"-Well Damian's the biggest hater in this family," Tim points out, gesturing outwards with his can of coke as Dick places a card on the table. "Like he'll- dude, you'll hate for literally no reason."
"All of my hatred has reason." Damian denies casually, throwing a chip in his mouth and crunching loudly.
"Do you remember how much you hated me when you first came to Gotham? Like," Tim snickers slightly. "You didn't even know me, there was no reason for that."
"I didn't hate you," Damian argues. "I was just indignant at your continued presence in the house. And that was Todd's fault, not mine."
Eyes flicking to the side and noting the way Jason bites his lip before quickly taking a swig of beer, Dick narrows his eyes, mouth twitching upwards at the sides. "Wait, why would that be Jason's fault? What did he do?"
"When he dropped me off at the manor he told me Drake was a make-a-wish child."
Tim's posture goes slack, pausing as he places his card on the pile and looking across the table incredulously. "What?"
"Well I didn't-" Damian's face cracks slightly and he coughs, re-organising his hand. "I didn't know Robin was a thing that existed, you know? My mother told me about Batman because she wanted me to respect my father, but she had no reason to mention the fact that he had a sidekick, and Todd didn't like talking about his time with father so he never specified that he'd been Robin. And so when we got to Gotham like, a couple hours before we reached the manor we actually happened to see Batman out on patrol from a distance, right? And I saw Tim as Robin swinging after him, and I looked at Todd and was like, 'the fuck was that?'."
Tim and Dick both look at Jason, who stares intently at his cards, ignoring them, clearly in the midst of a desperate attempt not to smile. He was failing, lips twitching as his brow furrows in false concentration.
"And Todd tells me, without a second thought," Damian continues, sending Jason an exasperated glare, "That you were a charity case Batman had allowed to accompany him for a night, in partnership with the make-a-wish foundation; you know like when kids wish to hang out with their favourite celebrities or play football with their favourite team? So I didn't know you were like, supposed to be my new brother, I just thought you were some dying kid overstaying his welcome."
"You thought I was dying?!" Tim says, incredulous. Dick is staring at Jason with his mouth open, eyes shining in pure awe, and Jason silently shakes his head, pressing his lips together so hard they go white.
"I mean-" Damian smothers a laugh, gesturing. "You did look kinda sickly?"
Jason lifts his hand of cards up to cover his face, closing his eyes and letting out a slight squeak.
"Anyway, pick up two." Damian shrugs, tossing a card on the pile and leaning back in his seat, blank in the face of Tim's wide-eyed offense and disbelief.
"So when you tried to kill him...?" Dick asks, when it becomes clear Tim has bluescreened too much to respond. Damian sticks out his bottom lip, shrugging again.
"I figured 'hey, might as well speed up the process'."
Jason's shoulders shake desperately, and he turns his head to the side to mumble out from behind his shield of cards at Tim, voice wet with amusement, "I- I told him you had the condition of the kid from the secret garden, you know- where he had those weird back lumps and was all weak n' shit?"
Tim smacks him in the shoulder with his cards angrily, and Jason wheezes.
It's not like I can offer the same to the living - DC x DP prompt
Danny ends up in Gotham for whatever reason, and he needs money. He has some not so bad skills with basic dishes and with some effort manages to put together a street vendor stand out of scrapes. He has to get his materials for the first sales from stealing with his invisibility and intangibility. But look, he just needs something to start with, okay?
He uses his powers to heat the metal where he cooks, and keep the cold products cold. He's not going to say he has an stellar sanitary manage of the food, but he tries his best.
He starts by getting a couple of sales and slowly is able to start buying his own raw materials. But it remains a slow business that's barely getting any revenue to keep itself up.
Until a ghost comes up to Danny asking for food. Danny was confused to say the least. They weren't even a strong ghost, couldn't even be seen by people.
"Can you even eat?"
"If you add ectoplasm I could, yes."
"Okay... That's good to know, but sorry mate, I don't have the means to just give food out for free."
"Who said I wouldn't pay?" The ghost says with a raised eyebrow.
Danny's about to say he doesn't accept whatever ghost currency the shades could possibly manage, but the shade beats him to it, and takes out just enough money for one of Danny's sandwiches. Real, living, money. And Really, Danny should question it. But who's he to judge where a ghost gets his money from?
Danny starts getting more and more ghost customers, as there aren't alot of options for them, and with it comes more money, that allows him to invest in the business. As people meet him he gets more living customers as well. Soon his street vendors car can be upgraded into a food truck. He expands his living menu.
He also, starts experimenting with his ectoplasm as an ingredient. He hadn't really tried up till then, just putting it on top of the food. But Ectoplasm is really manageable, and his ghost customers deserve to be as acknowledged as the living ones. It did take a couple reanimated food before he managed recipes were the food remained food.
Soon he has ectoplasm syrup, sauce, bread, candy, cake, Ice cream. Soon the living menu and the ectoplasm menu are completely different, and Danny makes separate menus to show his customers.
That's when he gets a customer he hadn't had before. The guy felt like a denizen, but didn't seem death. Danny didn't think much about it, it was not the first time an undead came to him.
"Welcome! Would you like the regular menu or the other menu."
"You manage two menu's?"
"Well, of course. It's not like I can offer the same to the living."
-_-_-_-_-_-
Jason had heard from a couple of people about the young street vendor that had managed to go from a food stand made from scraps to a legitimate food truck within a couple of months. He was apparently unafraid even if weapons where visible, and kind to any customer regardless of how well off or homeless they seemed, and recently had started to let street kids take some food at late night hours. So Jason was a bit curious, and decided to check it out.
He wasn't ready for his whole life to be put upside down.
i do find it funny the concept of all the batkids agreeing that tim is the most likely to eventually snap and go full supervillain on them all. like i bet damian and jason get together and decide that to lower the risk they should ragebait the fuck out of him at any and all opportunity to try and steer him away from overreactions. and i bet it stresses dick the fuck out.
-
Jason: *trips Tim for no reason* whatcha' gonna do? kill me again?
Tim: can you give it a fucking rest- *tries to get up*
Jaosn: no *shoves him back down*
Dick, furiously whispering after Tim leaves: can you stop pissing him off you know he's a flight risk-!
Jason: that's the point. if we piss him off enough he'll get used to it and he'll stop thinking everything should be retaliated with via supervillain revenge. we're lowering the stock value of his rage.
Dick:
Dick: are you fucking kidding me-
-
Damian: *walks into the batcave and silently shoots Tim with a paintball gun*
Tim: OW- YOU PIECE OF-
Damian: deep breaths Timothy. remember your mental exercises.
Tim: SHUT THE FUCK UP. I'LL-
Damian: *shoots him again*
Tim:
Tim:
Damian: *cocks gun in warning*
Tim: ...i'm going to go. do some gardening. and meditate.
Dick, after Tim leaves, face pale: why are you testing him like that he's going to kill us all.
Damian: Todd and i have a schedule to ensure premium anger management training.
Dick: THATS NOT GONNA WORK.
Damian: and yet he's gardening right now.
-
*during a JL meeting the batkids had to help out with*
Tim: -so that's my plan, are there any objections?
Jason: yeah, that plan's fucking stupid. like seriously, did you even try?
Damian: literally the most pathetic attempt at displaying intelligence i've ever seen. no wonder your original parents stopped calling.
Tim: *stares at the two blankly for fifteen full seconds*
Tim: ok well anyway-
Diana, leaning in to Dick: ...what was that about?
Dick, white-knuckling the table, blood pressure through the roof: they're. trying to train him.
*the batboys on patrol, bored during a stakeout and arguing about who's been failed by the most parental units*
Tim: i dont think death should count as failure, so Dick only gets one.
Dick: yeah- well we all have one by default, because, y'no,
Jason: -look B isn't evil but he is an idiot and idiocy should count as failure.
Bruce: ...you guys know i'm on this line, right?
Damian: hush father, we're discussing.
Tim: so i get two, because i have the Drakes and then B. can my B count as two though? like, i had B normally and then i had B in the depths of grief; like that should count as-
Damian: no, no, absolutely fucking not Drake, you can't use that cop out-
Dick: -yeah, no, i call bullshit. Tim you have two, suck it up.
Jason: it really doesn't matter, literally none of you are going to even come close to beating me. i got the Todds, i got B, i got the Haywoods, i got Talia,
Tim, failing horrible at holding back laughter: yeah- yeah Jay, don't take this the wrong way but does anybody love you?
Jason: i- *wheeze* man fuck you Replacement-
Dick, also laughing: yeah- littlewing, at this point maybe you're the problem.
Jason: *cackles*
Tim: can we even count that as four though? surely if we're counting Jack and Janet as one because they're a couple then B and Talia should also be combined into one?
Damian: no, no, they should be separate. not only are they no longer together but they were attempting to parent completely separately. that's two.
Jason: yeah, fuck you! tryna lower my tally-
Tim: oh please, he's only agreeing with you so he has two instead of one!
Damian: i think you'll find i have way more than two, i far outrank you Drake.
Dick, giggling: sorry, sorry- you far outrank him at what, not being loved correctly?
Damian, fully seriously: i don't care how shit the competition is, Grayson. i'm fucking winning.
Tim: it's bullshit! you're literally the only one that wasn't adopted by somebody else! you have two at most Damian, stop lying.
Damian: well, no, because Todd should be one of mine.
Jason: EXCUSE ME?!
Dick: oooo~
Damian, raising his voice over the yells: LISTEN- listen. growing up in the league you were the only authorative male figure that was present in raising me before i came to Gotham. there is no way you wouldn't count on the board as a father figure.
Jason: NO, I'M NOT- i'm not fuckin' arguing that, you're my kid, end of. but how the fuck did i fail you?! i was great!
Damian: you literally passed me off to father and then disappeared for a year so you could go 'fuck shit up' with Arsenal and Starfire.
Dick: OOOO~
Jason: ...I- shut up Dick. I- *laughs* ok in my defence that was my version of a gap year-,
Damian: and it was my version of child neglect, you're going on the board.
Dick: suck it, littlewing!
Tim: *cackles*
Jason: yeah yeah- that's still only three for Damian, i'm still winning.
Damian: Grayson should also be on my board.
Dick: UM? HOLD ON-
Jason, instantly: OOOOOOOH, NOT FUCKIN' LAUGHIN' NOW, ARE WE GOLDEN BOY?
Dick: HOLD THE FUCKING PHONE HERE-
Tim, enjoying this way more than he should: no, no, Dick the kid has a point, you literally had custody of him when B was lost in the timestream, you definitely count.
Damian: i rest my case.
Dick: HOW THE FUCK DID I FAIL?
Jason: SUCKS TO SUCK DICKFACE.
Damian: you called me short that one time and it severely effected my self esteem. emotional abuse.
Jason: *cackles*
Damian: you also also passed me off to father again, so you are also complicit to his damaged attempt at parenting.
Bruce, offended: Damian-
Dick: what are you- YOU WERE TEN. YOU WERE SHORT. ALL TEN YEAR OLDS ARE SHORT.
Tim, instantly: Billy Batson.
Dick: WH- ok first of all, he's only tall part-time, and second of all THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS-
-
*Two-Face, across the street, listening to them yell through the open window of their stakeout spot*
Goon he was scheming with: ...sir, should we shoot at them or someth-?
Two-Face, holding up a finger: shh, i wanna see who wins.
honestly it's so fucking funny to me that it's confirmed that Jason's brick-shithouse look is down to the lazarus pit. like as far as i know, it didn't do that to Ra's. like. at all. and if Jason was found somewhat-alive and out of the grave before he was taken to the league, then that means Talia probably had no fucking clue it would do that him.
like can you imagine she's alerted by her subordinates that they found Bruce's second child wandering the streets like a zombie six months after his death and they bring him to her and he's like. exactly how she remembers seeing him as Robin. little Jaybin. stunted from childhood malnutrition and looking about eleven at best. and then after realising the state of mind he's in she decides to dunk him in the pit. and it's a whole ass serious ceremony thing, and he disappears under the green shit, they're all waiting for him to emerge, and then it's just
Talia: what.
Jason, 6 feet tall and 225lbs:
Talia, turning to a guard: that's a- was there another person in there? that's a different person. who is that.
Guard, sounding lost: i think- i think that's him? like we don't- i don't think you can get stowaways in the lazarus pit?
Talia, turning back to Jason:
Jason:
Talia: no there's no way that's him. somebody get me a stick i'm gonna poke around and see if i can feel him still down there.
Guard: ma'am-
Talia: I BOUGHT TWENTY BOYS SIZE SMALL SHIRTS FOR HIM TO WEAR WHILE HE STAYED HERE, GET ME A FUCKING STICK.
-bonus-
Damian, walking into the room: mother, has akhi successfully come out of the pit yet? we were going to play go fish this aftern-
Damian:
Damian: who the ever-loving fuck are you?
Jason: oh hey Damian.
Damian: HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?
Talia, in the corner, kneading her forehead: if it makes you feel any better Damian, i no longer need to go clothes shopping for you. some things have become available.
Where Jazz makes a deal with Jason in order to further both of their goals. They both work together, but since Jazz’s goal is more long-term, she decides to stick around Jason bc she’s bored.
Thus, she becomes Wolf, assistant and secretary to the Red Hood. She mainly works as an extra bodyguard and assistant to him, including going with him to events as a plus one. Eventually, he confesses to her and they date, but until then, all of the Red Hood’s goons just stare at their boss with thinly veiled disbelief and bafflement as he flounders after Jazz as she completely reforms his gang with ruthless efficiency and an iron fist.
(In reality, I just wanted to draw Jazz’s “hero” costume, Jason’s costume with the muzzle, and her on Jason’s lap. It’s Kinktober let me live orz
Pairing: Robert Robertson (Dispatch) X Female Reader
Summary: Tensions arise when a strange new employee joints your company. Even with all his snark, you can’t seem to stop thinking about him
Word count: 7.9K
Warnings & Content: no use of y/n, fluff, smut, coworkers to friends to lovers, swearing, attempted robbery, violence (nothing too in depth), Robert’s stupid name, mention of death, happy ending, slight angst, 18+ mdni please
I do not authorize my work to be used for AI or reposted across platforms
_____________________________________________
Robert Robertson was a strange man.
You knew that when you first met him around three weeks ago. He’d stepped off the elevator of your office at such a brisk pace you were half certain something was on fire.
You raised a brow, watching as he made his way across the room, juggling his phone, saddle bag, and jacket. The man marched right over to the cubicle on your right and tossed the items down carelessly upon the desk, doing a sweep of the space with dark brown eyes.
Admittedly, there wasn’t much to look at. The only things in his cubicle were a dusty outdated computer, plain calendar, and a name tag slapped on the outside wall that read ‘Robert. R.’
It was in stark contrast to your desk, which was filled with neatly organized stationary and decorations accumulated over the years.
While he looked over his cubicle, you took him in fully. He was on the smaller side, both in height and frame, but not short by any means. The button down he wore was clearly the wrong size, hanging off his shoulders oddly and pooling out his waistband.
He started rustling through a saddle bag next to you, pulling out various items to place on the desk. You recognized the brand on his bag as an expensive one, but visually it looked years old and like it’d been to hell and back. It was even sporting some safety pins over handles that had frayed too far to be sturdy.
As he turned, you were able to see more of his face. Brown hair, round dark eyes, is that-is he missing part of his ear?
You knew that you’d have a new hire, your manager covered it in the last meeting. You just expected he’d be… not this. Not the late twenty-something man you saw before you that looked like he came from a different planet.
Most of your teammates were at least ten years older than you and had decades of experience under their belt, which is part of the reason you had to fight so hard for your current role. But they’d gotten more lax with the hiring process over the years, choosing to hire a few employees on a trial basis instead of judging from their resume alone.
Even so, this guy was very different than the normal hires.
Much more attractive too, you thought, in a scruffy kind of way.
He sighed, running a hand through shaggy brown hair, and started to sort his items in a more civilized fashion. In the middle of rustling through his bag, dark eyes flicked up-catching yours, “Oh, hey. You must be the other team member for the logistics division they mentioned. I’ll be done moving around soon, don’t worry.
His voice had a slight rasp to it, but also a softness that took you off guard. He had a tone that was perpetually sarcastic, but not condescending somehow.
You smiled, introducing yourself and providing your name.
He nodded, eyes sliding over to where your name plate sat, “Robert Robertson, just starting here today, but you already knew that.”
What the hell kind of a name is that? His parents must’ve hated him.
You cleared your throat and made sure not to let your thoughts bleed into your expression. “It’s nice to meet you Robert, welcome to the team.”
You gestured to the rest of the office where multiple hushed phone calls and the clacking of keyboards could be heard in the background. “I will say though, it’s probably the worst season to come in on, we’ve been playing catch up like crazy for the next review. So, if you’re confused or need any help…”
He was still crouched by his bag, and a beat of silence passed as he looked up at you through his hair, waiting for you to continue.
“Don’t ask me.”
He blinked in surprise and you were almost concerned he didn’t catch your joke, before a slight smirk formed on his lips. “Duly noted.”
Robert rose into standing, brushing imaginary dust off his pant legs, “I think I’ll adjust pretty quickly, so I shouldn’t be too much of a bother.”
A hand was suddenly in your face, and you looked up to see his expectant glance.
“Here’s to an exciting future of spreadsheets and metrics?”
You smiled, shaking his hand. It was warm, almost clammy, with the scratch of callouses.
“Absolutely.”
_____________________________________________
You rationalized that he probably just had an off day the first time you met, but Robertson only kept getting weirder as time went on.
He never showed up late, but every day was a close call.
Minutes or seconds close to his start time he’d walk through the elevator doors in the same exact mismatch clothes from the first day.
His diet, as far as you could tell, consisted of mostly caffeine and empty carbs from the vending machines. You were certain that you never saw the man eat an actual meal.
You couldn’t help yourself from bringing a larger portion for lunch one day, sliding some over to him wordlessly in the break room.
“What’s this for?” He said, still chewing a candy bar he’d just deposited a dollar in the vending machine for.
“You’re stressing me out, just eat it.” You shoved the plate of spare pasta closer over to him.
“Do you think I’m a stray cat?”
You rolled your eyes, “I think that if you don’t eat some actual food one of these days you might faint. And you wouldn’t be a very pretty damsel in distress.”
He looked down at the plate, lips twitching into a smile. “You’re not wrong.” He took a spoonful, immediately humming in contentment.
You gave him a knowing look.
“I guess I wouldn’t mind eating the rest.” He snarked. Then in a softer tone, “Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
After that, it became an unspoken ritual of you bringing extra food and eating lunch together in the break room.
Then there were the bruises.
It started off small, an oval purple mark on his neck, with some scarring that trailed down into the collar of his shirt.
You’d almost thought it was a hickey from a girlfriend (or boyfriend) he’d forgotten to cover up.
Which, of course would be completely fine, and you totally didn’t get a pang in your stomach thinking about it.
But no, as the week progressed and more marks arose on his skin, it was definitely a different situation altogether.
Even more concerning, he made up a different ridiculous excuse for each one.
One time it was as simple as, “I hit my head.” But that soon delved into, “I got attacked by a pack of raccoons on a rooftop.”
Each excuse he would deliver with the utmost sincerity and deadpan tone. But, since you didn’t ask any real questions, he never explained further.
It was so constant you started a list on the notepad in your desk drawer. The list went over all of the injuries the man amassed and the possibilities of whatever the hell he could be doing to get them.
The options so far:
1. Parkour
2. Weird fight club
3. Boxing
4. Hero larping?
But the more you thought about it, the less any of those options felt right.
On a random Monday he walked in showcasing a real shiner, eye swollen and bruised to the point you were wondering why he bothered to show up at all.
“Rough night?” You grimaced, looking back down at the email in front of you.
A huff of a laugh from your side, “You have no idea, fire bastard packs a punch unfortunately.” His attention was divided as he fished through a compartment in his bag. “Should bring a water hose next time, see how he likes that.”
Thanks Robert, for the confusing and vague message as usual.
You shot him a disbelieving look over the small divider separating your desks, “That’s a new one, run out of raccoons?”
He squints at you with his one good eye, “Yeah actually, I think my dog might’ve scared them away. Haven’t seen any around my apartment.”
He finally finds what he’s looking for, fishing out a granola bar and tearing into the packaging with his teeth.
You coughed, tearing your gaze away from where it drew to his mouth. “You know, it’s none of my business,”
A knowing hum through chewing let you know he was listening.
“But you should probably feed him more than canned meat and cereal.”
He sputters out a raspy laugh, “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you, is that you make things your business. But I do give him actual dog food for your information, he just doesn’t eat it.”
It was your turn to laugh, rolling your eyes at the fact that not only was he a weirdo, but his dog seemed to take after his antics.
“That’s because you set him on bad eating habits, I-You’ve got to be kidding me.” Your tone took and undercurrent of annoyance as the third email you tried failed to go through.
“What’s up?” Robert said worriedly.
“My computer has just completely given up on me, that’s what. Everything’s snail pace and the emails refuse to send.” You leaned back in your chair, sighing. “It’s like it knew I needed to get important things done today and rebelled to spite me.”
“I’ll take a look at it.” His voice was suddenly right by your ear as his frame leaned over you to look at the computer, causing you to flinch.
His voice was a soft timbre as he muttered something about background programs, but you’re too distracted by the smell of soap and aftershave drifting off him to pay attention.
He shifted further, two sturdy arms caging you in from where he continued to type away at your computer.
Your eyes trailed from long nimble fingers to the faint scars that trailed up his forearms before disappearing beneath the cuff of his sleeve.
Were his arms always that defined? Why didn’t you notice the absolute sleeper build on this guy before?
“Alright, you’re all set.” He said at your right, still speaking directly beside your ear. “But don’t you dare download McAfee again, or else.”
You turn your head towards him, only to find he’s already looking at you. “Or else? What are you going to do Mr. Robertson?”
You weren’t sure if it’s your imagination that his eyes flicked down to your lips for a second, but the sarcasm in his voice was obvious. “I’m sure I can think of something.”
Then he was pulling out of your space so suddenly that you had to convince yourself the last five minutes happened at all.
You tried the email again, and it sent without a hitch. You were slightly tempted to break the computer again, just to see what he’d do.
_____________________________________________
The next weeks were mostly uneventful, but it was obvious the computer event changed your dynamic with Robert.
Before it was cordial, coworker banter with a bit of professional distance. Now, you were closer.
Both metaphorically and physically.
He told you about the little things in his life, like the new neighbors he had, and the show he watched over the weekend.
You in turn, told him bits of your life and upbringing, like your disastrous interview you had that you were certain would end up in you getting ghosted. It ended in a job offer instead.
You would happily consider him a friend, but there were also moments that made it seem like a different word was needed. A bigger word.
Times where your eyes would lock for a beat to long, or he’d lean in to fix a stray hair even though you knew nothing was out of place.
He always seemed to find little reasons to make contact with you, and you found yourself counting down the minutes until the next time it happened.
This is bad. Really, really bad.
You had formed an annoying crush on your coworker, and you weren’t sure that you could shake it.
Which was a horrible idea, because even ignoring the fact that you worked together, you simultaneously knew too much and too little about the man.
You knew what kind of donut he liked, and the fact that he spoke to his dog more like a friend than a pet, but things like his family were a mystery to you.
You still didn’t even know why he showed up with a smattering of bruises every day.
“Twinkie for your thoughts?”
Your spiral was interrupted by Robert sliding a crinkling package towards you. He stands leaning against the edge of the desk, looking at you imploringly. The sight of his bag slung across his shoulders makes you glance at the clock.
Shit. It was time to go thirty minutes ago, you must’ve lost track of time. Why wasn’t he gone? Was he just waiting for you then?
He folded his arms, causing your eyes to drift to where the material of his shirt tightened around defined arms.
Focus girl, focus.
“I’m fine, just thinking about the work I have yet to finish.” You looked down at the sugary snack with a grimace.
“Thanks, but I don’t really eat these twink things, they’re horrible for you.”
He scoffs, leaning over to turn off your computer and ignoring your protests. “You don’t have to eat it, just never call it that again. Cmon, too much work melts your brain.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer before scooping up your notebook and work bag and walking towards the elevator.
“Wha-hey! I still have a report to finish.”
You rush to catch up to him and grab your things indignantly, “Why are you still here Robertson? You’re usually the first out the door.”
He glances at the elevator number climbing slowly, then at you. “I was waiting for someone.”
“Oh.” You turn your head in an attempt to hide the flush overtaking your cheeks. So he was just waiting for you then.
The elevator finally chimed, doors opening, and he waved you ahead of him before stepping on behind.
The ride was silent, with you sneaking glances at him every few moments. He says nothing further, but there is a faint smile on his face as he stares ahead.
After what feels like an eternity, the first floor bell chimes med, and you both stepped out into the evening heat.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Let me walk you home.”
You both spoke at the same time, and you blinked at him wide eyed. “No, you don’t have to do that, it’s okay.”
Letting Robertson walk you home was a horrible idea. At your current mental state you weren’t sure you’d have the strength to resist inviting him inside. And boy if that wasn’t an HR violation in the making.
He smiled, “I know, I want to. Besides, it’s getting a bit late and the crime in this area has been going up lately.”
“No really, it’s fine. I can go home alone.” The finality in your voice took him by surprise, and you could see the bob in his throat as he considered his next words.
“Okay…okay. Just,” He runs a hand through his hair awkwardly, “be careful please.”
His concern for your wellbeing did not give you a fluttery feeling. Nope, not at all.
God, you were worse than a schoolgirl.
Before you could change your mind, you started to walk in the direction of your home, shooting one last comment behind you.
“Don’t worry, there’s that hero association not too far from here, I’m sure if I so much as jaywalked they’d do something.” You were clearly joking, but when you glanced behind at Robert he wasn’t smiling.
His brows were knit into a frown, and you couldn’t quite read the emotion in his eyes, but it looked almost… sad?
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Is the last thing he said before turning on his heel and walking away.
You shook it off and continued on your way.
Maybe he was just upset you blew him off? Or maybe it has nothing to do with you at all and you’re overthinking.
Either way, it’s best to occupy your thoughts with something else, because Robertson was an enigma you definitely weren’t going to decode today.
Your blouse clung to you uncomfortably in the heat and you picked up the pace slightly. It was times like these where you were grateful to live by your work, a longer commute would’ve been miserable.
The sky had darkened considerably by the time you were about five blocks from your apartment, and you were so caught up in the thoughts of cracking open some wine at home you almost didn't notice the set of footsteps behind you.
Your body stiffened in alarm. Store windows allowed you to covertly see the figure behind you, and the image of a man wearing a hoodie did nothing to ease your nerves.
Especially since he was staring right at you.
Before you could cross the street or call out for help, he caught up to you quickly, pressing a hard object against the small of your back.
“Scream and you’re dead.” His voice was cold and demanding, cloaked in the smell of alcohol.
All you could do was nod shakily as he shoved you towards a side alley.
The panic you felt before had risen to a crescendo, causing a pounding in your head. You didn’t know if any one saw what happened, but you could only hope that someone noticed and called for help.
Using your phone was out of the question, the man was watching you like a hawk, and you weren’t even sure your voice was working at the moment anyway.
He shoved you against the alley wall roughly and pain bloomed in your shoulder. “Wallet, now. No funny business.”
You suppose that you froze too long for his liking, because he struck you again, shoving the gun deeper into your back.
“O-okay! I got it.” You rifled around in your purse, ignoring the first few times you brushed past your wallet in an attempt to bide time. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears with the knowledge you could die at any second.
“If you’re going to rob someone, it’s a bit insulting to use a fake gun.”
A voice sounded at the opening of the alley and a pit dropped in your stomach when you recognized the owner.
Robert, what the hell-
“Stay there motherfucker or I’ll blow her brains out!” You were pulled off the wall and in front of the robber, one arm wrapped against your throat and the other holding a gun wrapped in a bag pressed against your temple.
The stink of sweat from his hoodie almost made you want to gag, but the fear of making any noise at all won out.
Oh my god, I’m definitely going to die.
Robert tilted his head and stared at the man behind you unflinchingly. “Let her go and you wont get hurt too badly.”
I’m going to die and this idiot is too.
You hoped your eyes told him how much you wanted him to get out of there. Both of you didn’t need to get shot today, that would be ridiculous. He could easily save himself, so why. Wasn’t. He. Leaving.
“You want to shoot someone? Okay, shoot me.” Robert’s voice was even and deadly serious. You’d never seen him as angry as he was then. It gave you a weird disjointed feeling to see the man you ate lunch and cracked jokes with everyday to be so menacing.
“What the fuck are you talking about? Get the fuck out of here before I kill this broad and you next.” The man pressed the gun even harder against your head, and you felt the wet trail of tears run down your face. But even under his anger there was a warble of uncertainty, like the other man had taken him off guard.
“I’m telling you to shoot me, not her.” Robert stalks closer to you, still only looking at the robber. “But you can’t, right? Because there’s nothing in that bag but your hand and a prop you got off eBay. You can’t kill me, but I’ve hurt people much stronger than you, so take the chance I’m giving you because my patience is running very, very thin.”
The man behind you tenses, before throwing the “gun” aside, and pulling out a very real knife from his pocket. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I don’t need a gun to kill you little bitch.”
“Suit yourself.” The words are barely out his mouth before Robert rushes forward, twisting the mans hand back with a crunch. The man backs up with a howl, cradling the clearly broken hand and dropping his knife.
You take the opportunity to run to the side out of his reach, and watch on in worry as they fight.
Well, it’s less of a fight and more of Robertson beating the ever loving shit out of the man. The robber has a few inches in height and at least 15 pounds on Robert, but that makes no difference.
Your breath catches for a moment as the guy gets one good hit in on his ribs, but Robert responds with a solid kick to his chest.
The man tumbles to the ground and tries to grab onto Robert’s ankle, but he brings down the heel of his shoe on the palm, breaking that one as well.
Staring at your coworker wide-eyed, you can only hear the screaming of the man and the pounding in your ears.
He leaned down and picked up the man by his collar, saying something with a snarl you weren’t able to quite make out. Whatever it is, it makes the man go white as a sheet.
You blinked, and Robert was suddenly in front of you. It takes you a few moments to realize he was asking something.
“I’m sorry, what?”
He raised a hand to brush your hair away from your face, careful to not get any blood on you. “I asked if you were hurt.” He still had his lips set in a line, displeasure evident, but his eyes had softened into more of the doe-like expression you were used to.
“No-no I’m not. Are you?”
“Am I?” He raised a brow. “You’re worried about me right now?”
“In all honesty I’ve been worried about you since I met you. You are a deeply concerning individual, I just chose right now to ask.” With the adrenaline still thrumming through your body, you aren’t able to stop the word vomit. “Seriously, who the hell are you and what did you do with Robert?”
Dark brown eyes flick over your face, and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. The pad of his thumb rubs over your cheek where his hand still rests, but you aren’t sure if he’s trying to calm you or himself with the action.
“We’ve gotta go, come on. I’ll get you home.”
Your eyes cut to the figure writhing behind him on the ground, but he continued as if reading your thoughts. “The police are already on the way, don’t worry. He’ll be taken care of.” In the last part his voice takes a darker tone than you think he realizes.
On cue, you heard a siren approaching down the street. With one last glance down the alley, you nodded and allowed Robert to guide you home.
With the sun fully gone, there was a biting chill in the air. You glanced up at feeling the weight of Robert’s jacket being slung over your shoulders.
He seemed to be lost in his thoughts. Chocolate gaze focused ahead and jaw taut.
You decided to stay silent for a moment, letting the sounds of the city and the soapy smell of his jacket overtake your senses.
The silence, doesn’t last long, a question itching at the back of your mind, “How did you find me? Did you follow me?”
You were shocked to realize you wouldn’t be upset if he was following you, more curious than anything else.
His eyes cut down to you in surprise, “No, I was actually on my way to a bar on that street when I heard you. I’m glad I did.”
You hummed in acknowledgement, pulling his jacket tighter against your shoulders.
Soon enough, you were at your apartment. You unlocked the front door of the building and Robert followed behind without comment.
You moved on autopilot, distantly aware of his steady frame behind you and only pausing when you came to your apartment door.
“This is me. Do you-“ You avoided his gaze, working up the courage to ask for what you really wanted.
Fuck it, HR be dammed.
“Can you come in? I don’t really want to be alone right now.”
The answer was immediate, “Of course. Whatever you need.”
You nodded, still not looking at him, and unlocked your door. You were met with the comforting smell of home, a mixture of vanilla room spray and the lemon candles you often burned.
“Make yourself at home, I’m just gonna…yeah.” You finished lamely, gesturing towards the bathroom. You didn’t wait for a response before draping his jacket over the couch and walking over to it, shutting yourself inside.
Catching your breath against the door you rubbed a hand against your forehead, where a headache was threatening to form. Who knew the first time you got Robertson in your apartment would be under these circumstances?
Cracking open your eyes to look at your reflection makes you immediately grimace. You looked, for lack of better words, like shit.
Your hair was a mess and stuck up awkwardly in places, and your mascara had dried tacky from running down your face in tear tracks.
No wonder Robert had been handling you like you were gonna break, you looked three seconds away from a mental breakdown.
You got a towel to scrub away your makeup and managed to wrangle your hair into a more peaceful presentation, rushing to avoid taking an eternity in the bathroom.
You reached for the handle to leave but paused, circling back around to grab some items from the cabinet over your sink.
Coming back into the living room you found Robert sitting on your couch, he’d taken off his shoes at the door and was bent forward slightly as he spoke to someone on the phone in hushed tones.
“Right, yeah thanks for helping out. I just want to make sure he stays there.”
He glanced up at you approaching and ended the call quickly after saying goodbyes.
“Someone expecting you?” You kept your voice level even as you felt a pang of guilt that he might have had prior plans. Somewhere he needed to be instead of babysitting you.
He huffed something similar to a laugh, “Never, that was a friend at the station. She’s just making sure the charges stick. How are you feeling?”
He doesn’t comment on your changed appearance, but you know he noticed based on his assessing gaze.
You settled down on the couch next to him with a sigh, “You know what’s stupid? That wasn’t even my first time getting robbed.”
He said nothing, but you know he was listening, waiting for you to continue.
“I was in college, naive and had a one track mind. This guy in a mask caught me on the way from class and told me to hand over my phone.” You barked out a bitter laugh.
“I don’t even think he had a weapon on him, but that was the scariest thing to ever happen to me-well, until now.”
He hummed in acknowledgement.
“I cried for hours afterwards, but after that I thought since I went through it once, nothing should scare me that bad again. I thought that I’d become stronger somehow for going through it, or smart enough to avoid it. Even took self defense afterwards so I could fend anyone off in the future.” you looked down, picking at a stray thread on your pants nervously.
“Guess I was wrong.”
“My dad died.”
It took you a moment to register what he said, but once you did, you looked up at him in alarm. “What? Oh my god I’m-I’m so sorry-“
His eyes widened and he held up a hand, “No, sorry that came out wrong. That’s not where I was going with that. What I mean to say is,”
He paused, taking in a deep breath, “Sometimes things happen to you, and at the moment it’s the worst thing in the world. For me, that was my dad, but then I lost something else that put me right back at rock bottom, something I was tasked to protect.”
“I couldn’t understand at first why loosing that thing hurt more, I should’ve been used to it at that point.” He held your gaze steadily, “What I’m trying to say is, humans don’t do that. Shit happens, and we break down, then pull ourselves together again. It’s a cycle, not a straight line. Sometimes the cycle takes a bit longer, but it always happens. So don’t beat yourself up over being human.”
You held yourself back from offering more condolences, instead flashing him a watery smile. “Who made you such a philosopher, huh?”
He tilted his head from side to side, brown locks falling over his brows from the movement, “I don’t know, guess you bring it outta me. Did it work?”
You could only laugh, nodding in agreement.
A comfortable silence that took over you both, and you caught yourself studying his face. Your eyes were drawn to a red gash on his brow bone and you were suddenly reminded of the items in your lap.
“Oh, let me take a look at that.” Without thinking, you grabbed his chin, tilting his face closer to you as you inspected it.
His eyes widened slightly, but his hands stayed on his lap, allowing you to continue your search.
“Hm, not too deep.” You drug your eyes away from his face and onto his hands. You didn’t notice it before, but he must’ve washed his hands while you were in the bathroom. They had a few small cuts and bruises still blooming on the knuckles, but were devoid of blood.
You got to work dousing a cotton pad with antiseptic cleaner and dabbed it on the cut on his brow.
You were distinctly aware of him staring at you as you slid a bandage across the cut, thumb rubbing over it to make sure it stayed in place.
His hands were cleaned and wrapped next, and if you took more time than necessary with the task that was nobody’s business.
He stared at you the entire time, as if memorizing your face. When you finally glanced up at him, you weren’t prepared for the mix of expressions displayed.
“I need to tell you something. And you’re probably going to be upset, but you need to know. If this, whatever this is, is going to work.” His voice was timid, a little over a whisper.
A flurry of situations crossed your mind of what he could possibly be referring to.
Was he secretly married? Did it have to do with work? What was he going to-
“I’m MechaMan.”
You blinked. Then blinked again. “What?”
“I’m a hero- damn, that sounds way more arrogant than I meant for it to. But yes, I fight crime in a metal suit. And sometimes outside of it.”
You stared at him in silence.
“Please say something.”
Against your control, a giggle rose in your throat. It rose to a full blown laugh as you doubled over and tears welled in your eyes, this time from amusement.
You were faintly aware of Robert’s nervous chuckle beside you, but it still took several minutes for you to compose yourself.
“I’m assuming that since you’re laughing you’re not mad?”
You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand and sat upright, “No, Robert. I’m not mad. But you’re an idiot.”
He raised a brow in faux offense, “Wha- why am I an idiot?”
“Because you’ve been a hero for how many years now and you couldn’t think of better excuses for being injured than a pack of raccoons?”
He smirked, “You assume that was an excuse.”
You shake your head in disbelief before realizing something else. “Wait, if you’re- then your father..?”
Thinking about what happened to the previous MechaMan sobers you immediately, and you look at Robert in a new light.
“I’m so sorry, I can’t imagine loosing a parent like that. You’re a strong person for continuing to be a hero after that.”
He considers your words for a moment, and when he responds, his voice is soft. “It was the only thing I knew best.”
“When I lost him, I was in a dark place for a while. Yes, I picked up the suit and continued his work, but I always thought about revenge. When the opportunity arose to get to Shroud, I took it. And I lost everything I had left.”
He rubs at the back of his neck, “That’s why I took the job at the office. I had already burnt through most of my inheritance, and it takes more money than you’d think to keep a machine like that running, even more to have a chance at fixing it.”
You let out a low whistle, that explains why he seemed to be so out of place in the office. The man probably never had a real job. “It must be thousands for the materials.”
He laughed with a touch of bitterness, “Millions actually.”
Your mouth opens in shock. “Millions? What the hell? You were going through millions of dollars to keep that going? Are you crazy?”
“Jeez, you really don’t mince words do you?”
You collect yourself, “Sorry, I just- it’s a little hard to wrap my brain around.”
His lips twitch into a smile, “We’ll, you’re taking it better than I expected, so.”
“Yeah I guess having my life threatened makes everything else pale in comparison. I’ll probably freak out about it later.”
You busied your hands with placing the first aid on the table next to your couch, a nervous bubble of hope arising from the choice of words in his confession.
“What is ‘whatever this is’?” You asked.
“What do you mean?” He was leaning more into your space now, face twisted into confusion.
“When you started off, you said I needed to know you were MechaMan if we were going to continue ‘whatever this is’.” You sucked in a deep breath of air, steeling yourself. “I have some thoughts, but I want to know what you meant first.”
It was silent for a few beats, and you could hear the trepidation in his voice when Robert answered.
“I like you, a lot. Probably more than I should. And, please tell me if I’m wrong, or if I read this the wrong way, but I think you’ve come to more -than-tolerate me too.” He shoots you a wry smile, running a hand through his hair.
Oh.
“You’re smart, beautiful, undoubtedly out of my league, but I think- I think this could be good if you’re willing to-“
You cut him off with your lips, feeling his body tense under yours before relaxing into the kiss. He tasted like gum, a slight metallic tinge of blood, and something else you couldn’t pinpoint.
You were practically floating.
There was a groan at the back of his throat when you shifted even closer to him, and his hands found purchase at your hips.
The kiss delved into something wilder, both of your tongues sliding over each other in a way that sent a chill down your body.
Your hand found a way into brown locks, tugging slightly. In response, there was another rumble of a groan from him, and he shifted your weight to rest fully on his lap.
Your hips instinctively rocked down on his crotch after a tug from his teeth at your bottom lip. He lifted up to press a hardening shaft against you, causing you to release a sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh.
When you leaned back in for another kiss, he pulled away. “Wait, maybe we should stop.”
You frowned, trying to erase the sinking feeling in your stomach. “I thought that you..?”
He sees your expression and shakes his head, grimacing, “No, it’s not that. I haven’t changed my mind, but today was a lot and I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed with all of this.” Even with his reluctant tone, there is an underlying hunger that radiates in him as his eyes rake over your frame.
You take his chin in your hold, tilting his face upwards to look at you head-on, “You’re right, it was a lot. I’m going to probably take the week off just to conceptualize the absolute bullshit that was today.”
You run a thumb over his lip, shuddering when he parts them slightly to accept the finger inside to rest on his tongue. “But this? This I’ve been wanting to do for a while. So are you going to fuck me or not Robert?”
His eyes darkened at your question. I lieu of an answer, he released your thumb and dove back in towards your mouth.
Strong hands gripped at your ass over work slacks, guiding you to grind over his erection steadily.
The movement was focused exactly where you wanted it to be, but it also made you realize that you needed much less fabric between you.
You separated your mouths, a string of spit remaining connected between you for a moment as you tugged at the collar of his button down.
“Off” you muttered, backing away once nimble fingers came up to unbutton the shirt.
He moved at a frantic pace, and you quickly followed suit with your own shirt, tossing it somewhere across the room.
Then, his torso was bare too, having thrown his shirt in a similar direction.
You paused to take in his body. Scars and burns of all shapes littered his skin over clearly defined muscle. A trail of dark hair went from his navel downward until disappearing under his waistband, and you felt a warmth pooling in your groin at the sight.
He sucked in a breath as you trailed a finger from his clavicle all the way down to his pelvis, circling around the largest marks on your way.
It hurt you to think about the history of all of them. The amount of times he’d risked his life for others with no powers to back him up. Just a trail of scars as repayment.
“Sorry, I know it’s a lot.” His expression was almost bashful as he tilted his head against the back of the couch, watching you.
You could feel him tense again under your hand as if he was preparing for your judgement.
Now we can’t have that.
You replaced your hand with your mouth, kissing and biting down his abdomen with focus. “What are you sorry for? I wouldn’t change a thing.”
You accentuated your point by kissing even lower towards his crotch, sucking a dark mark into the skin of his hipbone.
He hissed through his teeth, bucking his hips involuntarily in response to your lips.
“God-you’re gonna be the death of me. Come here.” He grabbed at your shoulders, pulling you up to crash your lips together fervently.
One of his hands pulled at the fabric against your backside while the other squeezed your breast, rubbing the nub between his fingers through the fabric of your bra.
“You’re so beautiful, why are you so beautiful?” You could hear him murmuring between the wrestle of teeth and tongue.
He only separated to trail his mouth down the side of your throat, sucking marks into his wake.
You didn’t notice his hand reaching around to the back of your bra until the clasp came loose, straps pooling down your arms.
The fabric was quickly thrown aside, and his reverential gaze focused on the two hardening buds. “It’s like you’re not even real…”
He doesn’t bother to finish the statement, instead leaning forward to kiss over the curve of one breast, quickly moving his attention down to where he sucked a nipple into his mouth.
You choked out a gasp, tangling your fingers into the crown of his hair as he continued his ministrations.
He alternated between flicking his tongue and biting at the bud, causing more of your sounds to fill the room.
At one of your particularly loud moans, he glanced up through dark lashes, “Sensitive here?”
He smirked before giving the same attention to the other breast, stifling moans of his own when you started to rock against him again.
You leaned back suddenly, causing his mouth to separate with a pop. “I love this, but I need you to be inside me very soon or I’m gonna lose it.”
Dark brown eyes flashed, and he tightened the hand already resting on your behind. “Since you asked so nicely.”
The next minute was a scramble of buckles and fabric as you both rid yourself of the clothes that remained.
Settling back on his lap, you could feel everything. The warmth of his skin, the scratch of hair on his legs as he settled underneath your thighs, the pressure of his cock as it pressed against you.
It wasn’t huge (thank god, because you weren’t sure you’d ever had the patience for more prep), but it had a nice thickness to it and a vein throbbing down the side that made your throat tighten.
You weren’t sure you’d ever been so wet in your life.
“Do you have any protection?” His question was clear despite his focus cycling between your face, chest, lower half and back again.
“I want to feel you.”
His brows scrunched up as if he were in pain, “I swear, death of me. You sure?”
Your hand circled around his length, giving it a few pumps. He jerked his hips upwards in response, letting out a keening noise.
“I’m sure, I have an implant. And I’m clean if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He made a sound between a groan and a laugh, “I am not worried about many things right now. But I’m clean too.”
“Good.” You bit your lower lip, smiling down at him as you leaned from his shoulder, positioning his tip at your entrance before sucking him in to the base.
All the air left your lungs at the feeling of fullness, and you gasped at him twitching inside you.
“Oh my god.” You heard every sound of pleasure he made from where Robert’s face nestled into your neck. It was clear he was holding himself back from the way his hands tightened over your hips, pawing at the flesh there like a lifeline.
You started to move your hips in slow circles, still feeling your insides shift to accommodate his size.
The pace sped up as he guided your movements with his hands. Planting his feet on the ground he found the leverage to meet your thrusts halfway, each one making your soul leave your body.
The room was filled with the loud sounds of moans and movement. There was a faint thought at the back of your mind that your neighbors were probably getting an earful.
Oh well.
You stopped bouncing down on him in exchange for grinding down in tight circles, the change allowing you to take his mouth in yours once more.
He changed the angle slightly, making a white hot bolt of pleasure shoot through you. “Right there, right there-please don’t stop-“
He obediently followed through, driving up at the same angle with solid thrusts.
A bead of sweat trailed down his forehead and down to where his eyebrows remained furrowed together in concentration. His mouth was open slightly and you took the chance to push your index and middle finger through pink lips.
The response was immediate, a deep groan sounding from the back of his throat as he sucked on the digits. Dark eyes didn’t leave yours as he trailed a hand down to where you were joined, rubbing furiously at the bundle of nerves there.
Your moans took on a higher pitch as you approached your peak quickly. Falling forward to his shoulder, your body shook with the feeling as little explosions erupted behind your eye lids.
A few more thrusts and Robert was soon to follow. You could barely make out the mutter of words into your skin, a continuous blabber of ‘thank you, thank you, oh my god’ as he came.
His movements slowed, still grinding up into you until both of your pleasure turned into over-sensitivity.
When he stopped, you both slumped together like strings had been cut. Still panting to catch his breath, he lifted your head from his shoulder,, meeting your gaze.
His lips met yours softly in a quick peck, an amused light behind his eyes, “I think you might need a new couch.”
You laughed, “In this economy? I’m gonna wipe it down and tell guests to avoid this cushion.”
He ran a soothing hand up and down your spine, “Yeah that might be for the best. Because I’m not sure these fluids are ever coming out.”
You leaned your head towards him, settling back into a comfortable position as he drew shapes on your back.
There were a few minutes of silence before you heard him again, “I meant what I said you know. About us.”
The serious tone made you raise your head again to look him in the eye.
“Not just about the sex, even though that was amazing. I want to continue with this, be yours-steadily, if you’ll have me.”
You brushed a hand through his hair and down his face to rest on the side. A smile flickered on your face as he turned slightly to kiss your palm.
“I’m not gonna lie, the hero work- not knowing if you’re going to be alive everyday? It scares the shit out of me.”
He looked up at you patiently even as a flicker of uncertainty crossed his eyes.
“But, I’d be lying if I said you didn’t have me by the heart as soon as your weird ass walked in the office. So I’m willing to accept your choice. I want to keep this going too.”
A crooked grin took over his face before he dived in again to your lips.
“Thank you for understanding.” The words were spoken against your mouth in a whisper.
You moved in synchronicity until you were forced to separate, having to fill your lungs with much needed air.
There was still a smile in his face when he asked, “Now, how big is your shower?”
_____________________________________________
A/N: lol I can’t believe my first fic on here is for this game of all things, but I couldn’t help but write for this loser ┐(‘～` )┌
Sorry if the writing is a bit jilted, I’m a little out of practice.
Obviously we haven’t seen much from Robert, there’s only a few eps out, but I based his actions on what we’ve seen so far + a few headcannons.
I’m curious to see if there’s even an audience for this guy since the fandom is so fresh
conversations overheard through the batkid com lines pt 2 (masterpost here)
*Damian and Jason, four hours into a stakeout*
Damian: Jay, hand me the mango pieces.
Jason: *plastic crinkling* ayyy, I’m Jason again!
Damian: *snorts*
Jason: what was with that, by the way? I just showed up in Gotham and found you referring to everyone like they’re your professor. Like, that’s not a ‘you’ thing, I don’t know why you started doing that.
*audible chewing noises*
Damian: do you want the genuine honest answer?
Jason: please god do tell
Damian: so- and you aren’t allowed to laugh. but when I first came to Gotham and I showed up at the manor, father obviously had to give me a tour of the place, right?
Jason: yeah.
Damian: and they wanted to do a DNA test to check that my mother wasn’t pulling a fast one by claiming my birthright, so the first place he showed me was the cave, which was also where Tim was.
Jason: *hums*
Damian: and you know that place- the first time you went to the cave, it was wild, right?
Jason: oh, like walking into the tardis for the first time. insane.
Damian: exactly. all high-tech and shit, and I’d just come from the desert compound I’d spent my entire life in- like, my first time going into the kitchen at the manor I saw Alfred loading the dishwasher and my first thought was ‘oh my god what the fuck kind of machine is that-‘
Jason: *abrupt cackle*
Damian: -so the fucking cave for the first time? as a little desert-boy ten year old? I was a little distracted,
Jason, chuckling slightly: ok, fair,
Damian: and so I’m zoned the fuck out, looking around this cave and not paying attention to anything father’s saying, and then I finally tune back in just to hear the words ‘-ackson drake’ while he like, tries to introduce me to Tim.
Jason: *slowly starts laughing again*
Damian, raising his voice to be heard over Jason’s increasing beats of laughter: -and so I’m fucking standing there, ten years old, no clue what this kid’s first name is, and everybody’s looking at me like I’m supposed to be the one fucking talking right now, and ALL I can think of is my mother, who before she shipped me off to Gotham completely alone kept fucking telling me ‘Damian you have to be strong and show that you deserve to be the Batman’s blood son. show no weakness and take the mantle you were born to have; show no fucking hesitance.’, so I’M panicking,
Jason, still cackling: *a clap* NO I DO- I DO REMEMBER, LIKE, BACK IN THE LEAGUE-, holy shit back in the league when your only coping mechanism for not knowing the fuck was going on around you, was literally just to pretend you knew what the fuck was going on around you and bullshit till you make it,
Damian: WELL IT WAS LIKE THE ONLY FUCKING THING MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME-
Jason, through tears: -that’s why I didn’t say shit when I came back to Gotham and found you fucking, doing all this blood son bullshit! You started calling me Todd and speaking in old english and I was just like ‘bless him he’s terrified, just leave him be’
Damian: *cackles* and I did- I did appreciate you going along with it, because back when this happened I panicked and just started calling Tim ‘Drake’ because I was too embarrassed to ask him for his first name, and then by the time I heard somebody else call him Tim in passing, everybody had just assumed this was a thing I did. and I was too socially awkward to clear it up and switch back, so I just had to stick to Drake.
Jason: *wheeze* a-and Grayson?
Damian: well at first I just went along with the surname thing out of awkwardness, but then I’d gone too deep and I had no way out- AND THEN- and then Batman fucking died-
Jason: *wheeze*
Damian: -and I went from being parented by the gymnastics version of the dark lord to being gentle-parented by fucking Nightwing-
Jason, choking: holy- holy shit-
Damian: do you know what it’s like to go from *gruff voice* ‘Damian we don’t fucking kill, give me the katana or I’ll put you in Arkham’ to *high pitched, sweet voice* ‘oh hey Dames, obviously I can’t stop you from killing but I really would appreciate it if we discussed all our options and came to a mature decision together on what’s best in this scenario-‘
Jason: *crying, silent wheezes*
Damian: so DURING all this I’m trying to subtly switch back to using peoples actual names, except it fucking backfired because people just assumed I was calling Richard Richard because we had that special parental mentor bond, and Tim had pissed off to- whatever he was doing in the desert for six months- getting a hysterectomy or whatever the fuck happened-
Jason, amused: hysterectomy- he lost a spleen, Dames
Damian: well whatever happened he wasn’t AROUND for me to shift to calling him Tim! and when father was back I’d made no progress and was back to square one, except this time I was stuck calling one brother Richard and the other Drake!
Jason, still laughing: and this is where I came in?
Damian: I felt BAD! I’d already taken Robin from the guy, I didn’t want him to feel like he was lesser of a brother to me than Richard. So I demoted you to Todd so he wouldn’t feel alone.
Jason: very thoughtful.
Jason: we should probably get you a therapist, dude. I think everybody forgets that when you showed up you were literally just a very confused immigrant child with no experience of normal social interaction apart from me at the league.
Damian: oh I was like, 60% into an anxiety attack consistently for the first two years I was in the city.
Jason: *snorts*
Damian: the first time I was left alone with Tim we were in the kitchen and he said ‘do you want wifi?’ and, y’no, coming from the league, barely any tech and the only normality was the concept of fighting to the death over everything, MY instinctual ten-year-old thought was ‘oh shit, wifi must be slang for brawl here, we’re about to fight’-
Jason: *laughter* you’re fucking kidding
Damian: -so I’m like, so be it, and I say ‘come on then’ and get ready to start punching, only for him to turn around and grab a piece of card stuck to the fridge and hold it out to me,
Jason: *cackles*
Damian: and he goes ‘here’s the password so you can connect, I’m assuming you have a phone or something’-which I fucking didn’t by the way, my mother gave me a shitty flip-phone to call her in emergencies but it didn’t use wifi-, and he’s holding it out to me and I had to like, subtly shift my posture out of the defensive position I’d been in-,
Jason, delirious from laughter: this is the fucking best. thing.
Damian: -and I take it from him, and he gives me this weird look like he has no idea how to communicate with me, and I was just like ‘shit I might have to kill this one, it’s the only way to get out of this interaction’.
Jason: *wheeze* if we go through the timeline, every murder attempt on Tim’s life has just been an occasion where you’ve felt socially awkward and didn’t see any other way out of conversation,
Damian: pretty much, yeah. I should have been on xanax for those first few years.
Jason: stories from your first years in Gotham are my favourite thing in the world.
*a few silent beats*
Tim: are you telling me I’ve been stuck as Drake for YEARS all because Damian’s fucking scared of social interaction?!
*crashing sound*
Jason: HOLY FUCK-
Damian: OH MY GOD I FORGOT WE WERE CONNECTED TO THE MAIN LINE-
conversations overheard through the batkid com lines pt 19 (masterpost here)
Damian: -acts like he's so tough, it's so annoying. *distant smacks and thuds*
Jason: hey don't hate on me for being more fearsome than you, it's not my fault you're a dwarf.
Dick, panting slightly: *grunt* why are you antagonising him right now, Hood?
Jason, mouth slightly full: -ecause' it 'akes 'im fite bettuh
*the shwing of a sword*
Damian: so we have to fight and he gets to get fat on tacos two streets away?
Jason: you're a street away from my territory, kiddo. this is not my responsibility.
Dick: you are an ass. *a hiss* *punching*
Damian: you're pathetic and i'm way more dangerous than you. your first kill was when you were seventeen, while mine was when i was three. get on my level.
Dick: wasn't Hood's first kill when he was like, thirteen or fourteen?
Jason: you were literally my little stalker when i was Robin, how can you not know about this?
Tim: i- i wasn't out CONSTANTLY?
Damian: you killed somebody as- how did you kill somebody as Robin?!
Jason: A L L E G E D.
Dick: we find this story way too funny, really.
Jason: it's not- *slight wheeze* it's not like the situation was funny, it was just- B...
Dick: oh my god, B,
Tim: what happened?
Damian: wait. wait. was this the incident you told me about that led to your death?
Tim: SORRY?
Jason: yeah this was like. the roots of what led to Ethiopia.
Dick: this was the main incident of what got Bruce to fire him.
Jason: he didn't fire me, he benched me.
Dick: so did you actually kill the guy?
Jason, indignant: NO I DIDN'T KILL HIM!
*a beat of silence*
Jason, audibly holding back snickers: i mean i thought about it,
Dick: *starts laughing*
Tim: what actually happened?
Jason, dismissive: oh, it was nothing. there was this asshole who kept sexually assaulting this girl and i wanted to put him away but the system was so corrupt that he got away with it, and then the girl killed herself and i got real pissed off at the injustice of it all so i ran ahead of B and found him on a balcony, and the idiot fell off the balcony right as B found us, and obviously he was like 'you killed him didn't you', and it spiralled into the whole 'you're too violent i'm benching you' thing, which is what led me to running away to Ethiopia and getting murdered. ta-da.
Dick, sounding impressed: you know that's oddly concise.
Tim: i don't- i don't remember this, what was the case name?
Jason: uh, the case of- fuck. wait. Dick what was the guy's name?
Dick: balcony guy? ....shit, i dunno.
Jason: how could i fucking forget- i swear to god i knew it, it was fucking. uhhhhh...
Damian: how could you forget your first kill?
Jason: I DIDN'T FUCKIN' KILL HIM! it was something like- Phil. or Philip something. Philip... Philip Garbanzo. nofuckwait-
Dick: *wheeze* Philip Garbanzo???
Tim, also laughing: Philip Garbanzo. Fredrick Totino.
Jason: yeah i shoved Freddy Pizzarolls off a balcony.
Dick: *another wheeze*
Damian: Felipe Garzonas, jackasses.
Jason: THAT WAS IT. THAT was his name, fuck i forgot!
Tim: so you didn't do anything... and Bruce just like... decided you were a murderer?
Jason: yeah, he- ok so admittedly i didn't take it very seriously at the time.
Dick: yeah from what I remember- *wheeze* i don't think any of us took it very seriously.
Jason: well- look in my defence i got to watch a rapist trip and fall off a balcony, of course i found it funny. and then B showed up and he was being all grave and shit like 'did you kill him?' and i was just like. crying with laughter on the floor.
Dick, slightly teary: yeah you know- you fucking know that after that mission when i visited you guys in Gotham and he told me about the case i started laughing too and he told me he thought i was a bad influence on you?
Jason: you're joking.
Dick: yeah he was like- he was like 'maybe if you were a better role model for the boy he wouldn't be turning out like this' and i outright laughed in his face.
Jason: ROLE MODEL? YOU DIDN'T ROLE MODEL SHIT-
Dick: THAT'S WHAT I FUCKIN' SAID- WE BARELY TOLERATED EACH OTHER!
Tim: so wait. does B still think you killed pizza roll guy?
Jason: oh i stopped trying to convince him i didn't a long time ago. i'm like OJ little red, it's hysterical.
Tim: Jesus Christ.
Jason: every year on the death anniversary i send B a photo of me posing in front of his grave.
Damian: it's true, last week i, Batman, and Hood had a meeting on an abandoned balcony and when Batman perched on the edge, Hood waggled his finger and said 'ooooh, don't tempt me with nostalgia old man!' and-
Dick: *abrupt cackle*
Damian: -father got so mad he had to leave the roof to calm down for a minute.
Tim: i don't know why it would piss him off so much, like, you kill people all the time.
Worth noting that he protested loudly against the WWE doing a show in Saudi Arabia after the assassination of Jamal Khashoggi, and the company retaliated by making sure he hasn’t been on TV or PPV since. Not fired, of course, so they can keep selling merchandise with his face on it (and keep him from joining the competition), just out of the public eye so he and his protests gets forgotten by the fans.
Picture that: an ubiquitous celeb and household name like John Cena basically got black bagged and vanished for speaking up for human rights. That’s the power of capitalism, kids
Fanart for Gazing Into The Abyss, a fic by @chaoticquibit . It’s absolutely incredible how you’ve united a small corner of this fandom through your writing, thank you for your awesome work :D
I would give anything to know Ghost’s inner monologue during any part of the last fic you posted. Is he purposefully getting into her space at the beginning (because we all know Ghost is too aware of his body and his trauma to accidentally touch anyone, let along have his entire side against them)? When he walks in does he just blue-screen, is that why he doesn’t immediately leave? What is he thinking when he sees our wet cunt still stuffed? When he finds out no one has touched us that way, or made us cum? When we want him to fuck us so badly we beg him to do it raw? Does his heart break a little when he heard us say we thought he left us, while we were so vulnerable and still dirty? Is he also freaking out about the fraternization stuff, or has he decided that we are his in the same way that he is ours, and Price will just have to cover up another damn thing for his team?
yes to all of this
(a little drabble part 2 to this)
Ghost has a little habit, when you're concerned. He's usually hyper-aware of his body and his limbs and where he's touching, what's around and beside and behind him. His skin itches sometimes when he's touched without warning, though he always hides his reactions. But with you... he's not so careful. He lets his legs spread, his arms stretch, lets himself crowd into your space. There's something intoxicating about the way that you let him, the way you never lean away from him. You're just so soft, so warm, always letting him infringe on your space with a sweet little smile as though you're happy to see him. You're one of the rare people who are happy to see him, and it makes something uncomfortably warm wriggle in his belly.
So yeah, he leans into you when he sits next you in the rec room. It's mostly muscle memory, because you've never minded before. But today, you're a little tense. Ghost knows you, knows you well. He can see the way your spine is a little stiff, the way your eyes are a little glassy as you stare off into the distance. You look a little... ruffled. Ghost watches you carefully out of the corner of his eye, probes a little, but backs off when you dance around his question. He's knows boundaries well, and he won't push yours. Even if he thinks it's... strange that you leave so quickly, eyes averted.
Finding your phone wedged into the seat after you left was like an opportunity. Simon Riley has never had much, he's always made do, and yet he's admittedly greedy when it comes to you. He's not often a selfish man - he's never had enough to be selfish about - and yet he's hungry for your time, your smiles, your touch. And you're always so generous with yourself, so he doesn't second-guess his decision to follow you down the hall to your quarters. He's never been there before, and he wants to see your space, hungry for any shred of you he can get.
He should have knocked. It was rude not to. But he's so, so fucking glad he didn't.
He's a little rough when he opens your door, a little too eager to get into the room and see your pretty grateful smile when he gives you your phone back. But when he gets that door open, sees the sight of you on your back among your sheets, legs spread, head back, eyes fluttered closed, his mind goes fucking blank.
He watches you scramble, watches the mortification flash across your face as you attempt to shut your adorable little pink vibrator off as you shut your legs, depriving him of the prettiest view he's ever seen. Ghost is not a man with a weakness for pretty things, but it seems only natural that you're the exception, you and your pretty wet puffy pussy.
He hardly even knows what happens, his fingers and toes numb and his attention narrowed down to you, only you. Before he knows it, he's sitting on your bed, feeling enormous and ungainly next to you as you stare up at him. He reaches out, his big hands scarred and ugly against your pretty skin when he holds your vibrator, his blood buzzing at the thought that this had been inside you mere moments ago.
He never thought he'd be envious of a piece of fucking plastic, but here he is. A big man, a deadly soldier, reduced to a fool at your bedside. And yet, you don't even seem to notice. You're so good, so sweet, parting your legs when he asks you to and letting him look.
He asks you to finish. It's bold, and stupid, and greedy. He wants to see you come - he already knows it'll be the prettiest thing he's ever seen, that it'll be seared in his mind forever. In this moment, he thinks he'd do anything just to watch your eyes roll back, your face go slack, to hear the pretty little noises he knows you'll make.
It escalates faster than he could have imagined. Such a sweet thing, laying back and showing him how you use your vibrator. And he watches eagerly, his breath catching at the realisation that this is how you play with yourself when you're alone. You're clumsy about it, which is absolutely adorable.
But then you make a confession, and Ghost thinks he might be spiralling. You've never been touched, never been fucked, never come. It feels like an outrage. He thinks of how tense you'd been earlier, shifting beside him in your blue jeans, and he just thinks... what the fuck? Prettiest girl he's ever seen, and you don't even know how to touch your own cunt properly? He wants to show you, more than anything he's ever wanted before. Greedy. You make him so greedy.
"Let me try."
He's between your legs before he even knows how he got there, pulling your stupid little vibrator out so he can replace it with his fingers. And if he thought he was greedy, he soon finds that he's well-matched when it comes to you. You're just as eager, just as hungry. Spreading your legs and whimpering, all those sweet, sweet noises that spill out of your mouth, just like he knew they would.
You have the prettiest cunt he's ever seen. Pretty, slick, swollen, just as hungry as the rest of you. He alternates between his fingers and his mouth and your little dildo, a little drunk on your taste and your soft thighs when they squeeze around his head. He kisses you too, because he can't help himself. Greedy.
He's never been a chatty man, but his cock is so hard now and he knows his mouth is running. He can't help himself. Your salty-sweet slick on his tongue has loosened it; he barely even knows what he's saying, or what he's promising, but by god he's going to live up to it.
Then, your lovely sweet voice, all breathless and pitchy, asking “Can I try yours?”
Not only that, you beg. You plead with him to fuck you, to do it raw, as if he was ever going to say no. As if he'd ever be strong enough to say no. He can hardly handle hearing you beg like that; he feels as though he's going to blow before he even gets his cock inside you.
In his wildest dreams, he never imagined you so needy. You writhe, you're soaked, you make the most heart-stopping little noises deep in your throat when he presses inside. You're so hot and wet and tight that it feels as though you're about to squeeze his cock right off, and he tries so hard to feed it to you slow, to give you time to take him. You're so good, taking him even though you struggle a little. He's not a small man, certainly not an easy man to take inside of you for your very first time, but it's a testament to how slick and eager you are that he slides in with minimal effort.
After that, he loses himself. Hardly even knows what's he's doing, working based on pure instinct, filling and fucking you until he's losing his breath. God, you're beautiful, and he clenches his jaw hard to bite back his orgasm - he has to focus on you, only you while the tears are streaming down your pretty face as you gasp and cry for him.
He can see your orgasm creeping up on you before you recognise it yourself. When it hits you, it's a whole body event. Your back arches, legs spasm, stomach trembles, eyes roll back. Your cunt clenches down so fucking tight that it's a little bit painful. Simon doesn't dare blink - he's never going to fucking forget this. Your very first orgasm, and you're experiencing it on the end of his cock.
He loses it a little after that, his thoughts fizzing and slipping from his grasp as he loses his coordination. By the time he comes inside of you, cock throbbing and skin tightening, he's already decided that he's going to have to make you come again. Once isn't enough, not for someone as hungry as him. Or you.
He thinks he might have fucked you stupid. Your eyelids are fluttering and your lips are parted, but you're a little bit dead to the world. It's cute. He feels his pride swell, smug at the thought that he's fucked you so good that he's sent you reeling off into dreamworld.
He leaves, only for a moment, unable to be away from you for too long. He just wants to get a cloth, something to wipe you off with to make you all clean and fresh again. You're already awake when he comes back, though you're still hazy and clumsy and all teary-eyed.
He's happy to wipe you clean, despite your quiet mewling complaints, and then he hauls himself into your bed just so he can curve his big-ass body around your smaller one, relishing your sweet softness. God, he's wanted to hold you like this forever, but he's still a little nervous about hurting you. Killing and maiming and hurting have been the only things he's been really good at his whole life, and he's irrationally fearful of moving wrong and hurting you, even after the sex. Or maybe especially after the sex.
He can see your brow crease, the uncertainty in your eyes. He realises you're probably a little uncertain about where you stand with him, or what this is. That's fair. Simon has never been the most demonstrative man, but he's also been the type to cling on like a tick to the things he values, the things he wants to keep safe. He holds you, checking his strength, proud to be able to keep you safe in his arms.
He's going to make sure that you don't worry about it either. Your hair smells sweet, your skin is so warm, and your ass is so soft where it's pressed against his crotch. He's reaching for you before he can think about it, and his heart pulses hard when you spread your legs for him so easily. God, he's gonna ruin you. Just like he promised.
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