Damian: "Red Hood has a pretty severe concussion. What do I do?"
Tim: "Extraction's still ten minutes out, just keep him talking."
Damian, urgently pressing the comm: "I don't want to talk to him, he's even more insufferable than usual."
Jason, lying on the ground, eyes closed: "That's funny Junior, because head trauma's the only thing that makes you bearable."
Damian, to Tim: "I'm leaving. It won't be the first time we've had a closed casket."
Tim, groaning disgustedly: "Robin--ugh, seriously, just stay there and keep him awake."
Damian, seething even more when he sees Jason's smirk: "Fine."
Jason, cracking open one eye: "Aww, are you concerned about me?"
Damian: "Shut up. The only thing I'm concerned about is our family's reputation after your public wipeout on that stupid motorcycle."
Jason:
Damian: "Are you still awake?" *kicks him* "Todd?"
Jason, grinning: "You said our family."
Damian, furious: "I didn't. You've lost more brain cells than you could afford."
Jason: "Wait 'till Tim hears, I think he'll want a group hug. Bruce is probably going to get emotionally constipated. Dickie would probably cry--"
Damian, panicking as he hears the Batmobile get closer: "Stop. Do not tell him--"
Jason: "You better erase every single fucking video of me crashing then."
Damian: "You have a deal."
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haiii i drew regimen :3 link to fic below 🔥
i haven’t finished it; no spoilers please.
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Despite his best efforts to be silent, Will wakes up as soon as Nico opens the door.
“Neeks?” he mumbles, squinting at the sliver of light bleeding into the bedroom. Nico hurries to close the door behind him, padding forward to the bed and dropping a kiss onto Will’s hair.
“Yeah, baby.”
Will sighs, curling up, leaning into Nico’s touch. “Good.”
Nico feels his tired eyes follow him as he putters quietly around the room, hanging his sword and his jacket, shucking off his torn jeans, tossing his shirt in a corner somewhere.
“Y’hurt?”
Nico smiles. He loves the heavy drawl of Will’s y’s that he gets when he’s sleepy or passionate, as much as he teases. It always makes him fluttery, makes the hairs on the back of his arms stand up.
“No.”
“Promise?”
Nico digs around until he finds a pair of Will’s flannel pyjama pants, tugging them on and rolling the waistband until he can wear them without tripping. He doesn’t bother with a shirt.
“Yes.”
“C’mere.” The blankets shift and whisper as Will peels them slightly back, lifting his arms around the empty space next to him. “Can practic’ly see ya shiverin’. Y’r g’na turn blue inna min’t.”
Nico can’t stop a giggle. He curls into Will’s hold, pressing a kiss to the sun on his chest and muttering something about cowboys and bull-wranglers. He’s well-used to the playfully stern pinch Will nicks on the curve of his thigh, and snickers more.
“Y’r not funny.”
“Y’r’n’funny,” Nico mocks, exaggerated. He clears his throat, and says with exaggerated deepness: “Y’ain’t from ‘round these here pards, pardner.”
Will pinches him again, but does nothing to hide the curve of his smile as he presses a kiss to Nico’s neck, his bare shoulder.
“M’gonna bite you.”
“Y’would’nt —”
Will does bite him, and Nico smacks him in revenge, although he doesn’t really care. If anything he kind of relishes it.
“Freak,” Will says fondly, knowing exactly what Nico’s thinking. He drags his head up to press a long, lingering kiss to Nico’s cheek. “Sleep. Warm up. Talk in the mornin’.”
“Mornin’,” Nico mocks tiredly, but settles in too, presses a last kiss to Will’s jaw before settling against him, breaths evening out to join him in dreamland.
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