Gotham's high-society weddings were supposed to be dignified affairs.

Keyword: supposed to.

Because right now, you were two seconds away from snorting champagne out your nose while Jason Todd—your personal agent of chaos—leaned in with the subtlety of a grenade in a confessional.

Barbara's wedding was beautiful. The cathedral was all soft light and flowers, Gordon was crying already, and Richard looked so proud at the altar you could almost ignore Jason.

Almost.

Jason's breath was warm against your ear, his voice dripping with faux sincerity as he gestured to the groom.

"She's gonna regret marrying a man with a penis name. I'm sure of it."

You bit your lip so hard you almost tasted blood, clutching his arm for balance "You cannot make me laugh at Barbara's wedding—" But he is not even trying to hide his grin.

"Too late. Also, hypothetical—what're we gonna do if the bouquet magically lands on you?"

His smirk was illegal. His eyes? Dangerous.

"Burn it"

"Rude. What if I catch the garter?" He responds with a fake gasp.