#dumbutts

[ruensroad]

long time no #JayDami /lays down

some babs frolicking in the snow while Bruce probably has a heart attack somewhere

[ruensroad]

Hi, can I request "A taunt, with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips" with Damian/Jason, please? :)

It happens on the mats, the moment Damian slams Jason down with a dirty trick Jason instantly regrets teaching him. He’s breathless, wild, staring at Jason with a too wide grin, and before Jason can snark anything witty at him, it comes out.

“Can’t believe I love you, Todd,” he says, taunts, cracking his knuckles and far too full of himself to be saying something so sentimental. “You’re getting slow in your old age.”

Jason bats his outstretched hand away with a scowl. “That is the worst confession I’ve ever heard,” he grumps and stands on his own.

Damian’s unperturbed, however. Just shrugs, all teenage reckless glory, and falls back into his fighting stance. “Or the best,” he says, taunting even more. “Your ears are red, yah habibi.”

“And you are getting way too ahead of yourself,” Jason snorts, then they’re clashing again, and if Damian had hoped his earth rattling words wouldn’t give Jason some sort of edge, he’s poorly underestimated this old man.

Jason has him on the ground in two seconds flat, and it’s Damian’s turn to look dumbfounded and winded, wide eyed and brows furrowed as he tries to comprehend what’s just happened.

And Jason leans over him, wild as Damian was before, grinning, taunting.

“Love you too, Prettybird,” he says and laughs and he leaves there, a flustered mess.

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You need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen. JayDami pls.

“Todd,” Damian leaned in the doorway, tall and imposing as ever. He was even using his Batman voice to further his you did something wrong, pay attention so I can get mad at you properly expression.

“Yeah, Prettybird?” Jason didn’t bother looking up from cleaning his guns, just kept right on wiping them down while Damian tapped his foot impatiently.

“You need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen,” Damian grumped, glaring at the fact he’d had to say such a thing. Jason snorted and peeked up at him.

“Look, you’ve got the biggest fridge and you don’t ask questions. It’s why we work, you know?”

“Because I have a big fridge,” Damian echoed, incredulous.

“Among other things.”

“Ugh,” Damian rolled his eyes and glared at said offensive piece of appliance in his kitchen. “Why must they come in pieces?”

“Your fridge is big, but not big enough for a whole body,” Jason told him, resuming his cleaning. “Don’t worry, they were already dead. Just holding onto them for evidence.”

Damian sighed and walked off, muttering in Arabic. He very pointedly didn’t approach the kitchen for the rest of the week.

[ruensroad]

Hi, if you're taking requests, how about JayDami with Damian acting like he's insulting Jason in Arabic when really he's complementing him except he doesn't know Jason knows Arabic. :)

Sorry for the delay. This is incredibly cute, thank you anon!

It starts on patrol, Redbird sweeping in with all his teenage, reckless grace into the middle of an arms deal, flanked by Red Hood and Red Robin. There’s bullets, and cursing, and when the dust settles all the baddies are unconscious or gagged, tied together in one great pile in the middle of the floor.

Jason is bleeding, laughing, whooping and hollering as he pulls Tim out by his cape out the nearest broken window, Damian already on the next rooftop shaking out his half-melted domino mask with a stream of Arabic curses.

It makes Jason laugh more as he helps Tim settle into a more quiet corner so he can call Dick and let them know they’re not dead, before joining Damian on the edge of the roof to watch the police raid their spoils.

“Well, that went better than I expected,” Jason snickers as he helps Damian peel away the ruined mask. Damian stares at him, eyes bright in the moonlight, and with a perfect mix of exasperation and exhilaration grabs his jacket and all but snarls something at him.

“Yah amar!” Damian snaps, fighting a smile to better give Jason that reproachful look Bruce so helpfully taught him when dealing with Red Hood and all his brave stupidity. Even though it was totally the kid’s own plan, anyway.

But Jason doesn’t voice this, just blinks at the words, spoken like a curse, a derogatory slur, and for a moment Jason thinks he’s possibly translated it wrong in his head if only for the way Damian’s saying it.

“Yah amar!” he growls at him again, childish despite his years, and turns away to answer Batman’s call, giving Jason plenty of time to mull that over while pretending to be very interested in what the police are doing below.

Yah amar. Like moon. Beautiful, if he knows the slang. Spoken like an insult.

Clearly the kid doesn’t know he knows Arabic. That revelation is almost as surprising as the idea that Damian would call him - or anything about him - beautiful in the first place.

Jason decides it’s little more than a heat of the moment deal - the kid probably had nothing else to say, he’d been fighting down a smile at the time anyway, an isolated incident.

Until it happens again.

He’s training on the mats and Damian is doing his best to trip him up, their staffs vibrating with every solid hit, whistling as they dance around each other. Just as it always is sparring with the kid, Jason’s blood outright sings with each blow he blocks and dodges. Damian is aggressive, but quick and clever, and Jason hardly has the time to catch his breath before he’s attacking once again.

“Watch your feet, prettybird,” he warns and snaps the end of his staff towards the kid’s ankle. Damian dodges it fine, but with a poor position to start, he ends up stumbling. A scowl overtakes his features as he blocks the next blow.

He’s grumbling in an odd mix of Mandarin and Arabic in a way that Jason could almost consider endearing. It’s his usual track when they spar and Jason proves himself equal to the task of matching the son of the Bat. He’ll insult, then snap, then grumble, all in different languages.

Reducing Damian to his native tongues is a point of pride for Jason and he ups the ante to give the kid the challenge he’s always searching for. Those eyes sharpen almost instantly as the pace quickens, the sound of the staffs slicing through the air the only music to move to besides the quick beat of Damian’s mumbled words.

It’s not long before Jason’s hands start to shake - he is on break, after all, a recovery of sorts from the last mission still, and he’s not as young and resilient as he used to be. Damian presses this advantage easily, and Jason lasts just long enough to avoid a hit to his stomach before Damian’s hooked his ankle and sends him sprawling, his staff clattering to the ground.

Damian’s flushed with victory and panting hard, sweat glistening over his dark skin. He’s finally building out, Jason suddenly notices, oddly, as they stare at each other. Finally climbing free of that awkward, gangly stage of the teenage years. He’s nineteen now and he’s no longer that little kid that used to throw tantrums on this very training floor.

Not to say he’s matured much, either, the way he smirks, all teeth, and loudly proclaims Jason the loser in Chinese.

Jason just laughs, because it’s never old, seeing this kid acting his age, and gratefully takes the hand Damian offers, giving it a shaky squeeze once he’s straightened.

But Damian hesitates in letting go, perhaps feeling the quake in Jason’s fingers, the way his nerves rattle in the joints, shooting pain into his wrist. His brows furrow as his face goes otherwise unreadable with an odd concern, perhaps, or confusion.

“Nice match,” Jason tells him, because the pain is nothing new. He’s lived with it since before he knew Damian at all.

Damian just nods and releases him, looking almost lost. Unhappy, certainly, though Jason cant imagine a reason why.

That is, until he hears Damian mutter, “Ashourou bel farahi maak,” as Jason turns to retrieve his fallen weapon. Jason stills as he grabs it and turns back to him with wide eyes. But Damian’s already walking off, towel in hand and drinking from a water bottle, calling for Alfred as he disappears up the stairs.

I feel happy with you, rings in Jason’s mind, along with the devastatingly troubled expression that had accompanied it. He stands there, shell shocked, stares at where Damian had been.

Well, damn.

It doesn’t stop there. Suddenly Jason’s noticing it everywhere, little sweet nothings disguised as insults over the comms, or brazenly shouted in the middle of a brawl, or whispered when they find themselves alone in the library, sharing a book. The hint of words when he’s leaving for a missions, the snarl of a compliment when he comes home riddled with bullets and smiling. Always something that sounds like one thing, but means the exact opposite.

When Jason checks in on him during a particularly long stretch and Damian breathes “Hal tashtaaqo lii?” into the phone, Jason doesn’t know how to react without letting the younger man in on his secret.

He almost wishes he had when Damian follows with an equally quiet, “Kolla yawm ashtaaqo laki aktar,” and a snarled order of, “Abadan laa tansynii!” because Damian has never been one to give himself away and that had been too damned close.

“I’ll see you soon,” Jason decides on, which is altogether lame compared to what Damian said, and hangs up, the other's words hanging on every breath he takes.

Do you miss me? Everyday I miss you more than the day before. It makes something in Jason stumble, catch, and huddle down, waiting for the punch line. He feels gutted and raw and, hopelessly, like he’s left something behind.

Don’t ever forget me!

As though it would be easy to do so.

Jason comes home with new bruises and bullet holes and over a month overdue. The family flutters about him in nervous energy, but as he’s sat down, it’s Damian who sits with him and grabs the kit, swearing heatedly at him under his breath.

“Sorry,” is all Jason can think to say, lost in the slew of words hitting him. You scared me. Where were you? Why do I care?

But it’s a quiet, “Hayet albi enta,” that nearly does him in. Jason looks at him and Damian has a mighty frown on his face, a wonderful reminder that Damian doesn’t know Jason understands his words, that what probably sounds like You’re a fucking idiot is rather, in fact, You are the life of my heart.

And Jason knows they’re in too deep, because he stops breathing and has to snap some insult back to cover before Damian gets suspicious. Which is nice, in it’s own way, because bickering is common ground for them, familiar, something he can deal with.

Better than that annoying fluttering feeling in his gut, anyway.

But of course, in trying to ignore it, it simply becomes more of a problem. Whatever hesitance Damian had before suddenly disappears and Jason finds himself being - wooed? Courted? Threatened with loving words? He’s not exactly sure, but it’s happening and he can’t quite find it in himself to make Damian stop.

The first time Jason steals a kiss from him just as Damian’s about to bring a little Gotham justice to a drug dealer, Jason knows with a frightening clarity that he’s more than willing to let this happen, if only for the beautiful and completely unburdened smile that it earns him.

Though getting slammed into a wall and kissed to within an inch of his life in the thrill of victory is pretty damned good too.

The little sweet insults don’t stop though, which Jason finds hysterical, and patiently waits for a chance to startle Damian out of his false sense of security.

It comes on a night months into becoming we and us, gasping underneath Damian’s hands as the younger man rolls his hips into him, shocking pleasure throughout every cell of his body, and Jason is a mess, laughing and swearing in praise, and Damian’s eyes are so dark, words slick with want.

They’re building to it, the edge, and they’ll go together if Jason has any say in it, and as he grips Damian’s hair and tugs, Damian’s breath stutters in his ear and his body shakes.

“Yah habibi,” he moans, curses, praises, bites it into his neck as they fall into the pleasure of oblivion together.

It’s after, as they lay tangled in the afterglow, Damian’s head pillowed over his heart, that Jason smiles and kisses his hair and waits for the perfect opportunity.

“Yah habibi,” Damian says again, traces it into his skin with a lazy fingertip, and there it is, beloved, catching in his throat, making him swallow hard even as he lifts Damian’s chin to kiss him.

“Habib albi,” he whispers against his lips and for a glorious moment, Damian simply sinks into the moment of perfect bliss. Habib albi. Love of my heart.

Then it hits him and his eyes are comically wide, face red and flushing all the way down his chest, and Jason has no pity for him, not really, after so long listening. He had it coming, anyway.

“Yeah, I speak Arabic, fluently,” Jason snickers, if only to further the horror on Damian’s face. “Since before you showed up.”

Damian groans and buries his burning face in Jason’s chest, and as Jason laughs, a slew of curses rumble against his skin.

Though, this time, they’re actually insults.

[ruensroad]

So I'm gonna have to request 34 and JayDami, just on principle alone

Somehow their night had dissolved into this, heated kisses and insults bitten into skin as though they were sweet nothings, Jason’s back pressed to the wall and Damian’s hungry mouth over his. Hands scrabbled to undo buckles and rip away cowls, until they were both half naked and panting against each other, Damian’s hands on his hips, Jason’s fingers fisted in his hair.

“I thought you were gonna take me in, Bats,” Jason teased, breathless, around a split lip. Damian nipped at his neck with a growl, inhumanly strong arms lifting him up the wall.

“You didn’t tell me you were returning to my jurisdiction, Hood,” Damian hissed into his ear as Jason pulled his head back, legs wrapping around the younger man’s waist. “I thought you were off-grid.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Jason laughed and drew him back in for a bruising kiss, nipping down his neck as Damian stood there and shivered.

“You gave me no time to prepare,” was Damian’s heated response, his grip unyielding on Jason’s thighs, so much so that they both knew the skin would be bruised by morning.

“Keeping you on your toes. Not like you’re terrible at spontaneous attacks, anyway.”

That had Damian glaring, though the effect was ruined by the slight twist of his lips upward and the way his bright eyes were darkening with each breath Jason took, desire and hunger white hot against each pupil.

Jason swore at him. “Fuck, prettybird, if you keep looking at me like that, we’ll never make it to a bed.”

“Then this will have to suffice, at least this first match,” Damian purred and pressed him harder against the wall. “Perhaps slamming you into the wall repeatedly will help you remember to call ahead, next time.”

Jason grinned and wiped the blood off Damian’s cheek, licking over the cut before biting his way back into Damian’s mouth, much to the other man’s approval.

“Missed you too, Damian,” he murmured between kisses, head falling back as Damian started working off his belt. “Missed you too.”

[daesperado]

In which Anda and I misspell a typo

Anda: IM GOONA GO SLEP

Anda: ...gonna

Anda: Goona what

Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAH

Anda: Slep

Anda: I will slep

Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Anda: sLEP

Me: OH ANDA

Me: Fo fo

Me: Go go*

Anda: WHAT

Anda: FO FO

Me: HAHAUAHAHAAYAHA

Anda: can that be our new name

Me: fodo?

Anda: Instead of troublemaker

Me: Fofo*?

Anda: FFOF

Anda: ...

Anda: How can we misspell a typo

Me: HAHAHAHAYAHHAHAA

Me: HAHAHQHQAH

Me: OMG

[ruensroad]

JayDami!

who wears the ugly christmas sweaters Damian, which Jason will never get over. Not ever. Damian first did it on a dare. Then he realized how much it made Jason laugh. It’s a point of pride now that he can make something that ugly still look sexy on him. Jason threatens to set any ugly sweater tossed in his direction on fire.

who picks out the holiday movies and who makes the hot cocoa Jason is a master at hot cocoa. He generally lets Damian pick out something to watch.

who starts the snowball fight Jason, though Damian usually finishes it. Jason is such a snow child and he has this magical way of making Damian play. Damian loves snow because Jason loves snow, even though he hates being cold. Snowball fights between them usually become wrestling matches and tumbling each other into snow drifts.

who drags the other under the mistletoe Jason did it first, though Damian is now more notorious for trapping him under the sprigs. Jason has a feeling Damian is a bit addicted to getting those free kisses (not that he minds. like, at all).

who decorates the house Damian is master of the inside. Stay out of his way or he will eat you. Jason is in charge of the outside lights, though it has to pass Damian’s inspection, which he thinks is hilarious.

who hangs up the ornaments on the tree They both do. Jason is the one who brings the box down and starts the overall trimming. Damian helps keep everything looking even and balanced.

who cooks christmas dinner Jason. He’s picked up more than a few tricks from Alfred over the years. Damian is pretty hopeless about it, though he’s very good at dicing and slicing and stirring, which he helps with.

who invites the other to sing a christmas duet Jason. He doesn’t sing much, and when he does it’s usually because he’s just having that much fun. Damian goes along with it because of that. 

if they have any holiday traditions They spend Christmas Eve together with no body else. They each open one present and enjoy just being together in the quiet, dancing and laughing around the tree.

who would start a food fight during baking Damian. Usually flour. To the face. Repeatedly.

who would get drunk off of eggnog Damian, but only if it’s the two of them. He’s a bit of a lightweight and a very giggly, flirty drunk if you can time the intake right. Jason thinks it’s adorable.

[ruensroad]

Just a little sketch before I head off to bed, done in about an hour (never let me draw a bike again holy shit. Someone shoot me in the foot next time). I know it sucks but it was mostly venting and stress relief so I wasn't exactly going for perfection on anything.

A friend and I were geeking out the kind of shenanigans these two could conjure up. I brought up how Damian can drive and how, because he's reckless like that, Jason would either say hell no to Damian driving his motorcycle, or hell yes, because how hilarious would the look on Grayson's face be? priceless.

So, we got to talking how that would work considering Damian probably isn't quite tall enough to hit the shift. Or use it properly. Plus he's crazy, so he would probably crouch up there like a lunatic while Jason handled the shift. Damian would rev and speed and frankly give Bruce and Dick simultaneous heart attacks while Jason just flawlessly shifted for them and made sure he didn't fall off and screamed out directions. And that would make it worth it, yes.

So have some dumbutts, because I need them like air. Stealing money from the mob like the losers they are. Mixing business with pleasure, because why the hell not?

They probably did it for the vine.