made by students using different techniques.
He stood and read every description present beside each exhibit.
The next exhibition revolved around the theme of costume designing. Costumes from different eras across the world were presented, along with a paragraph about it. He learnt so much about the types of patterns, materials that he had never heard and had even taken down notes of a few things he did not mind finding more information from the library.
Jason turns around to look at the next design when he catches your eyes. You were leaning against the doorway, a smile on your face and eyes loaded with awe. Perhaps you were admiring the same costumes as he was.
Only if he knew you were admiring him.
"Hey, you've been waiting for a while?"
"No, I just arrived," you say, pointing back at the exhibits."We can stay for a while."
"It's fine, I was just revisiting them again," Jason said, standing in front of you.
"So, shall we go?" you ask, voice drenched in honey.
He bows, extending his hand front "Lead the way, m'lady." You shake your head, fighting the rising heat to the expanse of your face.
How were you not supposed to fall in love with Jason Todd.
"Do you have any specifics? A particular art style maybe?"
You sit in front of the easel, a new white canvas leaned on it. Jason was sitting ahead of you , the white wall behind him. Jazz tunes drift through the air, as you coat the palette with the varied colors you could see on Jason. It seemed like it didn't matter what he wore, because the man looked like he could model for vogue adorned in a trash can. He removes his jacket, now only clad in the white t-shirt. The black ink on his skin is inviting you to color it, streak it with purples and yellows.
"No, up to your imagination. I like whatever you do. "
"Uhh…Thank you," your voice comes out soft as you duck down a little, keeping your head turned towards the canvas so he could not see the silly grin carved on the lips. " Okay so, just sit still and I should be done in a few hours."
You hum to the melody, creating a basic outline of him on the canvas, eyes flicking towards his figure constantly. The last time you did, he was wearing the Red Hood costume in which the domino mask acted as a barrier to his eyes.
But now, you could see those emerald hues, the color akin to some of the lush you found in the campus. Jason looked ahead, staring right at you, which was no mistake of his since a portrait painting required him to do so, but it distracted you easily.
But someone else was more distracted than you — Jason Todd.
Jason was scarred — from the expanse of his cheeks to all over his body. He was used to the stares, the open ended questions — sometimes even the screams of kids. Red Hood's mask had made him a lot more confident than him being himself — as Jason Todd. But you, you had seen his face — unmasked, scarred — yet wanted him to be your muse.
To willingly see his face everyday.
It made him feel something he hadn't felt in a long time.
It made him feel something he thinks he doesn't deserve.
Jason did not like being stared at. It was something he was aware of since he was a child but even more so after coming back from the dead. But ever since he had met you, he realized he did not mind it — only if it was you.
The way your eyes locked onto his form, it carried no judgment.
No fear.
You traced over his features, painting every scar, every freckle that encompassed the delicate skin of his face. The portrait was going to be till his shoulders.
Just as the Red Hood painting, Jason did not move much. By the time you had finished the painting, you realized you wanted to paint Jason Todd in all the different art styles in the world. Remember it in all forms like the art he was.
It had taken you barely a few hours to finish his painting. Every feature delicately drawn and colored appropriately with care. The final touch you had added was the golden hues emanating around him, a bordered yellow.
"Done!" you exclaimed, standing up. Jason walks around the easel to see his painting and he was starstruck.
It felt like he was seeing someone else, not himself. Every scar, every blemish but drawn as features rather than some kind of imperfections. You stood beside him with hopeful eyes and teeth digging into your lower lip, as you await his reaction.
"Wow, I—" wide eyed, Jason leans in closer. It felt different from photographs or looking at the mirror.
It felt different drawn by you. "It's beautiful," he says, looking at you now. The artist of him.
"Thank you."
Walking towards the parking lot, the wind caresses against your skin making you tug your coat to yourself.
You wanted to say something to Jason.
The words lie on the tip of your tongue, but they don't leave your mouth. You wanted to thank him. But most of all, you wanted to tell him about the growing feelings of pink in your heart. Did he feel the same about you?
Jason hands twitch against the pocket of his jacket. He wants to say something too, but can't.
Won't.
He couldn't destroy your life.
You were filled with hope, shining brightly like the sun. Yellow colored every space that had the fortune to be touched by your presence, human sunshine trying to fill in the grays of Gotham that Jason had always believed was all the city will ever be.
He couldn't come into your life and destroy your peace.
He couldn't make you believe there was no hope.
He couldn't make your life be painted with Grey.
He couldn't.
Though it had only been three days in the presence of each other, it felt like you had known each other for months. As you reach the parking lot where his bike stands, you extend a hand towards him.
"Thank you for everything." Eyes filled with so much warmth, Jason wants to bask in it. He was happy that he was the reason for the warmth. In a way, that was all he needed.
He was glad he made you happy.
But that did not erase the ache in his heart. He was going to miss seeing you .
Being near you.
"Thank you," he murmurs, feeling your delicate skin against his scarred one. Holding them for a minute longer. Finally he pulls away, walking to his bike.
He climbs over the bike, hands fiddling with the black helmet. Before he places it over his head, he looks at you one last time, cataloguing every part of you to his core memory.
Jason doesn't believe in hope but for you, he believes it one last time.
"I hope you meet the person you're waiting for in Gotham."
summary: You give them flowers
character(s): Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake
tags and warning(s) Implied fem reader, batfam cameo in Jason's part, idiots to lovers in Jason's part lmao, suggestive, one mention of wedding in Dick's, also mentions of food in Dick's portion, Nothing else(unless I've missed something),Dick's portion is slightly based off of this post by @batwngs, Maybe OOC, Reblogs and comments appreciated!
word count: 2.4K
BRUCE WAYNE
The sound of heels clacking against the marble tiles reverberates through the lobby as you move past the teak of the front desk. It wasn't unusual for you to stop by the company, but what was unusual was the large bouquet of fresh red roses, neatly wrapped in a sleek black sheet with golden borders that found home in your arms. The bouquet was so huge, it almost covered the entirety of your face.
"Mrs. Wayne, I can—" Rina, one of your husband's secretaries, asks, having spotted you among the crowd, her arms hovering over the flowers.
"It's okay, Rina. I got this," you smile, holding the bouquet a little tighter against your chest. "Thank you."
She nods, though the concern etched onto her face doesn't waver as she gazes at your form walking towards the elevator specifically reserved for Bruce Wayne and a few select people. You press the button for the top floor, readjusting your grip at the base of the bouquet. The silver-stained doors slide open with a hiss as you walk past Daniel, another of Bruce's secretaries, who immediately offers to help, to which you politely decline.
Knocking on the glass door with your knuckles, your hands fumble around for the handle due to your limited vision. Bruce Wayne notices almost instantly, leaving the paperwork behind as he rushes to the door. He takes the bouquet out of your hands without question and sets it on top of his desk.
"So who gave you the flowers?" Bruce asks, trying to mask the green in his heart while his eyes try to find any message card tucked away in the assortment. It wasn’t unusual for you to receive such gifts as a part of your work in betterment of the city, though it stills irks something in him.
"It's for you?" His hands still, deep blue eyes locking onto yours.
"…for me?"
"Yeah, I saw them on the way here, and it reminded me of you." You say, plopping onto the leather of his office chair.
"Roses reminded you of me?" Bruce is genuinely stumped, eyes wide and glazed with confusion.
Batman is remembered for a lot of things — the dark knight of Gotham, Justice, vigilante, while his alter ego Brucie Wayne — Wealth, playboy and glamour.
But for the first time, the one person who knew him — all of him — remembered Bruce Wayne because of roses.
"Yes, my beautiful husband. These red roses reminded me of you." Your voice is soft as you look up at him with your chin on your palm, elbows on the desk.
"Thank you, sweetheart"
Bruce leans down and kisses you on the lips, before laying a soft one on your forehead.
JASON TODD
Jason was away in Star City for a mission, staying at Roy's place. He would be back later today, and you had decided to surprise him. The past few months had been very hectic for Jason. From missions that sometimes lasted months to patrols that never synced with your work timings, you hardly got to see each other.
That's why you had decided to plan a mini reading event that would last for a few days, after taking off from work and mentioning it to the Outlaws and his family.
As the first step, you had decided to welcome your best friend with an assortment of flowers and copies of some of the books off his TBR carefully covered in wrapping paper. Jason had been wanting them for a long time but hadn't had the chance to buy them yet.
You had just finished wrapping the books when Jason texted you about reaching Gotham and that he would be at your place in an hour. With a curve to your lips, you set down the phone after replying with a thumbs up.
You met Jason after a quick detour to the bookstore. Five-minute conversations about books had turned to hours of texting, to later hanging out at each other's places. Over the course of your friendship, he had revealed his nightly activities and even introduced you to some of his teammates and family.
Both of you are good friends, though you both ached it would be more than that.
A few moments later, a knock on the front door has you cleaning haphazardly after realising how messy your living room was. Jason is early, like he always is. He's clad in a leather jacket, red t-shirt stretched across his chest, that you couldn't really indulge in the sight as he pulls you into a hug. The fresh smell of his shampoo and perfume fills your nostrils as you nuzzle into his chest.
"How have you been, Jason?" you ask, now looking at his face. Red sprouts in blossoms across his face as his chin tips down. That's when you notice — his right hand tucked behind.
" I'm sorry for how long it took to finally meet." Jason murmurs, before his right hand comes into view, holding a bouquet of pink peonies and two books wrapped in gift paper.
"Wait, you got —" you laugh, before running back into your room. Jason's eyebrows furrow, deepening the creases of his forehead as he sees you disappearing down the hallway.
"Please tell me, we did not get the same books." You mumble, now appearing in the doorway with the bouquet of books and peonies. Jason laughs, his palm ruffling through his hair.
" I got Taiwan Travelogue for you," Jason says, pointing at the neatly wrapped book in his palm.
" Oh my god, I got you the same along with some other books."
The air is tinged with something both of you can't place, or rather, won't place. Heat rushes through your body, the distance between you seemingly crackling with intensity so loud, though you both just ignore. You both knew each other so well, you bought the same books for each other. So why hadn't either of you taken the next step? Did he perhaps not like you?
If Stephanie had been here, she would have screamed at both of you.
"Just fucking kiss, you idiots."
Except, the words felt too real — almost like someone was actually shouting it in reality and not just in your head.
Turning back to the window of your living room, you almost drop the bouquet at the sight of not only Stephanie but also Cassandra, Tim, Dick, Duke and Damian all fighting to view inside through the small window.
Jason drags a palm across his face.
TIM DRAKE
You and Tim have been in a long-distance relationship ever since you moved out of Gotham for your job. There were a lot of ups and downs, through the course of your relationship — especially owing to the distance. But you traversed through it — Communication being the key.
But now you were here, in the Wayne manor.
After a few gruesome months of work, you had finally returned to Gotham City for a small vacation, which Tim wasn't aware of. You wanted to surprise him, and though he had his tendencies to keep track of you for safety, with the help of dick, you had managed to trick Tim into thinking you were still far, far away and not doors away from the bat cave.
Standing in front of the grandfather clock, you texted your boyfriend a link. The link being a website, you had coded yourself from scratch through tutorials and tutorials.
you: [link]
Tim has always been suspicious of links, especially since he was hyper aware of all that could go wrong with just a single click. It wasn't unusual that you sent him a link, considering the fact that you liked his opinions on some of the things you liked to buy. But just a link—with no follow-up message, was a little worrying. As Tim contemplates the link, you send another text just in time.
You: Open it fast!!
Tim huffs, a small smile on his face. The link did not open to a shopping website or something that you had learnt along the way but rather a webpage with an animated flower in the middle, a small button with the words 'Start' below it.
He clicks on it, albeit a little apprehensive and amused, when he sees the following words along with a picture of your face — eyes large and lips jutted into a pout replacing that of the flower animation.
Do you like me? — Yes or No?
Tim clicks on the 'Yes' button. The picture changes to that of you , smiling wide. His lips curve immediately at the sight, all the sleepiness bundled in his eyes, vanishing in an instant.
The web page refreshes to the next question, another picture of you — with your hands on your hips , lips pressed into a tiny frown — with the following words at the bottom.
Do you love me? — Yes or No?
He huffs, shaking his head as the words 'of course' leave his lips softly. He clicks on the 'yes' button again. Now, the frown on your face was replaced by your smile and eyes crinkling as your hands form a heart.
But the next words still him. What did you even mean by that?
Then why don't you open the door?
A small creak of the staircase has him turning his head swiftly. There you stood, in all your flesh and bones, with a bouquet of pink,red roses, and some pink lilies in between. You were here, physically just a few meters away. The minute it truly strikes Tim, he is already at your side, hugging you with his head tucked into the crook of your neck as you let out soft giggles.
"Hi, Tim." you ruffle his hair, as he kisses your neck before cupping your face and placing a kiss on your lips. You hand him the flowers, which he gently takes it and murmurs a thank you before placing it aside.
"You're here," Tim whispers. He had missed you, missed the warmth that you gave him. Sure, you guys spoke every day, but this was different.
"I am," you say, giggling, locking your wrists around his neck while his hands plant gently at your waist.
"You made the website? The one with the flowers and your pictures?" He asks, placing another kiss on your lips.
You hum.
" A lot of tutorials , and a little help from my roommate." It had been a pretty hard project for someone who had no experience in coding, but you wanted to surprise Tim through something that he loved.
"God, you're so fucking talented. I should worship you." Tim murmurs, before he starts kissing you again as giggles echo in the Bat cave.
DICK GRAYSON
Dick Grayson was used to doing things by himself.
He would be there in a minute to help others, but would never ask for help for himself. He would drop everything if he heard or even got a whiff that someone he loved was not doing well. But he hid the same about him from others. After all, he could do it by himself. He would be fine.
That was until he met you.
You made sure he took care of himself and let out his emotions frequently instead of bottling them up. It had been a while since you had a date night with your boyfriend, and so you planned one.
You made sure to act as oblivious as you could, sneaking to buy all the ingredients to make his favourite dishes. You had also informed his family beforehand so that dick would not have to patrol for the night in Bludhaven.
When Dick Grayson steps inside the apartment, he is greeted with scented candles, lit up in the hall way. The smell of cream cheese and crab meat waft through his sense, already knowing what's for dinner, which suspends all his worries away. Dick walks to the kitchen, leaning against the doorway as he sees you making some spaghetti and at the same time, stuffing the mushrooms with the crab filling.
You look up at the clock in the hallway only to see Dick Grayson leaning against the door like a model posing for cameras.
"You're early," you say, washing your hands under the sink to give your boyfriend a hug and a kiss.
" Pretty chill day at the station." Dick murmurs against your lips, "What's the special occasion?"
" Nothing. Just thought about you and decided my beautiful boyfriend deserved this." Tugging his hands off your hips, you move back to the kitchen while Dick whines at the loss of contact. " Now go and change into something comfortable."
Once Dick is in his sweatpants and a T-shirt, he is back in the kitchen, already insisting he helped you in some way or another. It takes a lot of convincing (and threats) for him to go back to the living room. Dick really wants to help you.
After a few minutes, you set the dishes down on the table — crab stuffed mushrooms and spaghetti, a pair of wine glasses and two tubs of chocolate chip ice cream for desert. 'How to lose a guy in ten days' play on the large screen, as dick gets comfortable with the cushions laid against his back. You disappear once again, to which dick immediately pouts before it widens into a smile when you come back again — with a bouquet.
You hand him the assortment of red and pink roses with a kiss on the cheek.
"To the best boyfriend in the whole world."
Dick Grayson flusters, a deep red akin to that of the red roses. His dimples deepen when he sees each stem of the flower having a tiny piece of paper attached. He reads one of them and immediately looks at you wide-eyed. Dick does the same for another piece of paper , before he pulls you into a bone crushing hug.
Each of the tiny pieces of paper attached to the stem had handwritten verses from some of his favourite poetry that he loved to read.
Dick's heart flutters at the amount of effort you had taken, taken for him. He swiftly places a hundred kisses all over your face, while you giggle, clutching the fabric of his T-shirt.
The night ends with your tummy full, movies watched, slow dancing to music, Dick reciting the verses dramatically— with his hand on his chest and arms pointed at you — and hearts filled with love. As you sleep next to him, he looks at you and wonders how he got so lucky. After all that had happened in his life, he didn't know how he still deserved you. The flowers were now in a vase on the table, and the notes — delicately packed into a box. Best believe, Dick is going to read these notes when you exchange vows during the wedding.
He presses one last kiss onto your forehead before shuffling closer to you. Dick was going to pay a visit to Poison Ivy and ask all the ways he could extend the lifetime of those flowers.
A/N: The next part will be with Roy, Clark, Barbara, Wally!!
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