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alissiawriteblr · 1 year

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Thanks for the tag, @vdoshu!

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

So I don't have ten works posted, but I do have some WIPs I can include towards the end (Serendipity's sequel, a short angst PWP, an affair fic I've affectionately titled Stacy's Mom in my head and some lovely dirtybadwrong pseudo), so this should be fun.

Serendipity

By the time Tom makes it home, it is late.

It is so late that the house is dark and quiet; the only sounds that of his own footsteps, creaking against the stairs, and then the lashing rain from outside their bedroom window, not soothing at all, and Harry’s sleep snuffles from the bed, soft and really, only slightly more soothing.

Tom disrobes with unusual lethargy. On his way to bed, he catches his reflection in the gilded mirror opposite; his dark curls are a mess from hours of him raking through them, and his face, only lit by moonlight, is on the verge of too pale. When he finally, blessedly, climbs into the sheets, he immediately curls behind his husband, wrapping his arms around him like Devil’s Snare and pulling him in. He sighs at the warmth of his bare skin. Inhales his scent, deep, in contentment.

Finally, he thinks.

Treason

Harry runs.

He runs like his life depends on it, through thick, squelching mud that clings to his boots like quicksand trying to drag him down.

Rain pelts down, hard and unrelenting, streaming over his glasses and making it near-impossible to see anything. Thunder booms nearby.

Around him, vicious bolts of light fly by, cutting bold streaks through the cursed fog that drifts across the battlefield. The wind flays him as he looks around wildly, dodging and turning, twisting out of the way of curses from the blurred shapes of enemies around him. Lightning cracks through the dense grey sky, illuminating split-second flashes of their silver masks.

Reporting for Duty

The first time Harry meets the Minister for Magic, he is a little too preoccupied to properly see the man. Ambling through the cavernous Ministry foyer, styrofoam coffee in one hand, the other barely keeping hold of resumés and papers stacked almost taller than himself, it only takes one barge from within the crowd to send Harry slipping on black tiles. He topples forwards, like a domino, into a strong, lean body.

Envelopes and sheets of parchment flutter everywhere. Flashing way back to the memory of Uncle Vernon's purple-cheeked rage, Harry looks up warily to see a similarly incensed expression glaring back, but on a very dissimilar face.

Harry Haunting

The headlines had been hair-raising: ‘Man Killed At Murder Manor’, ‘Riddled With Blood’ and, even more bluntly put, ‘Evil Strikes Again’. Nevertheless, Harry couldn’t help but think that the big old house was kind of charming.

He had expected to see cobweb infested corners, doors hanging off their hinges and scratches clawed deep into the walls. Maybe something dramatic and cinematic like a fingertip traced threat scrawled across a dusty table or russet red handprints staining door knobs. After all, the well-known story was that no matter how many times anyone tried to make the dilapidated old Riddle House presentable, the malevolent ghost who supposedly inhabited it would mock their efforts. Apparently, it would start off with petty games like making perfectly new lightbulbs flicker out into the gloom and forcing the house colder with every degree the thermostat was turned up. Eventually it would escalate into the famously dark tales of death that the regional papers seemed to derive half their profit from.

As he followed the estate agent over the threshold, however, he was taken aback by just how presentable, spacious and clean the foyer was.

In His Bones

As a child, Harry doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know why it’s happening. He just wants it to stop. With every raised hand, with every cower, with every bruise, he is chipped away at like fragile china. He is a teacup smashed against the floor time and time again without any regard to the consequences.

All he knows is the purpling of bruises on his arms and legs and just keep going just keep going just keep going.

Push and Pull (WIP)

When Riddle storms through the door of Harry’s cramped office, Harry expects it.

The day’s session had been long and arduous. Both sides of the Wizengamot had ended up breaking convention at numerous points, and it had not been pretty. And anyhow, it’s become a regular occurrence. They’re both usually so pent up after a debate that it takes them barely two minutes before they’re yelling at each other, or fucking violently against a wall, or hurling stationary about the room like missiles.

Harry looks up, cursory, as Riddle slams the door, but then simply continues collecting his things. His desk, as usual, is a disaster zone. Scribbled notes from the day’s session are scattered haphazardly between his aurors' latest reports and missives from days past, hopelessly disorganised, the curling, yellowed edges maimed by ink blots. Grabbing at random sheets, he begins to pile them all together. He can sort it all out at home. He will get out of this hellhole on time, and he certainly will not get distracted.

Opportunity (WIP - Serendipity's sequel)

Before Harry, Tom had never even spared a thought to offspring. Pureblood traditionalists birth progeny as a way to continue their line, to pass on their heritage and to retain some weak form of ‘immortality’, but as a true immortal, there had never been a need for him to mimic such a thing. What is an heir to a throne that will never pass over? What is a youngling to one who will never grow old?

A pointlessness.

Yet, over time, the idea had begun to call to him. For practical reasons, of course. Neither of them had been bestowed the warm hearth of family, and while Tom had grown into this coldness, Harry had always sought out the fire; had always yearned for the security of a family unit. There is something appealing about the idea of giving it to him, even if Tom has no intention of partaking much in it himself. With this, he can secure his hold. For even if Harry one day wished to leave him, he is no Merope or Riddle. He would never seek to leave their family.

An Illicit Affair (WIP)

"Are you ready?" Ginny asks.

The moonlight is a beacon as they stand on the doorstep, working with the faint glow of streetlights to illuminate them in the late-autumn darkness. It illuminates the house too; the towering front door, the slate grey brickwork, the tall arches of it.

In a word, it’s … huge.

Truth be told, Harry really doesn’t know if he is ready for this.

"Yeah, of course," he says anyway, his smile a tad forced. "It’ll be great."

"Merlin, tell your face that." Ginny sighs, rubbing a hand across her forehead. "Look, just don’t be disheartened if he doesn’t take to you right away." At that, he balks. “You said he was nice!”

Of Ripeness and Rot (WIP)

Harry doesn’t have bad dreams.

He thinks he might have had them before, when he lived with his ‘relatives’, and then definitely after, when his father first took him in. He remembers nightmares of a dark cupboard, of shadowy shapes chasing him; of a hollow, gutting fear that lived low in his stomach. He remembers jolting up out of his new bed in a cold sweat, nightmares still grasping at the edge of his vision. A few times, his bad dreams had even spun into his wakefulness, forcing him to spend terrifying minutes trapped between two realms, alert but unable to move, awake but dreaming.

That had been terrifying, the first few times, and he had worried, a little, that he might have been going mad. But his father had helped him; had assured him that what he was experiencing was common; normal, even — that there was nothing wrong with him.

Now, Harry has no trouble at all with sleep. Why would he?

He’s perfectly safe here.

#tag game #writing #tomarry #harrymort #tomarrymort

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nincompoopydoo · 3 years

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PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— I’VE SEEN FIRE, I’VE SEEN RAIN ; PART 2 / ?

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 1909

SUMMARY: Being laid off isn’t very fun but Bruce tends to find himself even more entangled in your life, including his alter ego—Batman.

A/N: I’m loving this series and if you are, feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading my crappy stuff aka my daydreams <3

WARNINGS: Guns! Death threats! Crying! A mental breakdown!

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

James Taylor’s Fire and Rain plays like a funeral hymn on the record player, echoing through your studio apartment. You’re sitting on the ground, back against the ratty couch with a pizza box on your lap. You take a bite of a BBQ Chicken pizza slice, furiously wiping your tears away as you replayed the events from six hours ago. From being called to the principal's office to only be told that you’re one of the non-tenured teachers to be laid off due to cutbacks. Gotham High was...a tough school. The students were mean to you because well, you're young and always gave them the benefit of the doubt. Plus, you taught English Literature and frankly, your students didn’t exactly enjoy the subject as much as you wanted them to. Nevertheless, you’re devastated. Teaching was a dream of yours, and it’s being taken away from you. You cried all the way back home, tried to call your mother but it kept going to voicemail. You must have called someone else, but you don’t remember and couldn’t care less to check your phone—the whole day went by like a blur.

Then, there’s a sound. An insistent buzz, it’s the doorbell. You furrow your brows, not recalling ordering anything else other than the large pizza from Domino’s. Yet, it doesn’t cease, and you’re forced to bring yourself to stand on your feet, instinctively flattening your tousled hair to make yourself seem somewhat presentable. Like, you’re doing fine and you have everything completely under control. Maybe, you did call your mother, and she’s at the door. You’re hoping she is although she’s going to kill you for the mess.

Another buzz and you’re toddling across the wooden flooring and towards the doorway. It’s starting to become infuriating by the second, like a house fly don’t won’t stop bugging you. Considering the mood you’re in, it doesn’t take much to tick you off. Swinging the door open, you expected to see the radiant face of your mother but to your surprise, it’s not.

It’s Bruce.

Shit.

You haven’t seen him in two weeks.

You nearly choke at the sight of him in a slightly crumpled oxford blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair as much of a mess as yours and tired eyes staring down at you with concern. You note how Bruce is very charming, no matter how disarrayed he is. Meanwhile, you’re realizing the current state must be a little startling. Your eyes are probably bloodshot, hair still in a tangled mess and glaring tomato stains everywhere on your GCU t-shirt. This is such a low point for you.

“Bruce,” you say, voice raising an octave with wide eyes as you stare at him like he’s grown another head, “What are you doing here?” His frown is immediate, seemingly confused by your question. “You called me.” He gestures to his phone within his grasp. “It sounded bad even though I couldn’t make out what you were saying half of the time,” He chuckles and holds up a familiar looking paper bag “So, I got you bagels. Three of them. Thought you could use some of these.”

It takes a second or two for you to finally process what he just told you before your emotionally wrecked brain decides to do the most irrational thing ever—You just start sobbing. You’re crying so hard that it terrifies Bruce. He blinks, thoughts racing. The sight of you in complete misery strikes him like a punch to his gut and for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do. Not immediately. Yet, through glassy eyes, you manage to notice the way his face dropped and morphed into pure horror. Justification is key, you don’t want to weird him out and think you’re crazy. You wave your hand in the air dismissively, rubbing your eyes as you spoke between strangled sobs. “I’m sorry, it’s been a tough day and that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me all week.”

Oh.

Your words are a tug to the heartstrings, and it sends his head reeling but relief was all that overwhelmed him. Bruce would never wish to see you hurt, especially when it’s caused by him. Actions of affection were primarily reserved for those closest to him, but he never experienced the urge to be intimate and care so much for a person ever since his parents died. Yet, out of everyone, you’re the one that brings out the most in him. Moving closer to you, he reaches and pulls you in a hesitant embrace. You stiffened at the mere touch of his arms around you, unsure of what to do with yourself.

Sure, you had a fair share of intimate moments with the man but this, this was different. You couldn’t shake the thought of how something so warm felt so right, smelt right. Despite the fact you had been trying to suppress your feelings for Bruce, and this was doing the exact opposite of that, you can’t help but feel this was what you needed at the moment. So, you let your body sag, muscles becoming loose and you let yourself truly cry for the first time.

You end up inviting him in later, when your tears are dry. You eat two of the bagels, sharing the last one with him. You called a peace offering, a gift of appreciation, for the whole emotional massacre you unexpectedly shoved at him. He simply laughs, eyes crinkling with fondness. He thinks you’re beautiful, especially when your hair is wild, laughing like you don’t have a care in the world. It’s what keeps him grounded, to know you’re raw and very real. The next thing you know, you end up shuffling cards of UNO until the wee hours of the morning—exchanging knowing smiles and Bruce trying to pick a Wild Draw card from the deck to get you to lose. But, he lets you win anyway.

He slept on your couch that night, still in his dress shirt. You must've peeked a glance at his sleeping form, squeezed onto the couch that’s clearly too small for him. Cute. You snap a picture before heading to bed. For blackmail purposes, of course.

You end up working a night shift at a burger joint called Big Belly Burger somewhere in midtown. Your first week comes and goes, and you’re starting to hate how your uniform itches and how the restaurant can get really filthy by the end of the day. Yet, it’s the kids from Cameron Kane High that come after school that keeps you going because it makes you miss being a teacher even though they tend to leave a mess after a meal.

Thursday comes and you’re exhausted. Even so, you’re thankful it’s a slow night. You’ve done all your cleaning duties earlier on and Lucie, the manager went out to buy a pack of cigarettes from the convenience store around the corner. Hence, it’s just you, slumped against the counter, devouring a Triple Belly Burger.

You’re half way through the burger when you hear the door swing open. Expecting to see Lucie, you turned around to see two men brandishing handguns your way. “Everything from the register, now!” The taller masked man shouted, gun gesturing to the cash register. Your eyes are wide, and you can feel your chest heaving. There was no way you’ll be able to fight them. Not two of them with guns pointed at you.

The burger drops from your hand and so does your heart. With trembling hands, you slide the drawer of the cash register open and begin pulling out dollar notes. From the corner of your eye, you spot your phone on the counter, close enough for you to make an emergency call. Your eyes scan the two men wearily and with every ounce of courage you had left, you managed to unlock your phone, pulled up the messaging app and texted the first name on the list: Bruce Wayne.

help, was all you managed to say.

To say your luck ran out was an understatement; you were never lucky anyway. One of the robbers must have caught on to what you were doing and just as the call goes through, he snatches your phone away, throws it onto the ground and shoots it.

So close, yet so far.

You don't know if the message got through.

The muzzle is now inches away from your forehead, and you hear the cock of the gun. “Don’t you dare pull somethin’ funny like or I’ll blow your brains out. Give us the money, now.” It was in that moment, your tears give way and your life flashes before your eyes. You pray for a miracle, a savior.

Then, you see him.

A looming figure appears by the doorway and your breath hitches. It’s Batman, looking like a Goddamn angel. The robbers seem to realize this too, guns quickly directed towards the vigilante. He launches batarangs to the pair of men and immediately disarms them. In a flash, he knocks them out, unconscious bodies dropping to the ground like dead flies.

You stare at him in awe although he’s very frightening and intimidating but Batman...just saved you. Now, this is a story you’re going to be telling everybody until the day you die. He approaches you with caution, and you instinctively take a step back. Then, he calls you by your name like it’s second nature. You stare at him with blank amazement, brows raised.

“You know my name?” Your voice dwindled; It’s so soft and timid you hardly hear yourself. Despite the mask, the vigilante looks like his brain just short-circuited for a moment. He clears his throat.

“...Bruce has mentioned you.”

You ignore how his synthetic voice makes every hair on the back of your neck stand and the familiarity that struck for a split second when he said your name because you’re too wrapped up with the fact that Bruce has discussed about you to his other ‘best friend’ as one might call it. Brooding over this lump of a thought, the corner of your mouth twitches. “He did?” you say with a hint of affection. It’s hard to read the man under the mask, whoever he was but you’re certain he looked taken aback by your response. Maybe, it was the way you delivered it—the longing in the very core of the expression. You may have outed your feelings for Bruce to...Batman.

This doesn’t get any stranger than that.

“Yes,” he replies curtly, and you hear the police sirens afar. “Are you hurt?” Like the true caretaker of Gotham, he wants to be sure you haven’t been injured. You shake your head, lips pressed together. The whaling of the police sirens grow louder, lights of red and blue flashing before your eyes. He appears like a shadow against the glaring lights from the police cruisers and before you can blink, he flees with a muttered ‘Goodnight’ and disappears before the police come flooding in and does Lucie. The poor woman looked at with frantic eyes as soon as she glimpsed the two men on the ground, groaning in pain.

The glint of the batarang on the floor captures your attention, you smile at this.

You may or may not have taken it back to your apartment that currently sits proudly on the bookshelf in your living room.

You’re so telling Bruce.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman x reader #batman x you #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #justice league

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redrobinfection · 7 years

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Completely Roundabout, Pt 2

<<Part 1 (Tim’s Birthday)

JayTim - Freeform // Pre-relationship; enemies to friends to lovers; jumping straight into the “we’re not really friends but we kind of are?” stage // 2.9 K // Read on Ao3

Happy Birthday, Jason!! ❤

~*~

“Shit.”

“Hmm?”

“Dammit!”

“Uhhh, what’s up, Red?” Jason asked cautiously, raising an eyebrow at the red and black-clad vigilante sitting beside him on the edge of the roof.

“I just realized that today is September sixteenth,” Red Robin replied as he scrubbed a gauntleted hand over his masked eyes.

“Umm, and this is a problem because…”

“Because it’s been an entire month since August sixteenth.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “And that date is relevant because…”

Red Robin stared at him. “Hood. That’s your birthday. Remember?”

Jason snorted. “Oh, that?” He reached around the rim of his helmet, deftly unlatched the complicated clasp, and pulled the ‘hood’ off. He ran a gloved hand through his hair and cocked an eyebrow from behind his domino as he turned and asked, “But why’s that a big deal? My birthday was a month ago; why’s that important now?”

Red Robin groaned, leaning back on his hands, surveillance of the precious metals depository in front of them long forgotten - that was okay; based on the intel they’d gotten, nothing was likely to happen that night anyway, Jason figured.

“I completely forgot about it, that’s why,” Red replied quietly, looking pained. Jason opened his mouth to put Red’s concerns to rest - who cared about his birthday, he certainly didn’t - but Red didn’t notice as he stared off at the twinkling skyline. “You remembered mine at the last moment and then were thoughtful enough to do something after the fact.”

“Tim,” Jason sighed, “look, I appreciate the thought, but we were kind of in the middle of dealing with, what, two alien invasions, and then chasing down, like, what, four different supervillians a month ago? Let’s be real, I didn’t even get a chance to think about my own birthday.”

Tim was so upset about the whole thing he didn’t even comment on Jason breaking the no names in the field rule. “Yeah, but I remember remembering it a week after the fact, and I meant to do something, but now it’s been three more weeks and I completely forgot.”

Jason grimaced. If he’d known back when he first came back how much thought his replacement put into beating himself up over every little thing he probably would have gone easier on the kid that first time they’d met. Maybe. He certainly would have aimed to plant more ideas to psychologically traumatize the newest Robin rather than spend so much energy beating on him physically; there was no one better at beating Tim up than Tim himself, he’d come to find out.

As it was now, Jason kind of wished a good pummeling could knock all the self-deprecating thoughts out of the younger man. It would certainly be easier than trying to convince Red Robin to go easier on himself.

“Little Red, you’re making too big a deal out of this.” Jason shook his head. “It was just a birthday. It would have been nice if you had said something, but I’m not upset that you didn’t, not given how overwhelmed we were these past couple of weeks.”

Tim frowned, looking uncertain. Jason leaned forward into Red’s space, huffing a laugh as he added, “I mean it’s just something we humans have made into bigger deal than is really necessary, right? What’s the big deal about a birthday, anyway?”

Red Robin backed away from the ledge and threw down his cowl. Tim’s eyebrows rose as he turned to face Jason, exhaustion melting away to incredulity. “Um. Only that it celebrates the fact that you exist and that you’re alive and that you’ve managed to stay alive for so many years! And, we of all people - you of all people - have the most to celebrate for the feat of staying alive in spite of everything!”

Jason ignored the backhanded reference to his death and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You certainly didn’t seem to care all that much about your own birthday. You didn’t remind anyone, didn’t ask for a dinner or a party or anything, didn’t even cancel your work meetings or your patrol that night. So what? It’s only important if it’s not your birthday, if it’s not your life?”

Tim blinked then looked away, abashed. The silence stretched but Jason waited, determined to crack through Tim’s self-deprecation on this one. It was one thing that he’d thrown Tim around and talked like he was trash for trying to take his place, back when Jason was in that bad, bad place; and it was one thing that the demon brat had channeled his uncertainty and anxiety over his place in the family into misplaced aggression towards his older brother and predecessor, and repeated attacked him for it, back in the day; but it was another thing entirely that Tim insisted on throwing himself away even after Jason and Damian had both come to appreciate Tim for who he was and what he had to offer as a brother and peer.

He and Damian still had trouble admitting to themselves sometimes how much they admired and respected Tim, and they still gave him shit on a semi-regular basis, if only to hide their shame for how they’d treated him without thinking their actions through, but they appreciated the hell outta him now, so Jason would be damned if he let Tim appreciate himself any less than they did.

Tim fiddled with his gauntlets and shifted his legs restlessly, making Jason think he might try to jump up and run away from the questions - Jason would chase him down if he had to, so help him - but eventually Tim found the words to respond.

“No, it’s not… I don't… Everyone’s life is important, even mine, it’s just not something you’re supposed to make a big deal out of yourself, I think,” Tim explained, looking thoughtful. “I make a big deal out of everyone else’s birthdays, but I don’t make a big deal out of my own because that… it doesn't… I don’t feel like…”

Tim paused to swallow and Jason waited, knowing deep down what Tim was going to say next. “I just feel like it would be really self-centered to call attention to myself instead of letting other people decide if they wanted to remember and celebrate on their own.”

“So, by that logic, how can you really blame me for not making a fuss over my own birthday?” Jason asked, tilting his head towards Tim with a savage grin.

Tim gaped. Jason didn’t often pull out his quiet, rational side, so often it surprised people that he still had one, but he could still keep up with the best of them when he had to - Tim included. After a moment, Tim huffed a laugh and settled back onto the roof.

“Okay, point taken,” Tim conceded with a grin. “However, in that case we should both make a bigger deal out of our birthdays,” he added, surprising Jason. “They’re important. Yeah, other cultures will celebrate different days or celebrate in different ways, but the meaning is the same: we’re alive and we’re stayin’ alive and that means something. That means a lot to people like us.” Tim paused and looked Jason straight in the eye. “It means a lot to me.”

You mean a lot to me was the unspoken takeaway from that and Jason wasn’t sure what to make out of that sentiment. He had beaten this kid bloody, treated him like crap at one time. Things were better now, but he still really couldn’t understand why Tim cared as much as he did.

To be fair, he wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much that Tim beat himself up or didn’t give himself the credit he was due, so maybe there was something worthwhile between them after all.

Sometimes he felt like they both saw something in each other that reminded them of themselves, something that reminded them of who and what they’d always wanted to be. Something that reminded them that for as far as they fell, there were always ways to pick themselves back up again.

So, yeah, maybe there was something small, but meaningful between them, and maybe - just maybe - Tim meant a lot to him, now, too.

—

A week passed after that night and he and Tim ran into each other a few times, but the younger man didn’t bring up Jason’s birthday again.

Not until one quiet night when he showed up on the roof where Jason was taking a break, carrying what looked like a black and red box wrapped clothes box.

“Uhhhh, hey there, babybird. To what do I owe the honor?”

Red Robin approached, pressing the package against his chest with one arm so he could yank down his cowl with the other. He stopped in front of Jason and offered the package to him.

“Happy Birthday, Jay.”

Jason shifted and studied the package. It was roughly twelve by nine inches in size and an impressive three inches deep, and it was covered in black matte paper with shiny red foil bats all over it.

“Where did you get that paper?”

“I made it.”

“What, really?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Yes. It’s not that amazing. Just take the gift already; I swear it’s not a bomb or a trap.”

Jason squinted at Tim appraisingly - teasingly - but reached for the package. The sides of it were firm under his fingers, so he grasped it tightly, but when Tim released his grip, Jason wasn’t prepared for how heavy it would be and he almost dropped the thing.

“Holy fuck, man, what is in this? Lead? Wait, you didn’t get me ammo, did you?” he joked with a grin. “I didn’t think you approved of anything other than the rubber kind.”

Tim shook his head with an abashed smile. “Shut up and open it already.”

Jason slowly peeled back the paper to reveal black cloth and gold embossed letters. Tearing away the rest revealed a book. A huge-ass book. Jason studied the sides of it.

“Holy hell, Babybird, is this a book or a weapon or both…?”

His voice trailed off as he read the shiny title on the cover then whipped the cover open to check the title page.

The Library Shakspeare

Jason was speechless. He looked up at Tim then back down at the book and then flipped through the huge pages numbly. Tim cleared his throat.

“I… Alfred… I did some research and figured out that you really appreciate Shakespeare’s works, so I tracked down a copy of this thing,” Tim explained awkwardly. “It’s all his works, unabridged, everything from his comedies to his sonnets. Everything of import he ever wrote, all in a single volume.”

“With illustrations,” Jason added, staring at an old-style lithograph on one page. Tim choked out a laugh and scratched the back of his head.

“Yeah, with some old crappy-ass pictures. Sorry. I always kind of ignored them in my copy….”

Jason shook his head and looked up at Tim again, stunned. “Man, no, this is awesome! Thank you.” He flipped through the pages again, tugging off one glove so he could run his bare fingers over the creamy smooth paper, stopping at one of the sonnets and mouthing the first familiar lines.

“I don't… I can't… This is amazing, man. Thanks for thinking of me. This is perfect.”

Tim smiled, looking relieved. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it. You went through the effort to give me such meaningful gifts, I really wanted to return the favor.”

Jason scoffed. “I got you a sticker and a bag of marshmallows; that was nothing. This… oh man… this is way better than the little things I got you.”

Tim shrugged. “Yeah, I guess they were small and inexpensive, but they were thoughtful - I don’t even know when or how you found out about the marshmallows - and, well, they made me smile.” Jason looked up in time to catch a small smile lighten Tim’s face as he admitted as much to him. Jason mirrored the expression and repeated his thanks.

“But really; thank you, man. Best birthday gift in a long time.”

Tim jumped, eyes widening. “Oh, shit, hold on I almost forgot the…where’d I…” Jason cocked his head as Tim rifled through his pouches. “Aha! Here.”

Tim offered him a small resealable pouch and Jason opened it warily. “I wasn’t sure what kind you’d like best - I’m more of a coffee person, you know - but Alfred said you had a soft-spot for oolongs and the shop owner said that this was one of the best and…”

Jason lost track of what Tim said after that, he was too consumed by what he discovered when he examined the gift. The foil-lined pouch was filled with loose-leaf oolong, just as Tim had advertised, and the moment he lifted the pouch to take a careful sniff, he was gone. That shop owner hadn’t steered Tim wrong - this was a top quality, classic oolong, and Jason was drowning in the multi-dimensional floral notes, dying in the mellow grassy undertones, and coming back to life again in how light and perfectly balanced the combined fragrance was. If it smelled this good, it had to taste amazing.

“-son? Hey, Jason? Did… did I do okay?”

“Wh-what?” Jason blinked down at Tim, who had backed up a step and looked uncertain as he gestured to the tea. “Is… is it okay?”

Jason stared. “No. It’s not.” Tim’s face fell and he blanched. “Holy shit, babybird, no, it’s not okay, it’s so much better than okay, this has to be the best tea I’ve ever held. Jeez, man, you’re two for two with this gift… jeez… I don’t deserve all of this… you seriously outdid yourself, man.”

Tim blinked then broke out into a relieved laugh. “Got lucky, I guess. I thought it smelled interesting, but most of the credit goes to that tea shop guy. I’ll have to let him know his choice went over well.”

“Dude, jeez, give yourself some fucking credit. This is amazing man - the book, the tea - just… thank you. Really. Thank you, Tim.”

“You’re welcome.”

They lapsed into an uncertain silence after that, Jason sealing up the tea carefully and pulling out cord to bind the book closed for the trip home. Tim edged towards the lip of the roof as if he was thinking of taking off immediately now that his objective had been achieved.

“Hey, why don’t you-” Jason started at the same time Tim said “Well, I should really-”

They laughed. “You first,” Tim offered, pulling up his cowl at the same time he pulled out his grapple.

“Tonight’s been pretty slow, and I know you’re not a fan, but you should really try this tea,” Jason suggested. “One sip and you’ll understand how you really knocked it out of the park with this one. I’ve got a place nearby that I was gonna head back to soon, anyway; you should come over and we can try it out.”

Red Robin shifted uncertainly. “Are you sure?” This was the first time he had invited Tim to any of his safehouses, Jason realized, but screw it, Tim probably knew about most of them anyway - he’d already proven he knew about Tim’s when he gave him belated birthday gifts two months ago - and if they were at the stage where Tim cared enough to track him down after over a month to give him gifts of Shakespeare and tea that was worth more than its weight in silver, then it was way past time to give Tim the chance to prove he could be trusted in Jason’s home space.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Red Robin still looked uncomfortable, the lines of his body tense and his mouth downturned under the blank stare of his cowl. “I mean, I do have a few things I should follow up on anyway, so maybe…”

“You know what would probably taste like fucking heaven with this tea?” Jason cut in, sending Red a wink as he set down the book so he could get his hood on again. “Marshmallows. Really, Red, we gotta try it; you gotta try it with me. We can run by the mini-mart on the corner and pick up a bag of jumbo-puffed right now. Whaddya say?”

Red paused, then laughed out loud. Jason relaxed as he watched the tension bleed out of Red’s shoulders with the laughter. “Okay, you got me, now I gotta know what that tastes like. Let’s do it,” Red answered with a grin. He turned to face the street. “Lead the way.”

Red Hood pulled out his own grapple with one hand, balanced his new precious book in the other, and stepped up beside Red Robin, lining up his shot. “Try to keep up, Little Red.”

“Will do, Cinnamon-flavored Chewing Gum.”

Jason laughed and together they flew off into the night.

#my writing #christmasriverswrites #mine #jason and tim #jaytim #happy birthday jason #pre-relationship #the beginning of a long series... maybe #slow burn #bad jokes #there are always bad jokes #puns #long text post #long post #stupid read mores have been so stupid on mobile lately #fuck that

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