#goingtoastal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gilbirda · 2 years

Text

Dance with me?

DPxBatman crossover. Jazz/Jason pairing. Background BatCat

Two strangers meet at a Wayne charity gala to raise funds for the Arkham Asylum Reform project. What they don't know is that they have much more in common than they think.

“That’s it? One dance? It doesn’t seem that difficult.” He glared at her. “Why, you don’t dance?”

“Not if I can help it.” He grumbled with distaste.

“Why not? Not handsome enough to tempt you, Mr. Darcy?”

NOW WITH SEQUEL -> Can we keep her?

NOW WITH ART!!!!: - Art by @impyssadobsessions: The window jump scene + how Jazz looks after parkouring and kissing - Art by @goingtoast: The strangers at the food table + running barefoot holding hands like teenagers running away

[Read on AO3] [Read on FF.net]

Jazz looks like this for the whole story (thank you @impyssadobsessions for letting me use the design!)

----

"’Come to the gala’, they said," Jazz grumbled under her breath, shoving another fancy canapé into her mouth, "’it'll be fun’, they said."

Fun, my ass, she thought. This was not fun, this was torture. Now she understood why Sam actively tried to avoid these things. Jazz was woman enough to accept the other girl was right and she had been a fool for thinking it couldn't be that bad.

Curse the Fenton bad luck. She jinxed herself when she said those exact words.

"Being legally alive is so not worth this." A voice grumbled beside her. She turned, finding a young man stuffing food into his mouth at the same pace as her.

She snorted. That's something that Danny would say. Maybe if he were here it would be a better experience, but she was requested to come alone.

Her reaction made the stranger turn and look at her, blinking as he noticed her presence for the first time. His eyes did a sweep of her in a not creepy way (thank the Ancients, if one more person did that tonight she was going to put the silverware to good use). The way he looked at her was analyzing, calculating. Cautious.

"You are not from here."

If he hadn't clearly discarded his tie already and hadn't talked with the mouth full of tiny food, she would have felt offended — one would interpret his comment as that she didn't belong around rich folks and high society. Which, she didn't, but it was still rude to say.

"I am not."

He chewed the food slowly and swallowed. "Should I know you?"

"I would remember if you did. I’m a therapist at Arkham." She extended her hand for a handshake, but the man only looked at her with an incredulous expression.

"You have to be mad to work there."

Jazz rolled her eyes and withdrew her hand. What a rude man. "And you are so unoriginal by telling me that."

This, for some reason, made him chuckle. He relaxed, as if she passed some kind of test. The stranger smiled and went back to consider what next pretentious tiny food he could stuff his face with.

Jazz took the chance to seize the man. Young, early to mid twenties, really fit, with broad shoulders. And tall. Even in her ridiculous five inch heels he was still maybe a head towering over her. Despite his size, he was dressed properly for the event, sans the tie (she didn’t blame him), and his hair was gelled back in a style she had seen at least five dudes have so far in the event, but his unruly curls were already sticking out of the gel.

What her eyes were stuck on, though, was the white stripe. It looked out of place. Not dyed, though — she knew what dyed white hair looked like. Of course he could have vitiligo manifested in a mismatched hair color, or a type of albinism or—

Calm down, Jazz. Not everything is about ghosts.

She left that life behind, kind of, when she moved to Gotham, chasing her dream to become the best at criminal behavior and rehabilitation into society. She was not a ghost hunter anymore. And white hair didn’t mean ‘ghost’.

“Take a photo, it’ll last longer.”

“Sorry,” she said, “it’s just…” She didn’t know what to say.

“Hm. It’s the white hair, right?” He shrugged, apparently deciding that he had scavenged enough food. He was tense about the hair thing, she noticed, but he hid it well. “People get caught up in that a lot since I came back.”

“Came back?”

A muscle in his jaw tensed. She knew she was about to be lied to, and she didn’t mind (it was, after all, none of her business); but she was amazed at how this man knew how to control his expressions so well.

“Yeah, I was involved in an accident overseas and I was presumed dead for a while.” The way he shrugged was completely different from how he did a minute ago. “These aristocracy-wannabe pricks get caught up on that a lot despite having been a long time ago.”

Presumed dead for a while.

Jazz could feel dormant instincts come back to the surface.

“I have noticed that you don’t like being here.” She changed the topic. Despite wanting to know everything about that little comment, she was aware that this was not a patient she could study and diagnose. Behave, Jasmine.

“Gee, what gave it away?” He deadpanned, turning to look at the people dressed to the nines mingling and talking and laughing. Jazz didn’t need to be a psychiatrist to know many of those were faked.

She turned to look as well. Of course she couldn’t find Marcel, her boss, who had insisted she came to the gala, in the sea of bodies.

“Then why come at all?”

“I was forced to.”

She hummed in solidarity, eyes still on the room. It was nice, this quiet company. “Are you going to hide at the food table the whole night, then?”

“Are you?” She turned, finding him looking at her already. “Or is that dress bait to snatch one of the rich pricks in the room?”

“Why would I be hiding if I wanted to “snatch one of the rich pricks” here?”

“They like the challenge, I guess,” he looked back at the people and the noise. “They don’t want girls who ‘make it easy’.”

“That’s… a very incel and misogynistic way of thinking.”

The stranger snorted and choked on a laugh. “Welcome to Gotham’s high society.” He made a wide gesture towards the room. “It’s disgusting, but it’s not like I can kill every dude that thinks that way.” He rolled his eyes before murmuring against the collar of his jacket: “Not for lack of trying.”

This made her chuckle. She wasn’t supposed to hear that. She guessed that prolonged ecto contamination was useful for something after all.

“So… Who are you hiding from? The person that forced you to come?” She knew it was wrong to poke a total stranger, but she was invested now.

The man scoffed. “My father. He thinks that what I need to ‘calm down’ is settle down with a good girl.” He twisted his mouth in distaste.

Ah. “And you don’t like women?” She ventured, ignoring the slight pinch in her chest. Not that she had a desire to be romantically involved with this man — or the time for romance, altogether.

“No, no, I like women alright, and even if I didn't that wouldn’t be the issue. It’s just — I’m not going to marry someone just because my father wants to.”

“So, any boyfriends yet, Jazzy-pants?”

“We are just worried, you are getting older and we don’t want you to be alone.”

She shook away the memories of her parents’ words from her last visit. She knew they came from a good place, but still, it was heartbreaking that they asked about that and not about her work at Arkham — she had busted her ass making the reform plans and contacting benefactors and striking deals to get what she wanted, but she was still “just a shrink” in her parents’ eyes. They were brilliant scientists, but their bias against the study of the mind was painful.

“Yeah,” she finally said, looking away from the beautiful people and how paired up most of them were. “I think I get you.”

He whistled. “That sounded charged. Wanna talk about it?” The stranger stopped a waiter passing by and took two champagne glasses, extending one for her.

To hell with everything. She took it.

“My parents believe that I’m wasting my life doing what I love — they were proud of me until they learned that I wanted to dedicate my life to criminal psychology and treatment.”

“They resent you or something?” An emotion glinted in his eyes when he took a sip of the bubbly drink.

“No. They are not against it. But they don’t ask about it either.”

He hummed, thinking. “And you dance around trivial topics until an argument breaks out?”

She lifted an eyebrow. He sounded like he talked from experience. “We don’t get into an argument, usually because they get distracted by their own work and talk about it instead.” She let the bitterness bleed into her voice, glad about the anonymity of talking to a stranger.

“Touchy subject, huh?”

“You have no idea, pal.”

They stayed in companionable silence, siping their drinks and getting lost in their memories. She sneaked a glance at the stranger, jumping when she caught him looking at her. Both turned to look at the room.

She could always blame the red on her cheeks on the alcohol.

“My father thinks I’m too violent.” He said, continuing the conversation with a soft voice. “After I came back from… abroad,” his mouth twisted, cementing her theory that he had, indeed, died and came back somehow, “he tried his best to deny I had changed, that my objectives and methods had changed.”

Obsessions, she realized. He came back with an obsession.

“And now?”

His eyes went back to her. If she were another person she would have dismissed the green shine in his blue eyes as a trick of the light. Instead, she smiled broadly at the familiarity.

“Now he should be glad we are on speaking terms.” He placed the empty champagne glass on the food table. “And he uses that opportunity to try and introduce me to some rich girl he swears is ‘super nice’ and could ‘tame me’.” He did the air quotes and everything.

“Seriously?” She giggled at the face he made.

“Well, he didn’t say it like that,” he admitted with a chuckle. “But the intention was implicit.”

“And she’s not that nice or something?”

“I don’t care how she is,” the stranger scoffed, “she could be a saint, for all I care. But that doesn’t change the fact that I hate the idea of starting a relationship with someone just because they could ‘calm me down’ or ‘fix me’.”

Jazz drowned down the rest of her drink and left the glass on the table in a movement to hide the expression on her face. She was sure her face was visibly red now, damn her pale skin.

She cleared her throat. “That’s… very wise of you.”

“I think it should be the bare minimum. I mean, it’s not rocket science,” he crossed his muscular arms over his chest. She was looking very politely at the way the fabric of the suit did little to hide his powerful biceps. “Hoping that someone will fix you when entering a relationship with them will only end in disaster.”

She didn’t know what was that made her heart beat faster; his words, or the way his frown and pout made him look more handsome instead of intimidating.

“That’s why you are hiding?”

“I’m hiding because I promised to dance with her in exchange of being left alone.”

“That’s it? One dance? It doesn’t seem that difficult.” He glared at her. “Why, you don’t dance?”

“Not if I can help it.” He grumbled with distaste.

“Why not? Not handsome enough to tempt you, Mr. Darcy?” The words were out before she could stop them. He was so grumpy it was a logical association.

This made him laugh. She liked how he laughed, with all his body and from deep in the chest. He uncrossed his arms.

“That was something I didn’t expect to hear today. Are you a fan of Austen?”

“I do enjoy her books. Pride and Prejudice holds a special place in my heart, though.”

His smile at her words did weird things to her heart. She was sure her cheeks were permanently red now, but she stopped caring about it.

“You have good taste.” He said, the smile turning into a smirk. He extended his hand for her to shake. His palms were warm and rough to the touch. “Also I think I haven’t introduced myself, I’m—”

“JASON!” A voice cut through their bubble.

Both turned, finding a young man, maybe a bit older than her stranger, angrily stomping his way towards them. There was a certain resemblance, blue eyes and black hair, and Jazz wondered if they were siblings.

“Uh, gotta bounce.” The stranger (Jason?) smiled wider, shook her hand once, and hastily ran away from the food table.

Jazz stood there shocked into silence, watching the other man chase after him, his face flushed and his perfectly styled hair completely ruined.

***

Jason had finally found a good place to hide by the time Bruce had to go give a speech or some shit, he didn’t care that much about the goal of the charity gala to be perfectly honest. It was never about the good causes and Bruce used these to keep up the appearances, so it was frivolous in every way.

The good thing is that since everyone had to stop chasing after him for the speech, they’ll need to start all over again with the search, giving him enough time to find another good hiding spot. Although he lamented the loss of the food table.

And the company.

He didn’t get her name, but the chick was nice to talk to. It was cool to not be judged because of his humble origins, pitied for his little accident abroad, or seen as prey to climb the social ladder in Gotham. Women always tried first with his brothers, but resorted to him when they got rebuffed, and it was annoying as hell to say the least.

Whatever. He would probably never see her again — she was so out of place that he knew she wasn’t usually invited to galas like these. Maybe she was part of the charity people? He could get the guest list and try investigate his way into finding out her name—

He was being ridiculous. He could just ask her name. He just needed to brave his way into the ballroom and search for her, while evading Bruce and the others trying to make him dance with some random rich girl he had no interest in meeting. Easy.

Jason grumbled his way back to the room the gala was held in, sneaking into shadowy corners and keeping one eye open for nosy siblings.

“— and lastly, I would like everyone to give a big applause to the powerhouse behind the project. Without her, this couldn’t be happening today; this gala, this new future, this next step for Gotham.” Jason turned to watch Bruce smiling at the public, one hand gesturing towards someone he couldn’t quite see with people in the way. “A big thank you from the bottom of my heart, Jasmine Fenton.”

The crowd applauded politely, as usual, people whispering among themselves about the new person. If he focused, he knew he would hear a wide range of nasty rumors and slander about her, but Jason wasn’t capable of hearing them.

Because the person that walked up to the podium with a nervous smile and familiar red cheeks, was his stranger from the food table.

Jasmine? Yes, that was her name.

She seemed terrified but hid it well, her steps making the skirt of her deep green dress flow like water, showing the side slits that teased the smooth skin of her legs. The lights on the stand reflected against her clothes and jewelry, the soft shimmer of the green fabric making her look like she was wearing tiny stars, the armband on her left arm and the golden necklace catching his eye as she gingerly put one hand on the podium, probably to ground herself.

Jason gave up hiding and stayed for her speech.

“Um,” she winced at the feedback of the microphone. A woman next to Jason giggled mockingly. “Thank you for this big opportunity, Mr. Wayne.” She nodded at Bruce. “We, and I mean the whole staff at Arkham Asylum, believe there is a real chance at new life, at a new future, for our patients. Even for those that tend to cause trouble, there is a way. With the Reform Project, we hope to break the stigma and transform Arkham into a place of hope.” She smiled nervously. Someone coughed a laugh in the public. “Once again thank you for the support and have a nice rest of the evening.”

There was some more dispassionate clapping. Fucking rich bastards.

He kept his eye on her as she all but ran down the stand and away from the eyes of the people that clearly didn’t believe in her vision but thought it would be good for their image to throw money at it. Well, fuck that.

He ran after her, struggling to keep up despite remembering she had some heels that looked uncomfortable to run with. He thought he heard Dick scream his name for a bit, but after he shut the ballroom door and started checking all the balconies in that floor, he had forgotten about his original objective of hiding from his siblings and Bruce.

He found her in balcony number four. Crying.

“Hey.” He said.

She jumped, quickly trying to wipe the tears gathered in her eyes. “Hello, stranger.” She tried to smile. “Hiding from your father again?”

Jason shook his head and caught the hand that was rubbing her eye. “You are going to mess with your makeup.”

“Oh shit, I forgot I was wearing any. Is it bad?”

He walked closer, grabbing her chin with the excuse of examining her makeup from all the angles. She was prettier up close, and he noticed the gold and green earrings framing her face, very visible since her hair was up in an elaborate bun. He knew how to braid hair and he knew that the braids going down the side of her head and around the bun weren’t that easy to pull off and look professional.

She had dedicated time to look good. She had worn makeup, which was something she didn’t usually do. For this gala. For the ungrateful bastards that laughed at her.

“You look fine.” He finally said, letting her go. “Nice speech, though. Didn’t know the Arkham Reform thing was yours.”

She looked like he had punched her in the gut, but tried to hide it quickly.

“You can laugh if you want. I know it is ridiculous.”

“I’m not laughing. If it were for me I’d burn down the place, but that doesn’t mean I think it’s stupid to believe in making it better.”

She giggled. Ah. That was better.

“Burn it down? Well, thank you for wanting to make me jobless.”

“I mean, I won’t do it now that I know you work there. Not that I have the means to commit arson or anything.” He wiggled his eyebrows, making it obvious that he could indeed commit arson. She found this funny.

“Oh, believe me, I would help you burn the whole thing down. Some days it’s the only thing I can think about.” Her smile was mischievous.

“I’ll call you if I ever decide to do it.”

She squeezed the hand that was still holding hers. He had forgotten about that, but now he didn’t want to let go.

“Thank you.” She said, voice soft. Somewhere, someone opened a door and the music from the gala leaked into their little moment at the balcony. “I needed the distraction.”

“You didn’t look so hot for a second there.”

“It’s the anxiety,” she nodded, “I hate speaking in front of a crowd.”

He made a face, squeezing her hand in solidarity. “That sucks.”

“It does. It’s the crowds, though — I usually can deal with people alright, I’m actually interested in therapy — but since I presented my proposal for the Reform my boss decided that I had to take care of everything, and I mean everything. Funding, support, convincing the patients to collaborate. Everything.”

“That doesn’t sound fair.”

“Marcel only took interest in me after I managed to get Bruce Wayne’s support. When he got onboard, he made it sound like it had been his idea all along! Can you imagine the nerve of this bitch?” She huffed. “Actually I was surprised that Mr. Wayne called me to talk back there, I assumed he bought the bullshit that I was an assistant that my boss had been feeding him.”

Huh. Of course Bruce would know what was going on, he wasn’t stupid to believe that the current Asylum director was suddenly really into reforming the place. It had to be someone from outside Gotham the one that seriously embarked into fixing the Asylum.

Also, quick question, what kind of life this cinnamon roll had to look at Arkham and go “this is the place I’m going to pour my body and soul into”?

He asked her that exactly. She laughed so hard that more tears started falling from her eyes, the hand that was free now placed on his shoulder for balance as she wobbled on her heels.

When she stopped laughing, she smiled up at him, her mascara running a little from the crying. He wiped it with his thumb, letting his hand stay cupping her face once he was done.

“Heh.” She calmed down, still giggling a little. “Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy?”

He couldn’t help it. He leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips, enjoying when she giggled against him.

“What was that for, stranger?” She tried to keep a calm demeanor, but her cheeks were fierce red, betraying her emotions.

He licked his lips. Her lipstick was cherry flavored.

“Wouldn’t you want to kiss a pretty girl illuminated under such beautiful moonlight?”

“Very poetic, mister.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Do you wax the same poetry to every girl you kiss?”

“Why would I?”

“To drive them away, maybe.”

“I thought poetry was the food of love.” He saw the moment she caught on his words, because she smirked.

“Of a fine stout love, it may. But if it is only a vague inclination, I’m convinced one poor sonnet will kill it stone dead.”

He was delighted when she followed his lead. “So what do you recommend to encourage affection?”

She took the hand on her face and guided it towards her waist. “Dancing.” She whispered, letting the soft music coming from the gala weave with her words. “Even if one’s partner is barely tolerable.”

Both snickered at the absurdity of the moment, but started swinging to the music nonetheless. Every time their eyes crossed paths, they started laughing again. It was simple, it was calm, and most importantly, Bruce wouldn’t find them. He felt like he could relax for the first time since the whole gala started.

It was when the song was ending, that Jasmine placed her head on his chest and sighed. He was positive she could hear his heart beating faster, but neither commented on it.

“So you are the Jason Todd?” She asked softly. He hummed in response, but didn‘t know where she was going with this. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you really died, didn’t you?”

He tensed, all relaxation gone from his body. She let him step back away from her, smiling softly when his eyes assessed her like she was a threat.

“I don’t know what you are—”

“My brother died too.” She looked down at their still joined hands. He couldn’t let her go, despite everything. “He came back different. I also— I mean. I am…”

She lifted her head, looking at him with Lazarus Pit green eyes.

He frowned. “Who are you and who sent you.” He wasn’t asking.

Jasmine tilted her head. “My name is Jasmine Fenton. My parents, Madeline and Jackson Fenton, have dedicated their whole lives to the study of the afterlife. My brother and I simply paid the price.”

His heart beat fast, but for a completely different reason than before. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I feel like you also paid a price, and I wanted to let you know that I know.”

He looked down at the hand gripping hers. He angled his fingers so he could place them over her pulse. Although slower than normal, it was steady. She was telling the truth.

“Why?”

She blushed and looked away. “I like… I enjoyed spending time with you. I hope I didn’t read you wrong, but I think you enjoyed it too. I didn’t want to start anything on a lie.”

That was… noble. And sensible. If she ended up telling him later, or worse, if he found out on his own, he would have been devastated.

“I have no idea of the circumstances around your death, and I won’t ask. I hope you do the same about my brother.”

He watched as she slowly closed in on herself, the smiles and radiance he had seen before freezing into a contained steel. This girl had seen serious stuff, probably had done some herself.

“You didn’t die? Just curious.” Jason kept his voice soft and light. If she wanted to deflect the question, he would accept it.

“Something else happened to me.” She shook her head. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

One day.

“That means you want to stick around?”

She saw his question as what it was and accepted the olive branch. “Why? You don’t want to keep dancing?”

“Actually—”

His stomach growled. Damn stupid little food at the stupid fancy gala. Stupid siblings making him run around and get hungry so quickly.

“— maybe we could ditch this whole thing and go get dinner?”

Jasmine seemed delighted. “Ancients, yes. I was about to resort to cannibalism.”

As if on cue, her stomach growled as well. He snorted and both started to laugh again, all tension forgotten.

“How can we get out of here without stumbling into the people looking for us?”

He hummed. “I know a way. Follow me.”

Both ran back into the manor, hand in hand, giggling and sneaking around like teenagers, Jasmine ditching the heels somewhere along the way.

Once they got to Bruce’s studio, Jason ignored the grandfather clock that was the secret entrance to the Cave and beelined to the balcony attached to the room. From there it was easy to jump to a nearby tree and climb down to freedom.

Ah, but—

“Can you do it with that thing on?”

Jasmine’s eyes analyzed the route, catching on his plan. At his question, she smirked and gathered her skirt with the hand that didn’t hold her heels. She lifted the skirt up and up, and Jason was about to look away when he saw why exactly she was doing this: she wore shorts under the dress.

Jason felt his heart skip a bit in his chest.

“Let’s go.”

He did the jump flawlessly, like it hadn’t passed any time since he was a kid and snuck out of the mansion thinking that Bruce or Alfred wouldn’t notice. Of course they did, and they always found him.

He heard the first heel land beside him, and turned in time to catch the other shoe when she threw it in his general direction.

She gathered her skirts better, tied it on her side and jumped to the tree branch, swinging her body to stand on it with a practiced move, making him wonder again what kind of life she had led. Then, she gracefully jumped to the lower branch and from there jumped to the ground, bending her knees perfectly to cushion the impact.

He watched her as she brushed her hands over her dress and her jewelry, checking that everything was still in place. Her hair, sadly, had started to fall off its neat bun.

She clicked her tongue, a bit annoyed, but lifted a hand to free her red locks from the bun, sighing once they started to flow back down her naked back.

He helped her pick out the pins and hair ties that had held the whole thing in place, running his fingers through the silky texture and the braids, enjoying how easily it flowed in his hands.

Jason noticed she was shivering a bit.

“Cold?”

“A bit.” She pushed her now free hair behind her ears. “I guess the backless dress was a bad idea in the middle of November.”

He shed his suit jacket before he chickened out and helped her put it on.

“Thanks.” Jasmine said as she folded the long sleeves so her hands were free. She looked up, giving him a confused smile when he didn’t say anything in response.

He couldn’t. Her dress kept sparkling under the moonlight despite being a bit stained and hastily tied around her hips; she was barefoot, her complicated hairdo ruined and tangled under his jacket that was too big on her slim body; and her makeup smudged from crying before in their little moment at the balcony.

She was the most beautiful thing he had seen.

He lunged, one hand already buried in her hair and the other on her waist, his lips on hers so he could taste the cherry lipstick once again. She made a sound in surprise, and he almost withdrew completely, if she didn’t lift her hands and grabbed his shirt to pull him closer.

She let him push her until her back was against the tree trunk, and he was glad that he gave her the jacket or she would have been uncomfortable.

When they parted, both refused to let go. Their eyes met briefly, hers were green and glowing and he was sure that his were the same. He felt accelerated, his mind scrambled and all over the place, but he felt in control. He felt—

Jasmine’s hand went to his hair, grabbing his curls and pulling his mouth against hers once again, moaning a little as if she wasn’t aware that she did it at all, her teeth softly biting his lower lip and asking permission to deepen the kiss.

Once he opened his mouth for her she had a field day with him, her tongue finding his quickly, another moan getting lost in their kiss. She was ravenous but gentle, letting him chances to stop her anytime he felt like she did something he didn’t want. He felt so wanted just from this kiss alone, and Jason wondered what else she could make him feel.

Her stomach grumbled, asking for attention.

Their chuckles started in the kiss but continued after they parted, her head falling to his chest as she tried to muffle her laugh.

“So…”

“Dinner?” He kissed the top of her head, still giggling.

“Please.”

“Let’s go, my bike is hidden somewhere close.”

She looked at him. “Bike?”

“Are you scared of motorcycles?” He lifted an eyebrow.

Jasmine shook her head. “I had a boyfriend that had a motorcycle and it was like his whole personality. My brother hated him with passion. He will chew my ear off if he learns about this.”

“Oh? We are already talking about exes?”

She blushed, leaning down to pick up her fallen shoe from the ground. “Why, wanna be my boyfriend or something?”

It was his time to blush. “Uh…”

“It’s okay,” she grabbed his hand, “we can talk about it over dinner and reach an agreement, Jason.”

“Call me Jay. And I would like to discuss your terms and conditions, Jasmine.”

She stood on the tip of her toes and yet he had to lean down for her to kiss him softly on the lips. There was still a bit of the cherry lipstick taste on them.

“Call me Jazz, then.”

***

“Aren’t you gonna stop him?”

“Hm,” Bruce said, glancing down at the pair clearly running away from the gala.

He had texted the others a while ago that he had found Jason, but opted for not explaining exactly where he was or what he was doing. There was something in the way he looked at the redhead girl, Jasmine, that made him want to cover for his second eldest.

“You are such a softie, Brucie boy.” Selina softly slapped his shoulder. “And a romantic.”

“I haven’t heard him laugh in ages, Selina.”

Her smile was sad as she held his face between her hands. His eyes went back to his son leaning down to kiss one of Arkham’s most promising psychiatrists. He had mixed feelings about the blooming relationship, but he didn’t want to risk losing Jason again after finally getting him to join family stuff again.

“Is this a good idea?” He finally looked into his girlfriend’s eyes.

“Did you see how she jumped from the tree? She could be a great thief if she wanted.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“What I meant to say is she fits this family perfectly. Vigilantes and cat burglars included. Yeah, I think it’ll be fine.” She softly placed her lips on Bruce's, distracting him from looking from their vantage point at the pair getting on the bike and riding away. “In fact, she already stole the poor boy’s heart, so I’d say she’s on her way to a plentiful career as my successor.”

This made him chuckle.

“Don’t tempt fate, woman.”

“I mean, I can train her. Hmm, I think I like the idea.” She kissed him again. “Another cat and a bat chasing each other over the rooftops of Gotham. So romantic.” She whispered against his lips.

“I think your idea of romance is kind of skewered.” He said, amused.

“But I managed to snatch you, so it worked.”

Both giggled softly, letting the floating music and the moonlight accompany them as they contemplated the changes that would come to the family after tonight.

Bruce could already feel the incoming headache just thinking about it.

---

Back to Main Archive

Back to Danny Phantom Archive

Do you like my stuff? Buy me a Ko-fi!

#jazz fenton #jazz x jason #jazz/jason #writeblr #gil writes #fanfic #fanfiction #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #anger management ship #batpham

398 notes · View notes