tw: 18+, Just terrible decision making from both sides.
He thought these types of engagements were for emotionally underdeveloped fools, too afraid of their own feelings to address them.
Imagine how stupid he felt every time he woke up next to you.
Damian suppresses a groan, shuffling away from your body, ignoring the cold feeling returning to him without your warmth. He stares up at the ceiling, trying not to think about how he got into this arrangement with you or what this even is.
You weren't even friends, you're Leslie Thompson’s little prodigy, he's supposed to go to you for injuries, not friendship, and definitely not whatever this is. Then again, there are definitely benefits.
It started a few months ago, he came to you and you fixed him up like you had a few times before because that's your job. You had such a gentle touch, your deft hands patching up the wound on his waist. He stayed quiet like he always did but he couldn't take his eyes off your hands while they worked.
Maybe he was particularly lonely that night, sprinting across roof tops and punching bad guys instead of going out on dates or hanging out with friends like young men his age were supposed to. Maybe it was the way you touched him so gently, in a way he rarely ever gets to feel. Maybe it was the adrenaline still pumping in his veins, he doesn't know but you definitely noticed the growing tent in his pants while you worked.
You should've ignored it. You should've acted like the professional Leslie wanted you to be. But maybe you were touch starved too. Maybe you just wanted to touch skin that wasn't bruised or bleeding for once, from someone who actually desired to be touched.
When you were finished cleaning him up, you knelt down next to where he laid out on your couch. You said nothing for a moment, just sat there, pretending to clean your already washed hands, before slowly reaching out to fix the ruffled spandex covering his waist. When he didn't pull away, you ventured lower, tracing your fingers along the waistband of his pants, his utility belt long discarded.
“I can help you."
Is all you said, just those four words were enough for him to crack. He tried to keep his breathing even and keep his gaze to the ceiling of your shitty apartment. You lightly played with the faint happy trail just barely peaking out from his waistline, patiently waiting for him to make a decision. His hand grabbed yours and kept it there, thinking over what a bad decision this was before giving in and bringing your palm down to cover his bulge.
With this permission, you slowly started unbuckling his pants. He lifts his hips a little to help you bring his pants and boxers down, still keeping his gaze on the ceiling. He takes his hand off yours and brings it through his hair, lightly pulling at the roots to keep himself grounded and he's happy he did because he almost moaned out loud when you took him in your mouth without any warning.
He placed his hand on the back of your head, not pushing but just for a single sense of control. The warmth of your mouth, the velvety texture of your tongue grazing his shaft at the slow pace you set, he tried to keep his breathing level but even decades worth of training couldn't save him.
He managed to keep some of his dignity...but not much. It didn't take long for him to get worked up to his climax, not when you coaxed him there so gently, working him with your mouth and hand together in a sinful rhythm.
His breath hitched as he struggled to stay quiet, his hips bucking gently as he came in your mouth. You took everything he had, bobbing your head and pumping him until he was spent. You even cleaned him up after, rather professionally, pulling up his pants and watching curiously as his chest moved up and down with deep breaths.
“You know the rules. Be gone by morning."
You patted his thigh and left him there for the night, just like every other time you'd fixed him up. Except it was very different from all those other times and it would never be the same again.
Damian sighs heavily as the memory flashes in his mind, he hates how the scent of you fills his lungs with every breath. He inches his arm out from under you, shuffling off the bed as quiet as a well trained assassin should be. You stir just a little and he tries to avert his eyes from your body, covered only by your comfy, cotton underwear. A body he now knows better than any other. Despite his efforts he catches the faint love bites he left on your collarbone and he wonders if you'll look in the mirror in the morning and hate them, hate him for leaving them there.
He quietly sneaks around the room, getting ready to slip out the window like always. He tries so hard to not think about what would happen if he stayed, if you woke up in his arms tomorrow morning. Maybe you wouldn't hate it, maybe he could convince you to lie with him a little longer, maybe you'd let him kiss you sweetly and make you breakfast and-
Damian runs a hand through his hair as if to shoo the thoughts away. He slips his shirt and pants on, cursing himself for how he could've possibly ended up here.
He was wounded so you treated him. He needed attention so you gave it to him.
He was the one who egged it on, it's all his fault and he knows it.
A week after that first time, he showed up again with a cut on his shoulder. A cut he could very well stitch himself but you kindly didn't bring that up.
Sitting next to him on your couch, you worked on the few stitches while trying to avoid looking at his face, or his bicep, or his chest, or his hands.
The tension was thick and wasn't thinning so Damian tried to man up and just ask,
“About last time-" but you cut him off, voice as monotone as it always is.
“I shouldn't have done that. It was unprofessional."
You snip the last stitch and spring up from the couch, packing your medical supplies back into your box on the kitchen counter.
Damian wrings his hands before standing up and slowly stepping behind you, he places his hands on either side of you, enclosing you between him and the table.
“I have to repay you."
He says lowly, lips a hairs breath from the nape of your neck. You feebly shake your head but make no move to pull away from him. He takes great pleasure watching the way your skin prickles under his warm breath. It's obvious, not just from your reaction but from your posture, the bags under your eyes, the lack of picture frames in your always empty apartment, that you could use a “friend” as well.
“I can help you."
He kisses your exposed neck, just above your pajama shirt. The touch seems to jolt you back to reality and you turn to face him with a serious look on your face.
“You keep the mask on and you leave before morning. Understood."
He nods, but your expression doesn't change so he says, “Understood."
It was a bad idea, and it definitely didn't help that he'd fuck you so good every single time. Leaving you moaning and clutching his muscled arms just to ground yourself. Cuddling up to him afterwards with shaky breaths and clenching thighs while he gave you the most gentle aftercare.
It's like he could read your body like a book, a picture book. He knew exactly where to touch and how hard or how gentle. He knew when to slow down or speed up, he knew when to give and when to take. It was a recipe for disaster and you let it go on for too long.
You let him rub your sore muscles and hold you till you fell asleep when you should've told him to leave. You let him whisper sweet nothings into your skin when you should've shut him up with a kiss.
You let him think you might feel the same way that he does.
Now, he retrieves his clothes from the floor of your room, getting ready to take his leave before you can wake up, like clockwork. Except you're already awake watching him move through your room with too much familiarity. Just as he's about to leave, you sit up in bed and say what you should've said months ago.
“I think we should stop this.”
Your words make him freeze half way out the window. The silence is deafening. He turns to you with eyes you can tell are wide in shock, even through the mask. You throw on a shirt from the floor and step closer with a look on your face that made him want to comfort you.
“I can't do it anymore."
Damian just stares. He knew this...arrangement was stupid and that you both should stop but being faced with the reality of no longer having the comfort you provided, the emotional and physical outlet he'd become accustomed to, had something in him screaming to make you stay. In the end, all he could do was ask,
“Why?"
It was so genuine you almost flinched.
"I…I’ve seen you come to me almost bleeding to death. When you don't visit for a while I can't sleep because I keep thinking you're dead. But then you just show up again, covered in scars I know you got on purpose just to come and see me. I can't do this.“
He stepped closer, In truth, he didn't know how to defend himself. He wanted this to continue but didn't know how to argue for it, he just wanted you to want him too.
“You can't just- Then I'll stop letting myself get hurt to see you.“
A concession, a poor one. A compromise isn't what you want or need. You lightly shake your head, “I want someone I can be with."
“We can be-"
“No, please." You plead with him to not say the things you both have been keeping down.
“Tell me you don't think about it too. Look at me-"
“I can't look at you! I don't even know what your name is. I don't know what you look like, I don't know anything about you and you know nothing about me. We're not in love, we're not even friends. We're just lonely."
Your voice cracks but when you stop talking, his silence is worse so you carry on.
"Look, I took a Hippocratic oath so if you need medical attention, I can help you but that's it."
That's all you say before walking away from him, out of your bedroom. He just lets you, let's you walk away as he swings into the cold Gotham night.
That was it, that was the end for you both. He never came back to see you and, after a while, you stopped thinking he would. That was it...
Until Damian sees you in his university class, introducing yourself as the new TA in his course.
Time has passed, you look different and he looks different enough that there's no chance you'd ever recognise him. He's got a different haircut, he sounds different, scars have healed and new ones have replaced them, you'd never know.
He catches your eye from across the room, for just a few seconds, just long enough that he can't help but wonder, would you like Damian more?
Would you let Damian treat you like he should’ve. Would you let Damian stay the night in your arms and make you breakfast in the morning. Would he finally get to hear you moan his name like he'd imagined all those nights?
You wouldn't have to know about his other life, the life where you left him. He could keep it a secret easily, for as long as necessary. To make you stay.
Maybe it's dishonest, maybe it's a breach of trust but you just don't understand. He can keep you safer if he's near, he can't help you if you push him away and fate has clearly pulled you right back to him. You said it yourself -- in that conversation he kept trying to forget -- you're both lonely so why not kill two birds with one stone?
And anyway, doesn't he deserve a little selfishness. In his hard life, in all his years of heroism, hasn't he earned it? You'd definitely prefer Damian.
Because Damian Wayne doesn't do friends with benefits.
synopsis: a look into your friendship with jason. are you two just fucking, or was roy harper actually onto some shit?
cw: filthy making out. likeeeee really filthy, you'll feel edged. sorry, i robbed ya'll of the smut. implied body hair (we love that). roy is excluded from this one, ya'll. sorry. it's just jason and reader :(
previous
it had been a fucking exhausting day. you just wanted to get home, take an everything shower and pass out for the next century. as much as you enjoyed beating up middle aged men for the shits and giggles of it, teaching jujutsu could be so much draining. often you didn't even realize how dead your muscles felt until the adrenaline wore off.
the elevator dinged to a stop, and you gripped your tote bag closer. your legs worked on their own, heels clicking against the tiled floor, taking you to your apartment door.
you dug your keys out of your bag, and got the door to open, pushing it with your shoulder at the same time as walking in and halted to a stop.
jason’s boots were discarded neatly by the door. a smile immediately took over your face. all exhaustion suddenly leaving you, because who the fuck needed sleep when you had jason todd in your apartment.
you slipped your heels off, carefully, quietly. immediately losing six inches of height. the heels were a glossy maroon. you'd been out shopping with jason that time. he liked accompanying you to places and hanging out with you for your most mundane of activities. jason had a near hysterical mental breakdown hearing the heels’ price. not that he had to pay for them, you'd inherited quite a stupid amount from your parents. jason had made a smartass remark when you'd been checking out the heels. he hadn't anything to say when he was pinned under one of them in your bed that night though, no, jason todd mastered the language of whimpering quite well that day.
now barefoot, you soundlessly walked further into your place and grinned like a fucking dork to find your favorite person in the entire world in your kitchen. his back was turned towards you as he stirred something on the pan. his broad shoulders were a sight for more respectful eyes, personally you were gawking like a freak. he was wearing an oversized muted red sweatshirt, paired off with his godsent grey sweatpants. the domesticity of it made you weak in the knees.
you knew that he knew you were home and right behind him. you've never known someone more scarily aware of their surroundings. though jason had once told you that he cannot always tell who is behind him, he just gets a sense that there is company. like an alarm going off. that never happened with you. he said he had your tells memorized, so instead of his muscles tensing or seizing up, you saw the exact moment all the tension left his body. like he felt finally safe.
your hand snuck into your totebag and you shot a polaroid of him once the camera was out. he was just so perfect, oh gosh. you put the camera down on the kitchen counter and walked up right behind jason.
your arms snuck around his middle and you squeezed him close hard, burying your face into his back and breathing him in. you loved how he smelled when not surrounded by guns and violence. like books, and something earthy.
“there, i’m home now.” you said, smiling like a fool into his back.
jason huffed a laugh, turning the stove off and spinning around to face you. his hair was in its usual messy state, the white streak almost falling into his eyes, “welcome home,” he shook his head, smiling, and leaned down to kiss your cheek.
your jaw hung open in offense and he rolled his eyes, leaning down to leave kisses up your neck and jaw before he finally gave your lips a chaste kiss.
“better?” jason asked, his hands slipping down to hold your hips.
you nodded immediately, “heaven.” you gave him a thumbs up, and he lowered his head to bite on the pad of your thumb. you yelped, but before you knew it, he had your thumb past his lips, and soothed the bitten spot with swirling licks. his blue eyes were locked onto yours the whole time, maintaining eye contact. you laughed, slipping your thumb out of his mouth and resting your face into his shoulder, practically giggling.
“gah,” you joked, bursting into another fit of giggles, “now i’m always gonna wonder what it'd be like to have a cock and have it sucked by you.”
jason’s eyes widened, and he snorted, patting the top of your head in mock comfort, “couldn't do it better than how you blow me, doll.” he dryly drawled.
“that's because i’d probably have a bigger dick than yours,” you playfully stated, “you'd choke, like, a lot.”
“ah,” he smiled, amused, “so you wanna see me choke. we don't need your imaginary cock for that, pretty. y’know i love it when you suffocate me with your thighs.”
you blinked, dazed and dumbfounded against jason’s shoulder. and then the biggest fucking evil grin took over your face.
his eyes caught the camera on the kitchen counter and jason frowned to see the developing picture slowly process its way out, “why do you always take pictures of me?”
you frowned, confused, and pulled away from him to look at his face. still close enough that his hands stayed on your hips, one of his thumbs drawing slow circles. you answered honestly, “because you're beautiful, jason.” he went to open his mouth to protest, to disagree, but you interrupted him, “no, jaylove, you are. don't fucking argue with me, i’ll call the cops on your weapons celler if you do. you know, i will.”
“first she compliments me, then she threatens me,” he exhaled, meeting your gaze, “you're lucky i’ve a soft spot for you, sweetheart.”
“i know,” you beamed, as you finally left his personal space. you grabbed for your camera and the polaroid. you put your tote bag down on the counter and pulled the photo album out. admiring the polaroid for a moment, you slipped it into an empty space in the photo album. you made a mental note to buy another one soon, this one was near filled. you secured your belongings inside your totebag, minus jason, and then zipped it back up before turning to look at him again.
jason shuffled on his feet awkwardly, it was such an endearing picture really, given his giant built and abrasive beauty, he nodded his head towards the stove, where he seemed to have made spaghetti, “i made us some dinner.” he looked back at you, “roy’s girlfriend’s coming over tonight so he wanted me gone earlier than usual. i know i usually don't show up before-”
you shook your head, “thank you for cooking for me, jay.” you said, “you don't have to explain. we could've just ordered takeout like usual. i really, really appreciate you going out of your way to do this instead. this means the world to me.” you offered him a huge smile, sincere.
jason looked down, disarmed by your bluntness as usual, and then looked back at you, “want me to serve you a plate?”
you groaned, “i need a hot shower first. it's hair wash day!” you announced happily, going over to him, and standing on your tiptoes you kissed his cheek, “could you get my wine chilled, please.”
“of course,” he said, his hand briefly slipping into yours and squeezing three times.
“would you like to join me in the shower?” you inquired, wagging your eyebrows playfully.
“not when you're having a hot shower-” his nose scrunched up with horror-flashbacks of the last time.
you groaned irritably when your hair turned the back of your tee damp, too. it was an old, worn, pastel blue shirt from your university days. you grabbed the matching cotton underwear you'd picked for tonight and slipped it on. you had to cut your everything shower short as you didn't want jason sitting all by himself for almost an hour, so you forgo shaving and conditioned your hair only once.
outside your bedroom you found jason sprawled across your living room couch, reading on his phone. you immediately meandered over to him and leaned down to kiss his forehead upside down. jason made a soft, sweet, sound and reached over to grab your arm so that you wouldn't fall over on his face again.
“you smell fabulous,” jason murmured, breathing you in, eyes closed briefly, “wanna makeout with you.”
you grinned and pulled away standing to your full height again, your eyes got distracted by his phone screen, “jason peter todd,” you said, theatrically, hands on your hips, “is that ao3 i see?” you mock-gasped, as though scandalized, and squinted to see better, “what are you-”
he immediately closed his phone and put it on top of your coffee table, where your wine bottle rested beside a single glass, “that's between me and god.” he said, sitting up slightly, as he leaned his back against your couch handle.
“i thought i was your god,” you smartarsedly said, and your world tilted for a moment as jason’s large hands grabbed for your waist, he lifted you clean off the floor effortlessly and put you down onto his lap. you felt his bulge through his sweatpants against your bare thigh immediately. so, so breathless suddenly.
“the only one i worship, yes.” he whispered, holding eye contact with you, the blues of his eyes distorted with green, voice dropping, “now. i thought i said i wanna makeout with you, ma.”
your chest rose and fell, eyes suddenly glassy. why did he have to say something so devastating so sincerely. no wonder roy was confused.
your lifted a hand to trace down his lips, your favorite person's lips. your index finger catching against his bottom lip. your other hand rested on your thigh. there was barely any space left between the two of you, as your chest brushed his.
jason’s hands came up to capture your wrists and pin them behind your back, arching your spine straighter, as his mouth closed on yours, stealing your breath away entirely. your heart pounded against your ribcage, as you kissed him back. you ran your tongue over his lower lip, but then his tongue slipped out to meet yours and dizziness filled your head. you involuntarily tried to jerk your wrists out of his hold, but jason had to understand your need of grabbing his face into your hands, right? no, your infuriatingly wondersome friend only tightened his grip.
jason pulled away, his cheek brushing yours as his warm breath hit your ear, “be still, doll.” as he started leaving sloppy, open mouthed, kisses on your throat, making you tilt your head back. his luscious hair tickled your chin. your clit pulsed and you shifted to land your clothed cunt onto the tent of his sweatpants, “fuuuck-”
you tried to nod your head, not sure what for, all thoughts seemed to have left you. you ground your pussy down onto his bulge, and jason sucked in a breath, pulling away to stare at your flushed pretty face. he experimentally lifted his hips up and humped against you, earning a moan in return.
you weren't even looking at him. head still tilted back, facing the ceiling, as you continued on rocking your hips into his. it offended him greatly, jason retrieved one of his hands, securing your wrists into just the other hand. he dragged his now free hand roughly up your stomach over your thin shirt. he stopped briefly to skim his palm up and down your left breast, and a satisfied hum vibrated in his throat when he saw your mouth hang open in pleasure. he gave your breast a proper squeeze, rolling his thumb over your hardened nipple at the same time.
“oh, fuck, jay—fuck—fuuuck–oh–shit–” you were breathless, chasing your high with the rolls of your hips. holding your wrists was proving difficult by the second. they kept jerking against his hand, as the obstacle limited your movement. not to mention, he was trying his best not to flood his fucking pants with his load when you were so gone like this, “need to come—make me come–yeah? jay—m’so wet for y’please.”
jason’s hand dragged up your throat and gripped your cheeks, squishing them together, as he forcibly brought your mouth down to meet his once more. you tasted like orange, and he was addicted to you.
it was fucking obscene, both of yours saliva dribbled down your chins and gathered together lower.
jason finally released your wrists, and they immediately shot out to grip his shoulders. his thumb ran over your lips releasing the grip, as it rested gently against your left cheek now. he pecked your lips one last time before pulling back, eyes glinting as he looked you over. you looked a mess, cheeks botchy so easily, hair a mess, he could feel you trembling.
“please,” you whimpered, eyes wild, glazed over, “please, i'll be—good, i’ll be so good–please–i’ll–”your breath hitched, oh that wasn't a good sign, “i’ll do anything you–want–i just–need–” you tried to breathe, “i need–”
“hey,” jason breathed, “i need you to breathe, sweetheart.” he softly spoke, his hand gently patted the top of your head, soothing you. “there, there, you're okay—got my baby all worked up, hm?” he wrapped both his big arms around you and enveloped you with the warmth of his body, your head tucked under his chin. you were squirming in his arms. jason kissed along the crown of your head, “talk to me, doll. what‘d you need?”
you sat up slightly, head lolling against his shoulder now. he looked down to meet your eyes, “will you make me come, please? need you, jay. so much. need you always. need you all the time.” jason’s face broke into the biggest fucking smile ever, “don't be a brat, jason,” you begrudgingly mumbled.
“so adorable” he kissed the tip of your nose, shifting you until you were straddling him properly again, “c’mere,” his teeth grazed your jaw, “you've been so needy, hm?”
you dazedly nodded your head, as though under a spell.
“my greedy girl,” he taunted with no bite, the hand that wasn't holding your face dipped down to cup your clothed cunt, and then the motherfucker actually bit your cheek, licking it better immediately.
“jay,” you whined, suddenly fixated on his sweatshirt, such offensive piece of clothing. your hands gripped the hem of it and you tugged once furiously, “want these off,” almost talking to yourself, as you humped his palm, “yeah, that's right, wanna see my pretty man.”
a lump formed in jason's throat, he'd never get used to your blunt sincerity and admiration. “yeah, baby?” he murmured, “i’m yours, huh?”
you nodded immediately, “you know you are. i–” you cut yourself off.
“nope, none of that.” jason scolded you, “wanna know all your thoughts. always. you can tell me anything, sweetheart.”
you shook your head, “it's toxic. it's actually fucked up.”
“good gracious, don't bamboozle me now, honey,” he whispered, withdrawing his hand from your heat, to take your face into his hands, “been dreaming about chaining me to your bed forever?”
“it's worse,” you gravely responded.
“to be honest the first option seems like a paradise to me so i’m not really worried.” jason said, cradling your face.
“sometimes i get this irrational urge, to like, hide you inside my ribcage.” you looked away, “i just wanna protect you from every violence ever. you're so precious and i–”
jason scoffed, letting out a relieved breath, he'd been so worried about you, “christ. i thought it was something serious.” he glanced at the unopened wine bottle for a moment, “you're not even drunk right now.” he said, quietly.
“no, i’m horny and you make me emotional.” you looked back at his face and seeing your eyes broke his heart, they were filing up with tears, “and it is serious. it's like, i’m obsessed with you or something. i wish i’d known you your entire life.”
“it sounds kind of nice, y’know.” jason said after a long silence, “i think i’d like that. yeah, i would.” he kissed both your eyelids one by one, wiping away the single tear drop carefully, “let me know when you figure out a way to put me inside your ribcage.”
“oh, gosh, “ you spiraled, “oh, no, i’m sad now.”
jason panicked, “okay, shit, you wanted me to strip, yeah? let's do that. will abs help?” his hands quickly went to the hem of his sweatshirt.
“allow me, please,” you rested your hands on top of his large ones, holding eye contact. jason gave you a short jerk of his head and your lips turned up. sucking and biting carelessly along his neck, you impatiently tugged the sweatshirt and the white tee underneath it off of his body at the same time, flinging it at a random as you heard some antique break in the background. jason’s eyes widened, but you grinned up at him, “i don't care, i get to have you, that's everything, jay.”
he headbutted you lightly, “you're everything.” jason briefly kissed you on the mouth, “i’m obsessed with you, too, ma. or something.”
you put the empty plates in the sink and the fresh flowers in the vase by the windows caught your eyes, “you got me flowers.” you said to jason, giddy with butterflies, “again.”
“it'd been a while since i got you any,” he shrugged, wiping the kitchen counter down with the rag in his hand one last time, “the roses were practically dead.”
both of you had changed your clothes. jason was wearing his red hood outfit minus all the outer gears and the helmet. his other clothes were in your laundry basket now, alongside your earlier tshirt and underwear. all ruined. he'd eaten you out vigorously on the couch, before taking you to your bedroom, thrown over his shoulder, and fucking you into oblivion. the mattress had an you-shaped indent now. you wore another one of your sleep shirts with a clean pair of underwear currently.
“you better not have thrown them out,” you said, hysterical.
“no, i replaced them into the vase you have in your library.” jason’s mouth quirked, “why do you insist on keeping the dead flowers anyway?”
“you're mad if you think i’d ever throw away anything given by you,” you rolled your eyes at him and smiled goofily, “i love the dried flowers. i put them between the pages of my favorite books.” you quickly washed your hands at the sink, and walked over to jason. rising on your tiptoes, with your wrists behind your back, you kissed his mouth, “thank you for the flowers. the hydrangeas are lovely.”
he kissed you back, lifting a hand to cradle your face carefully in his hold. you hand to put one of your hands on the kitchen counter to steady yourself and not fall over. but suddenly there was the sound of something shattering.
both you and jason pulled away to see your half empty wine glass broken on the floor, glass scattered everywhere, the liquid painting the ground burgundy.
“hey,” jason’s hand landed on your shoulder, to see your stunned state, “it's just a bottle of wine. everything's okay. i’ll clean this up, yeah?”
you absently nodded your head. being a grown up woman with her own space and still getting alarmed over breaking something felt fucking embarrassing and a little bit irredeemable.
“it was an accident, doll.” jason murmured against your hair, sweeping you clean off your feet, literally, with an arm around your waist, “don't want you catching glass shards to your feet,” his voice was muffled against your head, as he put you down on top of the kitchen counter. he stood between your legs, watching your face attentively.
“i’m okay,” you pulled away, looking at the mess you'd made, “you should clean that up now, before the floor gets sticky.”
he kissed your forehead, looking at you for a moment, “yeah,”
he withdrew from you, getting your cleaning supplies. he carefully separated the big glass pieces first, securing them with proper measures so that some stray animal wouldn't catch them later. he worked so precisely with turning the kitchen floor squeaky clean again, your brows furrowed.
jason immediately looked at you, alerted, “you okay?”
“is this how you clean up a murder scene?” you wondered out loud.
jason rose to his full height, hands on his hips, offended, “i’m no coward.”
you snorted.
“i just leave enough varieties of dna around to have the law enforcement get some assignment to do for once.” jason huffed, putting the cleaning supplies back in their cupboard, and going over to the sink to wash his hands, “you need to get someone killed?”
“you'd do that for me?” you gasped dramatically, knowing all too well he'd do anything for you. one of the many reasons you always tried to be so careful of what you asked of jason. you never wanted to accidentally take advantage of his devotion friendship, “what would batman say?”
“we've a deadbody here.” jason supplied, pretending to speak into a comm, as he walked up back between your open knees. his hand lifted to rest on your throat for a moment, before tilting your chin up, “permission to kiss?”
you rolled your eyes, smiling like a fucking fool, and nodded quickly, “granted, like, an entire century ago.”
and then to jason’s surprise, you were the one kissing him all over his scarred face. your lips moving aimlessly, but also with so much intention. a kiss over his ‘J’ scar. another one on his chin. then both of his cheeks. his eyelids. a loud, firm kiss to his forehead. and then you finally kissed his mouth, with the ulterior motive of never letting go.
guys i downed 3 liters of coke (the drink) obviously, to write this up. something had possessed me. don't ask. i'm so happy with this. i love them so much. they deserve the world. rawdogged the writing again. not proofread properly, i'm sorry. my finals are going on rn.
synopsis : you and jason todd are friends with benefits. roy harper doesn't seem to think so. he thinks you guys are madly in love!! and god save you from that man's sideeyes.
tw: nsfw. there's no full smut scenes but lots of it is mentioned. ya'll have basically done it in most positions-
ooc characters, maybe?!?
convenience store
11:45 p. m.
“unfuckingbelievable.” jason huffed and reached the aisle you were at. when you barely reacted to his words, his brows furrowed and he rested a hand lightly on your hip, “what’re you looking for, pretty?”
“hm!?” you jolted at the touch, glancing back, and relaxed immediately to see that it was just your jason, “oh, you! you startled me.” you shook your head, seeing the amused smile quirk up on his face at your distress, “i can't find the orange gums that i like. were you saying something?”
“i said it's fucking unbelievable.” he said bitterly, when you turned around fully and leaned against the shelf behind you. he moved closer to trap you between his arms, “my card declined. was getting a pack of cigarettes and apparently the policy here is i gotta pay first. this guy doesn't accept crumbled bills. and my card fucking declined.”
your hands snaked up to rest against his chest, or rather the leather of his jacket, “you and bruce having a row again?” not that it'd matter. jason didn't even use the trustfund set up by bruce for himself. if anything, he only ever utilized that money to help out casualties. usually children caught in the crossfire of crime .
“that's what i thought. his communication skills are otherworldly afterall. but no,” jason sighed, “i texted dick, turns out he had tim doing this april fools prank. not funny.”
you frowned, agreeing with him obviously, as you nodded your head. you, too, would crashout and get really angry if someone thought it was okay to fuck with your personal stuff, “he's knocking it off though, right?”
“not before 12 o’clock.” he answered, “tim set a timer or whatever. i don't care. i wouldn't care if it was you who did it. “ he added, “i just don't like that-” he trailed off, dropping his forehead against your shoulder.
your hands immediately found home in his hair, soothingly running through the curls at the back of his head. “i know. i understand. you don't–” you murmured, "they're so childish when it comes to boundaries sometimes.”
he tilted his head and pressed his lips to the side of your neck before pulling away and standing to his full height again, towering over you by a couple inches.
your eyes widened as you looked past jason, checking for the third of the trio. roy harper. this friends with benefits thing was not a secret, you just didn't like the smug look roy got on his face whenever seeing you two get all sweet with physicality.
you liked kissing jason casually, just because. and he often did the same with you. you'd be deep in a gory tv show, wrapped up in your fluffiest self-crocheted blanket on the couch, and he'd walk by you, leaving a kiss on the top of your head. jason would get to your kitchen and heat himself up something to eat. he'd return to the living room, dropping beside you on the couch, watching you watch tv. and you'd open your mouth occasionally so that he could share his food with you. you had a habit of playfully biting on his fingers. he was very bite-able.
most days, you went out for runs right before dawn. you liked the cinematicness of it. how you could pretend to run from the cops or villains alike, even though there was no one outside. mostly it helped you regulate your anxiety. the adrenaline was addictive. and those runs always ended with you knocking on jason's apartment door. the door would open almost immediately. like he knew you were on your way.
him only in his boxers. taking you into his arms and into his bed. your legs wrapping around his hips, as he'd hastily close the door behind you. making sure it's locked safely. before taking you both into his bedroom.
most of these encounters ended with grinds of his hips into yours, dragging out sounds of excruciating pleasure from the both of you. sometimes with you on your back, as he'd stare down at your face with feverish want. you'd take his jaw into your hands and kiss him senseless. his cock greedily buried in your cunt, desperate to please you.
sometimes it was you on top of him, slow grinds of your hips down onto his cock eventually turning into the most erratic thing ever. jason always looked a little too wrecked then, he was pretty sure god was a woman and that woman was you. he'd take mouthfuls of your breasts, gasping at the flutter of your inner walls around his cock, and completely fucking gone for the moans and praises that left your mouth. he saw fucking stars whenever you grasped his throat.
sometimes, he'd pound into you relentlessly with your face smushed into the mattress, ass up, hands scrambling to hold for something, anything, as every thrust made your spine arch.
and then there was jason’s favorite. making out with your pussy. he'd drag orgasms after orgasms out of you until you were overstimulated and practically incoherent with your face buried in his pillow, telling him you can't again, and he'd tease you sweetly and dedicate his all into making you come again. he knew you loved it whenever he spat on you or spanked your cunt, so the smug bastard always withheld them til the end.
the days your brain was far too awake regardless of too little sleep, you loved having jason's cock in your mouth. sucking him off and letting him take control until you were all dumb and sleepy. the tip of his cock brushing your lips before he'd slip in, your pussy throbbing against the vibrator you'd be sitting on. your chin and chest coated with drool and precum, as jason would thrust into you lazily.
and then sometimes, jason would bring you to his bed, and you'd murmur in his ear that you didn't want sex this time. you just missed him, so you came here. he'd kiss your forehead and set you down against the pillows. he'd help you out of your running clothes down to your underwear, and let one of his shirts swallow you instead. settling in the bed with you, he'd hold you in his arms, into the clingiest of hugs ever. he'd once playfully said his friendship came with the benefits of spooning.
so, yes, roy harper knew about the situation. of course he did. he was jason’s roommate. he had to hear you practically every early morning for hours. well, more jason than you actually. but roy was convinced you two were oblivious idiots in love, reducing your world-class romance into just sex.
because roy saw you arrive at a group hang out once in jason's wonder woman tshirt. he'd seen how giddy jason had appeared over it. his hand immediately slipping into the back pocket of your jeans. he'd leaned down and murmured something in your ear. you'd rolled your eyes, one of the most formidable women suddenly so shy, as you'd buried your face against his arm. you were both smiling like hah! people in love!!
jason always held your hand whenever you guys were out together. no matter where. specially in crowds. whenever you or jason would catch roy's side eye, ya'll would defend the behavior saying holding hands couldn't be more intimate than sex, so it wasn't a big deal. if one would ask for roy harper's opinion on that, roy had only one thing to say : lies, nasty nasty lies!
jason had your coffee order memorized. he brought you flowers occasionally because it was disrespectful to not bring the woman he was with flowers; you deserved to feel appreciated and cherished. most nights he had dinner at your place before patrol because he liked your company.
he shared almost everything about himself with you because not being transparent with you about a mission once had made him sick to his stomach, he'd begged roy to shoot his guts out. roy had simply called you over. the moment you guys were together, jason started rambling and having a panic attack, and you cradled his head against your neck, shushing him and reassuring him with such gentleness that roy again knew, ha! these morons were in love!!
every time jason was forced to attend a wayne gala, you attended them with him as his date. you had a photo album in your totebag, filled with polaroids of jason. roy had asked about it once, you'd shrugged and said jason was your favorite person in the world and you liked capturing him. whenever jason read a book on his living room couch, you'd end up half on top of him. your arm across his stomach and head on his chest. jason never got annoyed by it, he seemed to crave it actually. you were his emotional support pillow practically, given the catastrophic topics he liked reading about. he'd hold the book with one hand, and hold you carefully with his other arm. you always looked really content just being in his arms. roy was genuinely sick of all these fuckery getting called 'just friends', because respectfully where was his hugs, and cuddles and wonder woman tshirt and flowers and gossip and polaroids. christ! you'd even crocheted a hello kitty stuffed toy that resembled red hood!!
roy had even once walked in on you telling jason about your insecurities, and him so so gently lifting you onto his lap. he spoke so softly, so lovingly, his eyes filled with so much empathy for you, as though you feeling down hurt him physically, it was fucking diabolical.
“where'd roy go?” you asked, eyes meeting jason’s.
“uh, yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck, “the girl he's been seeing? she called. her ex boyfriend broke into her apartment---fucking prick, i know---and she beat him up with her hockey stick-”
“hot.” you perked up and jason leaned down to brush his mouth against yours for a moment.
“yeah, so, she's pretty freaked out now cuz the creep passed out and isn't moving. roy’s gone to make sure he isn't dead, or if he is-” jason ominously shrugged, and you laughed, wrapping your arms around his middle and tipping your head back to look at his infuriatingly attractive face. you knew roy would make the body disappear if the man was dead. he was rather down bad for this woman. she seemed to know how to make a man walk like a dog, you loved that for the both of them, “they make an interesting pair, don't they?” jason shook his head, baffled.
you poked your tongue out goofily, nodding your head, and then leaned up to steal a quick kiss, “tell you what, find me my gums and i’ll get your cigarettes. nothing quite romantic like rotting teeth and fucked up lungs. we make an even more interesting pair, yes, we do-”
you were cut off when jason’s mouth met yours messily. you had to grip the back of his jacket, because gravity stopped entirely and your knees buckled. kissing jason todd was your favorite thing ever, as you met him with equal fervor. his thigh slid between your legs and you made a soft sound of approval. he pulled away, and took a quick look at your flushed face, committing it to memory. his cheeks were flushed too and he was grinning.
you rolled your eyes and dragged his face back to yours with the back of his head as you practically devoured him. you two could be obscene. it seemed less like just kissing and more like him trying to fuck your mouth with his.
eventually you two had to pull away, gasping for breath. and yet, not kissing him felt more claustrophobic than anything, “what—was—that—for?” you said between breaths.
jason shrugged, stepping back as you steadied on your feet, “just wanted to kiss my girl.”
you beamed up pathetically at him, butterflies doing cartwheels in your stomach, “oh, i’m your girl now, am i?” you playfully asked.
“yes, ma’am, you are.” he said, with theatrical seriousness.
you reached up a hand to mess up his ruined hair even more. “hm,” you paused for the dramatics sake, "then you must build a shrine for me." you bossily declared.
"do i get to fuck you in front of it?" he asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"if you're good." you eyed him, "yes."
he nodded immediately, "oh, doll, i'll be so good."
NEXT/SEQUEL
it's so badly written. that's cuz i just rawdogged this under 3 hours?!? 4 at best?!? and it's 8 in the morning rn. my head hurts and im pretty sure i'm starting a fever. lmao. have fun. i hope it wasn't too ooc and repetitive. i tried proofreading twice but ive memory problems because of health issues, so :) and and forgive my attempt at smut, i'm an inexperienced fuck who's never written it before.
they do genuinely think that they're just friends btw, well, friends with benefits. even though subconsciously you're jason’s wife right there!!! or that's what roy would say :)
you’re trying to wake him but, but he has other plans | fem!reader, smut & fluff, he's whiny in this
Jason’s got a soft look on his face while he sleeps, lips parted and chest rising and falling peacefully. Nothing like the wild, haunted eyes that meet yours right after patrol. Or the harsh breaths he takes when panic claws through his chest.
This Jason was yours. Untouched by cruel hands and crueler words. Your Jason only knew soft mornings, where sunlight spilled in and your fingers brushed through his unruly dark locks.
You wanted to let him sleep longer. But even more so, you wanted to look into his pretty eyes and see them soften like you were his world.
Which you knew you were.
“Jay,” you whisper.
He was practically on top of you, cheek smushed against your head, muscular arms wound tightly around you as you lay on your back.
It’s suffocating in the best way. For him to be so close to you meant he felt safe.
“Come on, wake up. M'hungry,” you murmur gently.
He groans, moving his head to bury his face in the crook of your neck. One of his hands moves from your waist to your stomach and up to your chest as if making sure you were here.
Your thoughts slide to a halt when you feel his hand cup your boob. Is he—
“Jason?” you try again, weakly. The man was using your boob as a stress ball.
“Five more minutes, sweetheart,” he mumbles and squeezes again. The thin fabric of your shirt does nothing to keep the heat of his touch away.
“Oh, um…” Your cheeks burn.
He lets out another sleepy sigh and mumbles something under his breath. Something that sounds far too much like, “You’re so good to me, baby.”
You close your eyes. He’s definitely having a wet dream.
Muffling a tiny giggle, you shift slightly, trying to wiggle out of his hold. Instead, his grip tightens, keeping you pressed down to the sheets.
He moves then, trying to get even closer, his hard on pressing against your thigh and making him whine.
“Oh my god.” Mouth to the ceiling, a giddy smile on your face.
You reach out to play with his hair. Pausing for a moment, you wonder what he’d do if you tugged on it.
Naturally, you do just that. A tiny groan leaves him, his hips grinding against your thigh. You feel his lips against the curve of your neck, just resting there.
“You’re gonna be so mortified when you wake up,” you mumble, combing his hair back lovingly.
A tiny, soft sigh escapes him, and suddenly you don’t want to wake him.
So you let him sleep, occasionally pressing a kiss to his forehead while he whines and grinds his hard and aching dick against your thigh.
your morning's are quiet; neither of you say much, if anything at all, until you've had breakfast. sometimes jason showers first in the morning, other times you do. you'll find him halfway through making coffee, he'll find you simultaneously popping toast into the toaster and drying your hair.
you do the grocery shopping of the week hand in hand–always holding his at that awkward angle he complains about, just so you can feel his pulse in case. you argue about popsicle flavors too loud and buy two tubs of ice cream because one of you can't stand vanilla and the other strictly eats vanilla. jason gets a bad case of baby fever when you take a side quest through the park on the way home.
lunch blinks by the two of you, mainly consisting of you nagging jason about how he always stains his shirts and surfaces. it's with sauce in the context of lunch, but with blood typically.
you sit in the balcony together. you work on the small chair he moved outside for you while he smokes at a distance, trying not to trigger another monologue. or another of your attempts at getting him to quit smoking through sheer annoyance. replacing his cigarettes with lipglosses hadn't worked, yet he feared what you would try next.
jason gets a sock to the face while he reads at the table. he places the photobooth strip of the two of you–four monochrome pictures of you two undeniably in love, each photo mushier than the last–into his book to mark the page. he laughs when you go off about the socks he leaves lying around and the shirts he randomly throws around and never picks up.
he listens to your playlists while he's out for patrol to bring him a semblance of peace. a reminder of the sanctuary and warm arms he gets to return to after a long day of crime fighting and beating ass. you stay up to make sure he gets home safely, even on the days when you're fighting. sometimes he'll find you've fallen asleep on the couch while waiting. he joins you wordlessly.
most nights, jason gets home with shoulders slumped lower than usual. on those days, you work your fingers against the mechanics of his helmet in that way he finds weirdly intimate; the way you know all the intricate buttons and every little piece to undo his mask. the literal and figurative one. you ask about his hobbies because patrol is always the last thing he wants to talk about. he tells you about the hidden meanings and foreshadowings in his most recent read. you debate him on characters and analysis just because it gives him something else to focus on. his answers shift from passionate to slow, half-hearted. you know by the lull of his head against your chest when he's fallen asleep. you tuck the both of you in under a single blanket, despite knowing he'll end up hogging it all. you kiss his forehead with the same small smile you wake up to and all the tenderness the world has robbed him of. "goodnight, jason."
A COVERT OPERATION . you’re not jason’s girl, except you kinda are. pairing ! ex!jason todd x fem!reader wc ! 4.5k warnings ! sfw. fluff. written like a disaster rom com with more com than rom, jealous ex bf! jason, mr. spanky appearance sorta, a creepy unnamed guy appears + a misogynist asshole. reader does not take any shit. so yeah. mentions of alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking (reader & jason) + nicknames used : baby & amore (towards reader).
🗒️ based on this request and italian-american bf jason i & ii. also yeah, he’s pathetic and grovels a little.
art creds : @/shr0uds
now playing ! why don’t you do right — peggy lee 🎧
The first time it happened, you felt bad for the poor guy.
“Jay’s girl, huh?” You turned at the sound of the voice, the warm bar lights casting a harsh glow over the man’s frame.
Sly, slimeball, or whatever the hell the guy told the bartender his name was as he racked up his tab — eyed you up and down, dark hair gelled to the side and a finger idling at the rim of his glass. He was huge, even from where he sat hunched against the side of the bar, his head tilted to the side and legs open in your direction.
You ignored him, plucking the toothpick from your glass and sinking your teeth into the cherry. How long had it been since you and Jason broke up? A week? Two maybe? Not that you’d seen him around lately to keep the score.
He was like that, with his profound ability of becoming a ghost and slinking away to the darkest crevices of the world, never to be seen unless he willed it, which you cursed the son of a bitch for because here you were with the utter bad luck of not being able to do the same.
His neighborhood was also your neighborhood.
His friends were your friends — some who you consider family, and while it might’ve been cute at first to be known as Jay’s Girl™ from here in some washed up family owned bar all the way to the best food joints in Little Italy then to every bookstore in the Bowery and back — it afforded you no anonymity. Or rather, no time to mourn your failed relationship while pretending not to, because God forbid a girl just wants to get a drink at 9 PM without someone mentioning Jay.
“This guy givin’ you trouble?” Paulie, sweet, pure hearted Paulie who’d never hurt a fly — except for that one time he put three guys in the hospital for casing his joint sometime last Christmas — murmured to you, his hands busy drying a glass with the fluffy white towel slung over his shoulder.
“Cause I can get him outta here if he’s giving you a hard time.”
“I’m all good, thanks P,” you smiled, lifting your glass over the bartop to nudge his wrist. “Buuuut, you can top me up again.”
“You’re out of it, kid,” he laughed, but took the glass from you anyway. He hadn’t asked you about Jason the whole night, and despite how refreshing it was, it still felt sort of odd.
Did everybody know where he was except you? Or was the alcohol finally turning you into the pitiful sap you always knew you were?
That solace turned reflection was cut short however.
“I’m just saying, everybody’s skirtin’ around it and looking at me sideways.” The Slimeball chuckled to himself, as if he expected the tiny crowd to join in his amusement. “But you’re a good looking girl… like a fine piece a’ somethin’ you know?”
Paulie, in the middle of mixing your drink, looked to you, then to the guy, and back to you again.
You only shrugged. Not tonight. Please, not tonight.
“What? Are you shy?” The guy turned to face you now, the sleazy grin of his face growing by the second. “Don’t pay attention to them, baby, focus on me.” His stool scraped the floor with a high pitched squeak and in the next second he was on his feet towards you.
Immediately, you tensed, but he leaned forward just as quickly. “You actually need to back up—”
“Hey, man— you need to watch it. Jace doesn’t play about that one,” came a random voice you’re sure you recognize, another neighborhood cousin or something.
“And you need to mind your fuckin’ business,” Grimey Guy whipped his head around. “Cause if that’s true, it’s his fault for not watching his girl.”
Upon turning around though, he reached a hand out to touch you.
Your drink was already raised halfway when Paulie and another guy rounded the counter and practically yanked the guy out of his chair. For good measure — and some well needed release of frustration — you downed half your drink then threw the rest in his face, after which he was dragged out back and kicked out — and maybe kicked around a bit, who knows?
But, Jay’s Girl remained triumphant, and the fairytale lived on, until it didn’t. Sort of.
“Well, that sure is a sight.” Roy whistled long and low over the thumping bass. He twirled a Marlboro Red between his fingers idly, grinning like the cat that caught the canary.
Meanwhile, Dick’s mouth fell open, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets as a hand reached up to clutch his chest. “No way... isn’t that…?”
“Shut up,” Jason, who stood only a few steps away from their little wives-at-teatime gossip huddle grumbled. His lips were set in a deep frown, eyebrows knitted tight and gaze dark.
A humorous sight, if one were to take into consideration that all three of them were in ‘disguise’ for tonight, gathering intel on some high profile guest here at Eden, aka The Cathouse, one of if not the most popular nightclub in East End.
It was alive, electric, bass vibrating through the floorboards and the scent of fruity liquor cloaking the air.
Across the sea of bodies was you, dressed in a silky little thing that was borderline obscene, and the very picture of everything Jason did not want to see, but so desperately needed to.
In truth, this was supposed to be Roy’s job but the fuck-up fucked up and so now he’s here with reinforcements — a bored Dick Grayson who should’ve been back in Blüdhaven yesterday but caught wind of the breakup, which he called ‘The Great Departure’ and figured he’d stick around to boost his poor little bro’s morale — so now Jason is here.
He’s here in this shitty club where some illiterate hog had his hand inching closer to your ass by the second.
You were dancing, hips swaying and chest heaving with the rhythm, yet despite the effort you looked perfect, every bit of you.
From the slight staticky halo of your hair to the soft shine of sweat on your collarbone that looked like glitter and stardust and all things sweet, to your lips that moved in sync with the lyrics of the loud music — those lips, even when painted or lined or plain he can remember the exact curve and shape of them around the syllables of his name, the hiccup of a ti amo, the whisper of an amore mio, the shout of a fuck you, when he suggested that maybe another break is what you two needed.
“Wow,” a whisper came from Roy and Dick nudged him so hard with his elbow that the fake mustache he was wearing hung loose on one side.
“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Jason huffed, downing the last of a shot of something whoever left on the bar counter. And that fucking mustache just kept itching him, Jesus Christ.
The hog in question, God forgive him, had his hands on your hips, chest pressed tight against your back — a little bird’s chest, Jason thought.
His uncle, or really his neighbor that he called Zio Laurenzo because it was just how he grew up — would say it’s a cardinal sin to not have some meat on your bones to keep a woman warm.
Did he keep you warm? Jason wondered. He knew he always ran cold, you’d tease him for it all the time but he didn’t even know why he was wondering about that now. Zio Laurenzo was a bum with a beer belly and two divorces under his belt. The only thing warm about him was his zuppa di pollo.
Madonna, he cursed in his head. He’d been listening to punks and bums all his life, no wonder he messed up with you.
“You’re a natural,” the guy whose name you’d already forgotten murmured against your ear. “You related to Lola Falana maybe?”
You laughed loud and loose, just the slightest bit tipsy and feeling yourself too much. It’s been a minute since you’ve gone out, a couple more minutes since you’ve entertained a guy just for the sake of it.
“Maybe.” It felt good. Not exactly fulfilling, but fun. You needed fun.
His hands guided your hips into a steady rhythm, your heartbeat matching each bump of the heavy bass.
You got lost in the music, in the heat rather quickly, your collarbones and forearms slightly slick with sweat and cold to touch but the alcohol hot inside your veins, the bumping and grinding of your hips against his even hotter.
“You still haven’t told me your name,” he shouted near your ear over the music, taking a gentle hold of your hand and spinning you around to face him. And oh boy, was he fine.
You told him your name with a playful smirk teasing at your lips, eyes hung low and a hand on his bicep.
The moment the last syllable left your mouth, the guy looked at you as if he’d seen a ghost, the heat of the club long diffused and an expression on his face that read bewilderment instead of sex.
“Repeat that?”
You said your name again and a hand came over his mouth instantaneously in utter shock. You could hardly believe it. “Woman, you tryin’ to get me killed?” He exclaimed in horror.
“What the hell are you even talking about?” Your lips curved into a frown.
He drew in a sharp inhale through his nostrils. “Look, you’re a nice girl and all…” he met your gaze and cringed just a little, fearful. “Like what I mean is, you’re nice— in a friend kinda way— like I wasn’t tryin’ to put no kind of word to you or nothing like that—”
The longer he spoke, the more your shoulders slumped and your nose scrunched up in confusion. Was this guy one of those fucking mood-swing-having kind of drunks, because the fuck?
“It’s just… you know, I don’t know what’s the situation with you two and if you’re steppin’ out,” he went on, scratching the back of his neck. “But I can’t go there— not that I was trying to, of course! Let’s get that solid— cause you’re Jay’s girl and I—”
“Excuse me?”
“Nah, I’m good.” He shook his head firmly. “Everybody knows he doesn’t play about you.”
“Everybody knows this?” Your face screwed up in a mix of disbelief and offense. “Listen, we broke up—”
He barked a laugh, right in your face. “Look, dolly, I came for a good time, not to get my ass beat. So I suggest you sing that little freshly divorced song with like, I don’t know, at least six feet between us.”
“Are you serious right now?”
“You have a good night,” he shrugged. “And congrats when you two get back together,” he said, giving you a quick nod before he walked away, easing between swaying bodies in the direction of the bar.
“Fucking punk!” You yelled after him. What a drag.
“Do I have to keep wearing this mustache?” Dick groaned, index finger itching at his upper lip. He was sitting on one of the barstools, attempting to survey the crowd.
“Oh, lookey here!” Roy’s posture straightened and his teeth shone in a grin, a tiny umbrella that he plucked from a glass idly twirling between his forefinger and thumb. “Cassio is steadily approaching.”
He turned to Dick who gave him a quizzical look.
“You’re not well read at all, man,” he continued, tossing the umbrella towards a brooding Jason, leaning against the bar with his hands crossed over his chest.
“And who are you supposed to be, Bianca?” Jason’s brows rose, then his expression shifted as he realized who Cassio was in question — the fucker that was dancing with you earlier.
A silence fell over the group as the guy rounded the bar and ordered a drink, scratching at his brow. He looked at Roy, then at Dick, both pretending not to look back at him.
Then he looked at Jason who was staring him head on.
“Do I know you?” The guy squinted, brows furrowed and head tilted forward. “You from around here?”
“No.” Jason responded, voice a little deeper for his disguise, or maybe something else entirely. Either way, it was fucking hilarious.
“Ah,” the guy nodded, looking away. The air was heavy and awkward, and Roy’s lips pursed with the effort of holding back a laugh.
“So, uh,” Dick cleared his throat, fingers thrumming against the bartop. “That’s a nice necklace, man.”
The guy looked up at him oddly. “You tryna rob me or something?”
There was a pause, and Dick stuttered slightly before the guy chuckled. “Just fucking with you, sorry. But, yeah, thanks,” he reached a hand up to finger the chain. It was a silver cross with a few tiny diamonds. “My girl got it for me.”
Jason’s jaw ticked.
“Oh, you don’t say?” Roy grinned. Dick turned away to stifle a laugh under his mustache. “Damn. That’s real sweet, huh, Johnny?”
Johnny — or Jason, grunted under his breath in response. “Li mortacci tua.”
No way you moved on already. And least of all with BirdChest. No way, there’s just no way.
He reached for the Marlboro Red that Roy abandoned on the bartop and fished a lighter out of his pants pocket. Before he could light it, Dick snatched it from his hands.
“Yeah, she’s a real nice girl… nags like hell though,” Random guy who you might’ve possibly moved on with, said. “Just the way these broads are, I guess.”
“It’s a bit much talkin’ shit about a lady who can’t defend herself ‘cause she’s across the room,” Jason intervened. Which he might as well, now that the scrub was calling you out of your name and he didn’t have a cigarette between his teeth because somebody felt like parenting him on what should be a covert operation.
“Oh, that one? Nah, not her.” The guy shrugged, sipping his drink. “That one just set me up to fucking die, can you believe that shit? Came out to escape the nagging and what I get instead is a one way ticket to Death Row.”
“What do you mean?” Dick leaned closer, and when Roy looked at him with a bottom lip drawn between his teeth to hold a laugh, he only shrugged. Good goss is good goss.
“She’s a real cute thing, you saw her right?” Roy and Dick nodded simultaneously. Jason scoffed. “We’re dancing, right? And I’m feeling her and she’s feeling me—”
“Yeah, fuckin’ stunad…” Jason grumbled to himself.
“Then I go and ask her name, she tells me, and I’m thinking to myself, where do I know this piece from, y’know?” The guy continued. He shook his head. “Man, would you believe that’s Jay’s girl?”
Dick and Roy exchanged a look, then shrugged in faux ignorance.
“Jay? You know how many Jays are in Gotham—” Roy started.
“Fuckin’ Jay from the Alley, man,” the guy exclaimed. “Big, burly son of a bitch. The one with the scar on his face. Motherfucker’s built like a matador—”
“Oh, really?” Dick rested a hand against his jaw.
“Really,” the guy huffed. “And she’s just out here looking like that and dancing on people— have you seen the size of that guy’s fist? Fuck’s sake… I could’ve lost my life...”
Jason smirked to himself then shook his head to get rid of it. You weren’t his girl, you weren’t. Not really and not in all the ways that mattered.
Was he wrong for feeling a liiitle bit on cloud nine at the notion of Bird Chest the Handsy Hog fucking off because of two words? Maybe. But he’d been wrong about plenty of things in his life, he could do with another on his conscience.
“Yo, Benny!” Came a shout and the guy in question whipped his head around. Oh, Bird Chest Benny. You would’ve loved to witness this in real time, he thought.
“Go easy, fellas,” Benny said, downing the last of his drink and stuffing a few bills under the glass. “And watch out for that girl I told you about. Wouldn’t wanna see any of you on the Missing Persons’ list.”
When Benny left the bar there was silence between the trio, a heavy, amused silence as Dick cradled his stomach to keep from bursting out into a guffaw.
Roy was the first to speak, and he sighed, long and dramatic, rising from his stool to stretch his aching arms. “O beware, my lord, of jealousy! It is the green eyed monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on—”
“—You’re done.” Jason interrupted, damn near lunging towards Roy who cackled with mischief, and Dick, who was still sitting there holding his stomach, had his lips pursed in intense thought.
“Oh, wait a minute, I get it now!” Dick shouted, rising from his seat. “Othello!”
“Need a light?”
Your entire body went stiff for a moment and a yelp escaped your throat. “Fuckin’ hell,” you whipped your head around, cigarette dangling carelessly between your fingers and eyes wide with momentary fright.
“Announce yourself first, Dracula.”
Jason could only fix his face in a sheepish little smile, stuffing a hand into his jacket pocket to fish out the lighter he’d intended to use earlier but didn’t have the chance.
The music from inside the club was muffled, the bass reduced to something like a tickle under your feet from where you both stood at the darkened back entrance.
You leaned forward, hands cupped and raised up to the click of his calloused thumb against the lighter, the small flame warming your fingertips.
“You got a ride home?” Jason asked, one hand cradling both of yours and raising them nearer to the flame, the tip of the cigarette finally catching light.
“Something like that,” you murmured, drawing in a puff, a soft plume of smoke leaving your nostrils. You withdrew your hands from his and he nodded, shoving the lighter back into his pocket.
He understood why. Of course, this wasn’t a thing, not exactly and not anymore. So he kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, still unable to hide the long gaze that raked over your features from where the timid light of the cigarette and the brightness of the moon cast shadows over your face. You were beautiful.
“What’s with the mustache?”
He blinked. “Huh?”
You were so beautiful and he was so stupid.
“Oh, that… that, uh…” Jason reached up to peel the embarrassingly fluffy, hairy thing off his face. “That was part of a covert operation,” he said, his voice coming out a little higher than he intended it to.
You laughed despite yourself. “A covert operation?”
“What’s it to you, Columbo?” He grumbled, a smile stretching on his mouth. He missed you. You hadn’t even been apart for long and he missed you.
You dug your heels into the asphalt, taking a deep drag of the cigarette between your fingers. With a long exhale, you looked over at him then looked away, but he caught your gaze in between, his gaze shooting to the ground.
“So… you and that guy in there—”
“Is that seriously how you wanna start right now?” You turned to look at him. “You were watching me?”
“I was gonna say sorry,” he looked up at you. “For ruining your night. He didn’t seem to stick around long, so I figured…”
“No, you’re not.” You shook your head, an almost bitter laugh of disbelief leaving your mouth in huffs of smoke. “No, you’re not, you fucking asshole—”
You were laughing, hiccuping through each harsh draw of breath and wheeze of laughter. Jason bit back a shit eating grin because of course you knew him well enough to call his bluff.
“You’re right,” he nodded, the words coming as a brief mumble under his breath. “I… I don’t know, I just can’t remember why we broke up.”
“If I remember correctly, you were the one who wanted a break—”
He turned his body towards you and interrupted. “A break, not a break up.” Jason sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “And then you just started throwing shit at me, what was I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know, Jason,” you flicked your cigarette away, outing the meek flame under your shoe. “Maybe call? Maybe come look for me? Maybe don’t spy on me with the Jay sanctioned protection squad?”
He straightened his posture, blinking slowly. “If this is about what happened at Paulie’s…”
You scoffed. “What happened at Paulie’s was none of your business. I can handle myself.”
Jason’s eyebrows rose in mock pride. “Yeah, word on the street is you waterboarded the guy with a glass of rum and coke.” The smile on his face faltered slightly, and his voice came quieter. “I know you can. I know that. It’s just different because—”
“Because I’m yours?” Your gaze met his, and you’d be lying if you said he didn’t look the slightest bit pathetic. Good, he deserved that. You wasted half a rum and coke because of his stupid ass. “Don’t make me laugh.”
He swallowed, taking his hands from his pockets and wiping them on his jeans. Okay, so yeah, he did deserve that. “I was an idiot. I’m still an idiot… And I didn’t mean to disappear on you like that.”
“But you did.”
“But I did,” he hung his head. “I did, and I fucked up, and you shouldn’t even hear me out. Because I was too much of a fuckin’ coward to come find you but seeing you here tonight, I just….”
“You just what?” He watched the way your mouth curved over the syllables. “Got jealous?”
“Follia,” he huffed. “Don’t get hasty, I didn’t say all that—”
“Oh my God, you were jealous,” you grinned wolfishly, eyes bright with amusement as you stepped closer to him. “You thought I was with that guy in there.”
“As if,” Jason rolled his eyes. “Look at him and look at you, in what world would you ever go for that sorta—”
“But I was with him and not you,” your lips pursed just the slightest, a tease, but nothing short of the truth. “Did it make you mad?”
A brief silence passed between you two, his dark blue eyes drifting from your eyes down to your lips, then back up again.
“What do you think?”
“Jealous, mad,” you raised two fingers, wiggling them slightly as you counted. “Mad or jealous. Uno dei due.”
“Brava,” he hummed. “You’re a natural.”
You tried to ignore the way your stomach did a somersault. “I’m still mad at you, and probably will be for a long time,” you said, lifting your head and pointing your nose at him firmly. “So, if you felt jealous, boo fuckin’ hoo, that’s your penance to pay.”
“I know that,” he nodded. “And I wouldn’t expect you to forgive me, not unless I really worked for it, I’m sure.” Jason reached for your hand and you let him, a calloused thumb stroking the back of your hand.
He was so warm compared to you right now, even though he ran cold. “But I do want to apologize, if you’ll let me.”
You pretended to think about it, your other hand reaching up to scratch the side of your head. “I mean, it really depends on the quality of your apology. You did leave me high and dry to go dress up as Mr. Potato Head—”
“Again, it was a covert operation—”
“I just don’t think a little apology is gonna cut it…” you sighed with faux hurt.
“I swear to God, I will get on my knees right now.” Jason said, deadpan.
You quirked a brow at him. “You wouldn’t.”
Before the last syllable had left your mouth, his knees hit the cold asphalt in front of you, those dark blue eyes staring up at you, electric and determined. Your heartbeat roared all the way up to your throat.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Jesus Christ, Jason—” you ducked your head in embarrassment, a shameful heat prickling your skin. You were suddenly aware of everyone and everything that could witness this display. A car driving by, a girl slipping outside to answer her phone, a guy idling on a bike parked a decent few feet away.
“Guardarmi,” he whispered. You looked up at him immediately. “Focus on me. Let me fix this.”
Your breath stuttered but you nodded all the same. “Apologize,” you said.
“I was wrong,” he scooted closer. “I was wrong and I’m sorry and I swear to you—”
“Don’t promise me anything,” you interrupted, looking down at him. The faintest redness dusted the flesh of his cheeks. “Apologize, better.”
“I messed up,” he continued. His hands rested on the dips of your waist. “I should’ve called or come to you but I didn’t. But I’ll fix it, I’ll do better by you. I know I don’t own you… I know that, but when you take me back—”
“If I take you back,” you clarified firmly. “I’m not your girl—”
Jason pressed a kiss to the hem of your shirt. “And if you don’t like it, I’ll set it straight so no one calls you that again, you know? I never need you to be my girl — maybe not even mine, I just need you.”
“Not your girl yet,” you murmured, finishing your previous sentence. “I don’t hear you apologizing.”
“Madonna Santa,” Jason nuzzled his forehead against your stomach. “I know, I fuckin’ know and I’m begging on my knees here, doll,” he groaned. “Mi dispiace, mi perdoni…”
He looked up at you with those eyes and you covered your face in defense. “Don’t… don’t look at me like that, it’s cheating.”
“Amore,” he whispered but you shook your head with a muffled mm-mm. “Ho bisogno del suo perdono.”
You peeked down at him from between your fingers, and he was still staring up at you with those big, wet eyes.
“Oh my God, get up, you look stupid,” you huffed, but a smile played at the corner of your mouth the whole time.
“Does this mean—?” Jason shifted, rising onto one knee.
“Fuck no,” you rolled your eyes. “At least take me home first,” you grumbled and he deflated slightly, the sadness evident in the smallest downturn of his lips. You had to bite back a laugh.
“But, you do owe me a rum and coke,” you continued as he rose to his feet, already walking ahead of him. Jason tried and failed to hide his enthusiasm, a grin blooming on his features.
“Yeah?”
“What about your little entourage?” You asked and he looked at you quizzically. “The rest of Mustache Incorporated.”
Jason’s brows rose in realization. Roy and Dick were still inside. Nevertheless, he shrugged. “They’re uh… working on some notes about Othello for me.”
“Othello?” You chuckled, and he caught up to your side.
“Covert operation, remember?” Jason whistled. “We have to have codenames.”
a few centered around his family—he always sits or stands to the left of dick, always makes cass her plate, always brings dessert to gatherings because nobody can do it as well as he can.
a few about his work—he always starts on the south end of gotham and works toward the north, always cleans his guns an hour before patrol, always puts his right boot on before his left one.
then, he has several for you.
he always flicks your sky projector on fifteen minutes before you’re done getting ready for bed, he always lets you take a bite of food first before picking his fork up, he always lets you read the prologue of a book he’s considering purchasing.
but your personal favorite?
jason always lets you kiss him first.
he’ll lower his face to yours, keeping the space between the two of you until you lift your lips to slot against his. whenever he wants affection, he’ll draw closer, look at you with those utterly compelling eyes of his, and wait.
he waits until you respond—whether it be reciprocating his energy or not.
he doesn’t take from you. he loves whatever you give him, even if it’s merely eye contact.
even then, he’ll graciously accept it because it’s from you.
jason has a habit of waiting for you to kiss him first, not because he’s nervous or shy.
he waits because he knows what it’s like to have things taken, and he always wants you to have a choice.
can be read as standalone but continued from part 1
---
Taking out your key is your favourite part of the day.
There’s something about the weight of it in your hand, the familiar scrape of metal, the little resistance in the lock Jason keeps saying he’ll fix and never does. It has been a long day. The kind of long day that lives in your shoulders and behind your eyes. Meetings, emails, fluorescent lighting, office politics.
But then the door opens.
And there it is.
Home.
Warm air brushes your face, carrying traces of lunch, laundry detergent, and the faint smell of the wallflowers you had dutifully chosen at the mall last weekend. You step inside and nudge the door shut behind you with your heel.
Best part of the day. Every time.
You toe off your shoes by the mat, dropping your bag beside the stairs. The hardwood is cool under your socks as you take a few steps into the foyer and glance toward the kitchen.
Nothing.
No tiny ambush from behind the island. No suspicious whispering from the living room. No husband pretending he did not hear the door open because he wants to be dramatic about his entrance.
You narrow your eyes.
The lower floor is completely empty.
Well.
This will not do.
You plant your hands on your hips, draw in one deep breath, and let your voice ring through the house.
“BABIES!!!!!!!”
Your shout bounces up the staircase, down the hall, through the vents, into the bones of the place itself.
thud thud thud thud
A shriek of delighted little boy laughter tears down the hallway, followed by the frantic slap of feet against wood.
“Mommy!”
The toddler appears at full speed like he has been launched from a cannon, hair wild, shirt half untucked, sippy cup in hand, joy radiating off him in visible waves. He barrels straight into your legs with enough force to make you stagger.
“Good gosh, River,” you say, shifting him to your hip. “Give me a moment. You turned two and suddenly weigh as much as a refrigerator.”
The second he’s in your arms, he grabs your cheeks with both hands and starts planting wet, determined kisses everywhere he can reach.
“Mwah! Mwah! Missed you!”
Your heart melts on contact.
“I missed you too, baby,” you murmur, kissing one cheek, then the other, then the little wrinkle between his brows that only appears when he’s concentrating very hard on loving someone.
A warm body appears beside you before River can land the next one.
Jason slides an arm around your waist, pulls you gently against his side, and uses two fingers to hold River’s face back.
“Easy,” he says, voice low and amused. “Daddy gets first kiss.”
River gasps in theatrical betrayal.
You barely have time to laugh before Jason kisses you slow and easy, like he hasn’t seen you in years instead of eight hours. Familiar, grounding, a little smug.
When he pulls back, you’re smiling already.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi yourself.”
River wedges a hand between your faces in protest. “My turn!”
Jason snorts and kisses the top of his son’s head. Then you glance past him toward the staircase.
“Where are the other babies?”
Jason sighs like a man burdened by impossible trials. “Ma, they don’t like when you call them babies anymore. They’re big now.”
“That is ridiculous,” you say immediately.
“I’ve told you this.”
“I reject it.”
He pecks you once more, because apparently he cannot pass within kissing range without abusing the privilege, then straightens and raises his voice in the tone that has ended fights, started baths, and once convinced a child to apologize to a goldfish.
“TRAITORS,” he bellows upstairs. “COME HUG YOUR MOTHER.”
A chorus of groans answers from above.
You grin. “Music.”
Heavy footsteps pound first.
Briar appears on the stairs with all the weary dignity of someone forced into nonsense against his will. Ten years old now and trying very hard to become composed, he takes the last few steps quickly, crosses the foyer, and gives you the briefest possible side hug.
You gasp. “Nope. Try again.”
He recoils. “This is so dumb. I’m in fifth grade.”
You shift River to one side. “Terrible diagnosis. Come here.”
“I own a calculator,” Briar adds, as if presenting legal evidence.
“I do not care if you own a submarine.”
You catch him around the shoulders and pull him into a proper hug. He makes a dramatic sound of suffering but melts after two seconds, arms wrapping around your middle. You kiss the top of his head anyway.
“Perfect,” you say. “Where’s the next baby?”
“I’m not a baby either,” he mutters into your sweater.
Two more sets of footsteps race each other down the stairs.
Sophie (8) and Winnie (6) arrive side by side. Sophie rolls her eyes the moment she sees your open arms.
“Mom,” she says, scandalized. “Please.”
But she hugs you anyway.
Winnie notices the eye roll, pauses, then carefully rolls her own eyes in imitation before stepping in for the sweetest, quietest hug of the bunch, cheek pressing to your side.
You barely make it three steps toward the kitchen before everyone starts talking at once, each child apparently convinced their update is both urgent and legally entitled to first priority.
“I crossed level twelve,” Briar announces, appearing at your elbow with the grave importance of a man reporting market trends. “And I unlocked the obsidian blade, which is actually hard to get, so.”
“That’s amazing,” you say immediately.
“It took strategy,” he adds.
“I’m sure it did.”
Sophie shoves past him with the offense of someone denied spotlight. “I almost did a cartwheel.”
“You almost did one yesterday.”
“This one was closer.”
“How close?”
She demonstrates by kicking one leg up in the hallway and nearly taking out a lamp.
“Closer than yesterday,” she says triumphantly.
Winnie slips in beside you, holding a paper with both hands so carefully it might be sacred. “I drew the park.”
You take it like an artifact. A sweep of green trees, a yellow sun, a suspiciously square dog, and five stick figures holding hands.
“It’s beautifu, baby,” you say.
Winnie glows so quietly it could be missed if you did not know her.
River, who has no art and no measurable achievements to present, simply grabs your chin and announces, “Lollipop.”
You look at Jason.
He looks at the ceiling.
“Purple,” River adds helpfully, showing you his stained tongue.
“Excellent work, baby.”
River objects immediately when you place him on the floor and attaches himself to your leg like ivy.
“No down.”
“You have feet,” you remind him.
“They’re tired.”
Then the complaints begin.
“Briar took my charger.”
“It was on the floor. Floor means community property.”
“Sophie kept singing the same line from one song for an hour.”
“It was catchy.”
“Winnie hid under the table and scared me.”
You hold up one hand. “I need everyone to understand something very important.”
No one stops talking.
You try again, louder this time.
“Children.”
Still they continue.
“I was reading.”
“River bit my shoulder.”
River gasps. “No.”
“You absolutely did.”
You are still processing that when Sophie delivers the final grenade.
“And Dad burned lunch.”
Jason straightens from where he was unloading groceries you definitely did not ask for. “I did not”
“He made smoke,” Briar says.
“The pan was dramatic,” Jason counters.
“We had pizza instead,” Sophie continues, delighted now. “And Dad gave us all five dollars not to tell Mom.”
You slowly turn your head.
Jason points at her. “You little snitch. Give me the money back.”
Sophie clutches imaginary pearls. “It’s already spent.”
“On what?”
“I have plans for it.”
“What exactly?”
“My first Birkin”
River tugs your pant leg with both hands. “Up. Up. Up.”
Then, because no one in this house fears consequences, he adds:
“Kiss.”
You inhale slowly through your nose.
Jason glances over, recognizes the look instantly, and takes one respectful step backward.
Smart man.
You clap once. Sharp enough to bounce off the cabinets.
Everything freezes.
Even River pauses mid climb.
You smile with terrifying calm.
“New rule,” you say. “No one speaks to me for the next five minutes unless someone is bleeding, on fire, or legally changing their name.”
Silence.
It lands across the kitchen like holy light.
Sophie opens her mouth.
You lift one eyebrow.
She closes it.
It is one of your greater powers.
“Quiet time,” you repeat, gentler now. “Words can resume when plates are down.”
A chorus of groans follows, but feet begin moving.
And in the blessed hush that follows, you look around. The house is clean. Mostly. There are crumbs under the counter stool and one marker without a cap and a suspicious wet towel on the stairs, but overall? Remarkable.
Jason and the kids always manage it. While you’re at work, they run this little kingdom beautifully. Jason handles mornings, school runs, lunches of varying structural integrity, homework, laundry, scraped knees, art projects, and the thousand tiny gears of daytime life. Then, when the city darkens, he becomes something else again and goes out into Gotham’s night.
It is a strange system.
It is a good one.
In silence, Briar sets forks with unnecessary precision. Sophie carries napkins like she’s doing everyone a favor. Winnie arranges cups by height. River places one spoon in the fruit bowl and beams when corrected. Jason brings dinner to the table with theatrical exhaustion. You all sit.
For one brief second, there is peace before someone shares a fact, asks for ketchup, or starts a war.
River is in Jason’s lap, because apparently his own chair is now beneath his dignity.
He sits sideways against Jason’s chest as a part of the new arrangement you have recently adopted. If you place identical food on River’s own plate, he rejects it as poisoned. If it comes from Jason’s plate, it is gourmet cuisine.
Parenthood is rich with mysteries.
Jason blows on a forkful of pasta and offers it over. “Open.”
River opens immediately.
You reach across the table and steal a piece of bread from his plate, because like your son, you, too, think stuff tastes better off Jason’s plate.
He catches your wrist before you can retreat and kisses the inside of it like you are alone instead of surrounded by children and carbohydrates.
Sophie gags theatrically.
“Can you not romance each other over the penne?”
“No,” Jason says.
You bite into the stolen bread. “We’re in love.”
“That’s disgusting,” Briar mutters “Can we have one normal dinner.”
Jason leans closer, voice dropping just for you. “You look pretty.”
“I look like I got tackled in the foyer.”
“Still counts.”
You nudge his knee under the table. “Flirt.”
“Always.”
River, unwilling to be excluded from any affection economy, grabs your chin from across the gap and blows a wet kiss in your direction.
You catch it dramatically and press it to your heart.
He beams.
Jason looks deeply offended. “I was in the middle of something.”
Before you can answer, Briar gasps. “YOU TAKE THAT BACK.”
Every head turns.
At the far end of the table, Sophie is sitting ramrod straight, fork in hand, eyes blazing with the righteous confidence of someone who has chosen war.
“No,” she says crisply. “And I mean it more now.”
“What did you say?” you ask, already tired.
Briar points at her with the full betrayal of an older sibling wronged. “She said my haircut looked like I did it myself in the dark.”
“It does,” Sophie replies.
“That was not all you said,” Briar says, voice climbing.
Sophie lifts her chin, doubles down, and delivers the killing blow with all the grace of a tiny tyrant.
“I said, That's why you’re adopted and I’m the real one.”
You slowly set down your fork.
Jason blinks once. Twice.
Then, with the casual tone of a man correcting the weather, he says, “Uh, no?”
Sophie turns to him, already certain of victory. “What?”
“Babygirl,” Jason says, adjusting River higher on his knee. “You’re adopted too.”
She laughs once. A short, confident sound.
Then no one joins her.
Her smile falters.
“What.”
Jason gestures vaguely around the table with his fork. “All of you are. We found every single one of you.”
You close your eyes. “Jason.”
He continues, because self-preservation has never been his strongest skill.
“On the streets, mostly. I made the mistake of bringing you all home and haven't known peace since.”
Sophie is still staring, fork suspended in midair.
“No,” she says slowly. “No. I’m not adopted.”
“You absolutely are,” Briar says, recovering fast enough to become smug. “I knew before you.”
“You did not know before me!”
“I’m the oldest, I know everything”
Now Sophie looks to you with widening eyes, seeking the last honest authority in the room.
“Mom.”
You shoot your husband a look sharp enough to peel paint.
He has the decency to look only slightly ashamed.
Then you sigh, reach for your water, and take a long drink before answering.
“Well,” you say carefully. “I did want to tell these stories when everyone was emotionally stronger.”
“No,” Sophie says again, louder this time. “Tell me right now.”
River slaps the table with both hands.
“Story time!”
---
By unanimous decision, and also because no one can hear family lore over the sound of forks hitting plates, the trial is moved to the living room.
The migration happens in pieces.
Sophie stalks out first, still wounded and dramatic, carrying the energy of someone who has just discovered both betrayal and excellent material for future arguments.
Briar follows at a measured pace meant to suggest emotional distance, though he very obviously chooses the armchair furthest to Sophie.
Winnie climbs up beside Jason before he even sits down fully, tucking herself into his side with the ease of long practice. He drops an arm around her automatically, somehow Winnie and Jason always find each other on the couch.
River has already claimed your lap by the time you lower yourself onto the couch. He settles there like a cat who pays no rent and fears no authority, wrapping both arms around your middle and pressing his cheek to your chest.
“Mama,” he says.
“Very flattering,” you murmur, smoothing his hair back.
“Someone start talking.” Sophie crosses her arms. “Start with mine.”
“No,” Briar says at once. “Start with the important one.”
“That would be mine,” Sophie snaps.
“Me!,” River adds, though he has no idea what anyone is talking about.
Winnie says nothing, but leans further into Jason as if to secure her place in the narrative hierarchy.
You lift a hand. “Start at the beginning.”
Then, Jason clears his throat with great ceremony.
“Once upon a time,” he begins, voice deep and grave, “when I had a better back and was full of optimism, there lived a handsome man who never complained and had excellent knees.”
You smack his arm.
He grins. “Ow. Abuse in front of the children.”
“Proceed honestly.”
He sighs like art is under attack.
“It was 10 years ago,” he says, shifting Winnie a little higher against him. “There was an accident on Park Row. Building fire. Bad one.”
The room quiets.
You know this story by heart. You still feel it in your ribs.
Jason’s hand rests on Winnie, but his eyes find Briar.
“I got there late,” he says. “Fire crews were still pulling people out. Whole place was coming down. Smoke everywhere. Thought I was looking for survivors.”
Briar, who usually performs indifference like it is a competitive sport, has gone very still.
Jason’s voice softens. “Then I heard crying.”
River looks up at you. “Baby?”
“Yes,” you whisper, kissing his forehead. “A baby.”
Jason nods. “I followed the sound upstairs. Last room at the end of the hall. And there he was.”
He points across the room.
Briar rolls his eyes immediately, too fast. “I know it’s me.”
“Let me be dramatic,” Jason says. “Tiny little soot covered thing in the corner. Loud as hell.”
“I was not loud,” Briar mutters.
“You were furious,” Jason says fondly. “And alive. Only survivor in the whole building.”
The words settle heavily for a moment.
Then Jason smiles, small and crooked. “I picked him up, and he grabbed onto my vest like he was practicing bouldering. Wouldn’t let go, so I brought him home”
“Here? Winnie piped up.
“No. Years ago, your mom and I lived in an apartment further in the city, and that's where Briar first lived too”
Sophie piped up with a “HA, Briar lived in the discount home”. Jason gave her a look which said shut your trap or else I will never finish this story
He settles deeper into the couch, Winnie using his ribs as a pillow.
“It was late. I came home through the window, because doors are for cowards. And over here,” he points at you, “your beautiful mother was on the couch with cucumbers on her eyes.”
The children lose their minds immediately.
“Mom!” Sophie cries. “Why?”
“It was skincare,” you say with dignity.
Jason keeps going, warmed by his own nonsense. “I remember thinking, wow. How did someone this perfect marry me? Stunning face. Incredible hair. Strong moral compass. Great legs.”
“Just tell the story, man,” Briar says.
Even Winnie snorts.
You cover your smile with River’s hair. “Yes, storyteller. Plot.”
“No,” Jason says. “Art takes time.”
“I brought him home,” he says. “Walked in through the window, covered in ash, holding a screaming baby, and your mom just stared at me with vegetables on her face.”
The room erupts again.
You point a warning finger. “I was processing.”
“She was shocked for exactly four seconds,” Jason says. “Then she stood up, took the baby from me, and became the scariest competent person I’ve ever seen.”
“That sounds right,” Sophie says.
“She had him cleaned up, fed, wrapped in a towel, and asleep before I’d found a clean shirt, and then after that we kept him and he became our first baby”
Briar, cornered by emotion, rolls his eyes with great force.
“This is embarrassing.”
You reach out from the couch. “Come here.”
“No.”
“Briar.”
He sighs like a burdened saint, crosses the two steps between you, and lets you pull him into a hug. You kiss the top of his head.
“First baby,” you murmur.
He groans into your shoulder.
River lifts his face and announces to the room, “Briar baby.”
Jason laughs so hard Winnie starts laughing too, though she missed the joke entirely.
Briar escapes your hug the second dignity becomes available again and drops back into the armchair with all the composure of someone who definitely was not just kissed on the head in front of witnesses.
“This family is humiliating,” he mutters.
“You’ll survive,” you say.
“Unfortunately.”
Before the softness can settle too long, Sophie flings herself upright on the couch like a lawyer objecting in court.
“Okay,” she says, clapping once. “We know Briar was adopted. That’s old news. Can we get to the cooler stories already?”
Briar gasps. “My story has fire.”
“And cucumbers,” Sophie says. “not cool, soot baby”
Winnie, still tucked into Jason’s side, lifts her face just enough to be heard.
“Where did you find me?”
Jason looks down at her, his whole face softening.
“You?” he says. “You were a professional handoff.”
Winnie blinks. “What.”
You laugh. “That is not how we’re phrasing it.”
“It’s accurate.”
He shifts, tightening his arm around her as if memory itself makes him hold her closer.
“I was out on patrol one night,” he begins.
“Out on a walk,” you correct instantly.
Sophie groans. “Mom.”
Briar throws his head back. “We know Dad is Red Hood.”
“No, he is not,” you say.
Jason nods solemnly. “Yeah, of course not. Anyway, I was on patrol. In a red helmet. As one does.”
You rub your temples.
He continues, deeply pleased with himself.
“I was passing the fire station when a couple firefighters came running out waving me down.”
“Why were they calling you?” Sophie asks.
Jason shrugs. “Community outreach.”
“Because you’d helped them before,” you translate.
“Because I’m beloved,” Jason counters.
Winnie is watching him with huge eyes now.
“They had a baby,” he says, looking back at her. “Tiny thing. Wrapped in one of those striped hospital blankets. Someone had left you there and rung the bell.”
“One firefighter asked if I could do something about it,” Jason says. “Said they were waiting on the proper people. But since its Gotham it was taking too long and the baby was getting restless”
Sophie, entranced, asks. “And what did you say?”
He clears his throat. “‘No problem. I’ll take her to social services immediately.’”
All four children stare at him.
“You lied,” Briar says, impressed.
“Spectacularly,” you confirm.
Jason looks offended. “I prefer strategic rerouting.”
“You came straight home,” you say.
“I did.”
The memory pulls a grin from him before he can stop it.
“He walks through the front door,” you tell the kids, “holding the tiniest baby I’d ever seen.”
Jason points at you. “And I said, very kindly, ‘Ma, congrats, you’re a mom again.’”
Sophie collapses sideways laughing.
“That is insane,” Briar says.
“It was midnight!” you add. “I had work in the morning!”
Winnie’s mouth has curved into a shy smile.
Jason tips his head down toward her. “You barely cried. Just stared at me like you were evaluating whether I was qualified.”
“Were you?” she asks.
He grins. “Debatable.”
She considers this seriously, then leans into him harder.
You reach across and smooth her hair back. “You were so little. Quietest baby I’ve ever met.”
“Still true,” Sophie says.
Winnie gives her a look so mild and so devastating that Sophie recoils instantly.
“Okay, wow.”
Jason laughs under his breath and kisses the top of Winnie’s head.
“You came home,” he says softly. “And then it felt weird imagining the house without you in it.”
Jason’s hand is still resting over hers where it clutches his shirt. You are halfway leaned across the couch, fingers in her hair. Briar is pretending not to be touched by anything. Sophie is pretending to recover from being verbally annihilated by a six-year-old.
And then River springs upright in your lap like a jack-in-the-box.
“RIVER NEXT!”
Everyone startles.
He points both thumbs into his own chest with such force he nearly topples backward.
“Me. Me next.”
You catch him around the middle before gravity can humble him. “Strong pitch.”
“My story,” he insists, bouncing once on your knees. “Baby story.”
Jason leans back, eyes narrowing in theatrical suspicion. “You just want attention.”
“Yeah,” River says immediately.
Honesty. Rare and refreshing.
Sophie groans. “We know his story. We were literally there.”
“That’s not the point,” you say, kissing River’s temple as he wiggles. “Some people enjoy being celebrated.”
River gasps. “Me!”
Briar folds his arms. “This is favoritism.”
“You were literally first,” you remind him.
“And yet somehow still oppressed.”
Jason snorts.
River twists toward him now, one hand reaching across the gap. “Daddy tell.”
Jason catches the little hand automatically and presses a kiss to the knuckles.
“Bossy,” he says.
River beams. “Yeah.”
You shift him higher on your lap and settle back into the couch. “Alright then. Tell him.”
Jason drapes an arm along the back cushions and looks at the ceiling like he’s searching the archives.
“River’s story,” he says slowly, “started with a mistake.”
You point at him. “Watch it.”
“A Blessing,” Jason clarifies. “A wonderful blessing.”
“That sounds more accurate.”
He grins and looks around at the kids.
“At this point, we already had three of you. Which meant the house was loud, messy, expensive, and full of tiny shoes.”
“So many shoes,” you murmur.
“Too many shoes,” he agrees. “And one day, your mom and I were talking in the kitchen when I said something I should never have said out loud.”
River goes very still, as if sensing myth.
Jason deepens his voice dramatically.
“I said… I miss having babies in the house.”
You cover your face. “I knew immediately we were doomed.”
Sophie points. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” you say, “that every time your father expresses a desire for something ridiculous, Gotham hears him.”
“True,” Briar says.
“Rude,” Jason replies.
You lean your head back against the couch and continue for him. “The second he said it, I told him, ‘Great. Now that you’ve said it out loud, a baby will be showing up in three to five business days.’”
Winnie blinks. “Business days?”
“It was an estimate,” you say.
River laughs just because everyone else looks delighted.
Jason nods solemnly. “And then, a few nights later, your mom and I went on a date.”
“Gross,” says three children at once.
“Jealousy is ugly,” you tell them.
“We were walking through Gotham,” Jason continues, “holding hands, minding our business, being gorgeous in public…”
“Debatable,” you mutter.
“…when we turned a corner and saw a car seat sitting right under a streetlamp.”
The room stills again.
River’s eyes go wide.
“Me?” he whispers.
“You,” you say softly.
“There was a note tucked into the straps,” Jason says, voice gentler now. “Said you’d been left there. Said whoever wrote it hoped someone kind would find you.”
River presses closer into you.
Jason reaches over and smooths a curl off his forehead.
“They were right,” you say.
He looks at you for half a second, something old and tender passing between you.
Then he taps River’s nose.
“We found you.”
River considers this with grave seriousness. “Kay”
Words of wisdom.
And then, from the opposite cushion:
“What about me?”
Sophie sits upright, arms crossed, chin lifted, every inch a woman prepared to litigate for equal representation.
“You skipped me.”
You glance at Jason.
Jason very suddenly studies the ceiling.
Coward.
“You know what,” you say lightly. “I can’t really remember.”
Sophie narrows her eyes. “You can’t remember where you found me.”
You double down with the bravery of protecting your daughter's dignity.
“It was years ago.”
“I’m eight.”
“Exactly. Ancient history.”
“Mom.”
You can feel Jason vibrating beside you with the energy of a man about to ruin your strategy.
You do not look at him.
Do not.
Do not.
“I do,” Jason says.
You close your eyes.
Of course he does.
Sophie brightens immediately. “See!”
Jason shifts like a storyteller preparing his finest work.
“It was the gutter on Fifth.”
The room detonates. Briar folds in half laughing. Winnie’s hand flies over her mouth. River, not understanding but committed to tone, starts cackling too.
You whip your head toward your husband. “Jason.”
“What?” he says. “That’s geographically accurate.”
Sophie’s jaw drops. “The gutter?”
“It was more of a storm drain situation,” he says generously.
“That is worse!”
You open your arms at once. “Come here, baby.”
“I am not coming there,” Sophie says, scandalized. She comes there immediately.
You pull her against your side while she continues protesting into your shoulder.
“There were mitigating circumstances,” you tell her hair.
“There better have been.”
Jason, entirely unrepentant, leans forward with his elbows on his knees.
“It was a rare sunny day,” he says. “Briar was two. We were out for a walk. Tiny Briar was babbling about trucks or snacks or physics, I don’t know, and then he just stopped. He freezes, stares at the curb, and goes…”
He drops his voice into a solemn toddler imitation.
“Baby.”
River gasps. Winnie smiles. Sophie stiffens in your arms.
“I look down and tell him, ‘No, Bri. That is a gutter.’”
The laughter starts all over again.
“But he keeps insisting,” Jason says. “‘Baby. Baby.’ Gets mad that I’m not listening. Starts trying to climb in there himself. So finally I crouch down,” Jason says, glancing at Sophie now, humor softening at the edges. “And I look.”
He pauses dramatically.
“And in the corner, staring up at me with these huge eyes…”
Sophie unconsciously widens her own.
“…was a tiny little baby in the gutter like Pennywise.”
The room shatters.
Sophie whips around. “Dad!”
“What?” Jason says. “She was in a drain and making intense eye contact.”
“That is so mean!”
“It is affectionate.”
You kiss the top of her head. “It is unfortunately affectionate.”
Jason grins and keeps going.
“The problem was, now I had to get you out.”
He spreads his hands. “Too deep to just reach. Too narrow to drop Briar in there with a rope.”
“So I hand Bri my phone and tell him to hold the flashlight.”
Jason nods. “Then I popped the manhole cover, climbed down, and there you were. Still in the corner. Still staring like you were judging my technique.”
Sophie tries not to smile.
Fails.
“I pick her up,” Jason says softly now, the humor easing into warmth. “And she starts crying like she’s mad at me for taking her away from her rat family”
“Dad!” Sophie yelps, scandalized.
River collapses into giggles. “Rat family!”
“She did not have a rat family,” you say, though you are laughing too.
Jason shrugs. “I don’t know her full backstory.”
Sophie buries her face in your shoulder for one second, then peeks back out. “I hate this story.”
“I’m sorry, babygirl, but its true.” says Jason
“I hate how you’re telling it.”
“That,” you say, kissing the top of her head, “is fair.”
“But the second I climbed back out and got you into the sunlight, you stopped.”
The room quiets.
Sophie looks up at him.
“Stopped?” she asks.
He nods. “Completely. Just blinked up at the sky like you’d never seen it before.”
You feel her shift against your side, listening with her whole body now.
“You had this little scrunched-up face,” Jason says, demonstrating badly. “Then the sun hit you, and suddenly you were calm. Quiet as anything.”
River tilts his head. “She solar powered?”
Briar snorts. “That explains a lot, actually.”
Sophie elbows the air in his direction without leaving your side.
“I was not solar powered.”
“You recharge dramatically,” Briar says.
“Be nice.”
Jason smiles to himself and continues.
“I figured step one after retrieving a drain baby was probably hospital.”
“That was the correct instinct,” you say.
“I have those occasionally.”
“So rare,” you murmur.
He ignores you. “I took her in, covered in grime, purple onesie, screaming on and off depending on whether I was moving too slow.”
“I remember getting the call,” you say, taking over before he can get worse. “Your father says, very casually, ‘Ma, don’t freak out, but I’m at the hospital with another baby.’”
Winnie giggles into Jason’s side.
“So I get there,” you continue, “and your dad is sitting in one of those terrible plastic chairs in the pediatric waiting room, holding the angriest little girl I’d ever seen. And… Briar was talking to social services arguing that he is the Daddy”
“WHAT??” came a Briar’s voice
Jason snorted and took over “Briar was ready to claim full paternal rights because in his head since he found the baby he should be the daddy. We had to negotiate with him to make him accept he’s the brother”
Sophie groans and mutters about how Briar was annoying even back then. You correct her that Briar was the first person to love her. A look passed between the siblings with begrudging acknowledgement to shelf the fight for now.
“They ran tests,” you continue the story. “Cleaned you up. Made sure you were healthy.”
“And then?” River asks.
“And then,” Jason says, leaning back into the couch, “we brought her home.”
Sophie looks between you both, voice smaller now.
“Just like that?”
You pull her closer and kiss the top of her head again.
“Just like that.”
Jason reaches over and taps the end of her nose.
“You were ours before the paperwork ever caught up.”
Jason stretches an arm across the back of the couch behind all of you and looks smug.
“Well,” he says. “Those are the stories of how the Toddlets found their way home.”
You turn to him slowly.
“The Toddlets?”
He shrugs. “Workshop title.”
“It’s terrible,” Briar says.
“It’s amazing,” Winniw says sleepily.
“Tod-let,” he repeats to himself, delighted.
Sophie is quiet.
At first you think she’s just tired. She’s leaning into your side now, fingers tracing the seam of the couch cushion, eyes fixed somewhere past the coffee table.
Then she speaks.
“So…”
The room shifts.
Children have a way of changing the weather with one word.
You look down. “Yeah, baby?”
She doesn’t correct the baby this time.
“You didn’t choose me,” she says softly. “You found me.”
No one moves.
The sentence lands in the center of the room and opens something tender in all of you.
Jason’s face changes first. All the easy humor goes out of it.
You turn fully toward her, brushing a curl back from her forehead.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“It’s okay,” Sophie says quickly, which means it is absolutely not okay. “I’m just saying. Briar was first. Winnie got brought to you. River was manifested. But me…” Her voice wobbles. “You just found me there.”
You gather her into your arms before the thought can grow teeth.
She comes willingly this time, folding into you with the sudden heaviness children get when they are trying not to cry.
“No,” you say softly into her hair. “We met you there.”
She sniffles against your shoulder.
“That’s different.”
“It is,” you say. “Where we met you is not the same as why you stayed.”
The room is so quiet you can hear the dishwasher click in the kitchen.
“You think families are made in one moment,” you continue, holding her tighter. “They aren’t. They’re made over and over again.”
You kiss her temple.
“We chose you when we stayed at the hospital.”
Another kiss.
“We chose you when we brought you home.”
Her shoulders shake once.
“We chose you every birthday, every bedtime, every school pickup, every bad mood, every hug, every argument, every single day after that.”
Sophie’s grip tightens on your shirt.
“And,” you whisper, smiling now, “you chose us too.”
She lifts her face, tearful and suspicious. “I did?”
“You did,” Jason says quietly.
Everyone looks at him.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees.
“You could’ve screamed every time we held you. Could’ve hated the house. Could’ve decided we were weird.”
“We are weird,” Briar says.
“Deeply,” Jason agrees. “But you didn’t. You laughed with us. You grew with us. You loved us. That’s choosing.”
Sophie looks between the two of you, trying to decide whether to believe something that big.
Briar, unable to survive sincerity for more than thirty consecutive seconds, clears his throat.
“Yeah,” he says. “She could’ve gone back to her rat family.”
“There could’ve been tiny little rat parents waiting.”
“Briar!” you laugh.
River sits straight up, electrified.
“Rat grandma?”
Winnie, very quietly, adds, “Rat cousins.”
Jason folds in half laughing.
Sophie launches herself off the couch with a battle cry and charges her brother.
Chaos returns in a shower of cushions.
Briar is halfway over the armchair trying to dodge Sophie, who has abandoned all dignity in favor of vengeance. Winnie has joined the battle in the most Winnie way possible, silently lobbing highly accurate pillows from Jason’s side like a tiny mercenary. River is on his knees in your lap shouting battle commentary no one asked for.
“GET HIM!”
“I am getting him!” Sophie yells.
“You throw like a pidgey!” Briar shouts back.
“I don’t even know what that means!”
A cushion flies past your head and hits the lamp shade hard enough to tilt it.
You reach over and fix it automatically.
Beside you, Jason is laughing so hard he’s gone quiet.
You turn to look at him.
He’s watching the room the way people watch fireworks. Head tipped back against the couch, eyes soft, smile loose and helpless. The house is loud enough to rattle the windows. And he looks stunned by it.
You know that look too.
It’s the one that appears when joy catches him off guard.
His gaze shifts from the children to you.
For a moment, the noise falls away.
He reaches over and hooks two fingers in your sleeve, tugging until you turn fully toward him.
“What?” you ask, smiling.
His thumb brushes your wrist once.
“Thanks,” he says.
You blink. “For what?”
He glances at the battlefield in front of you.
At Briar laughing despite himself. At Sophie shrieking war crimes. At Winnie calmly reloading. At River trying to hold a pillow the size of him.
Then back to you.
“For giving me this.”
Your chest tightens.
“Jay.”
“This family,” he says, quieter now. “This house. All of it.”
There is still disbelief tucked inside the words, like some part of him cannot quite accept that this belongs to him too.
You cup his jaw.
“I should be thanking you.”
He huffs a laugh. “Me?”
“You’re the one who kept showing up with children.”
That gets a real laugh out of him.
“Fair.”
“You found them,” you say softly. “You brought them home.”
“No,” he says, eyes on yours. “We built the rest together.”
The room blurs at the edges.
You lean in first this time.
His hand comes to the back of your neck automatically, warm and steady, and then he’s kissing you slow and familiar in the middle of absolute nonsense, like there is no better place for it.
There probably isn’t.
Around you, the pillow fight screeches to a halt.
A chorus rises immediately.
“EWWWW!”
“GROSS!”
“IN FRONT OF US?”
“JAIL!”
You break apart laughing.
Jason keeps his forehead against yours. “Jealous.”
Another pillow hits his shoulder.
River, outraged by exclusion, climbs over your lap and wedges himself bodily between your faces.
“My turn.”
He grabs each of your cheeks with one hand and plants a loud kiss on your cheek, then Jason’s, then yours again just to be safe.
The older kids collapse into scandalized laughter.
Winnie smiles so hard she snorts.
Sophie points. “That is disgusting.”
“You made him this way,” Briar tells you both.
Jason lifts River one-handed and presses a kiss to his belly until he squeals.
You look around the room.
At the mess. The noise. The children. Your husband with a smile on his face and a toddler under his arm.
Nothing matches. Nothing is tidy. Nothing is calm.
DAY TWENTY-SEVEN // SPITTING - 𝑭𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒄𝒐𝒕𝒕 𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓
cw: 18+, smut, motel sex, they get nassstyyyy, spitting, douchebag!scott what's new, dirty talk, crass!reader, slight slapping, rough!sex
The motel's signage buzzes at an annoying intensity — dying insects plastered to the sides, most of them burnt to a crisp. Some that were dumb enough to remain dangerously close to bare static bulbs, awaiting imminent death.
Scott's legs bounce erratically, folded palms resting on his lap, observing the mind-numbing mundanity. That was what Scott had been up to in the forty-seven minutes he was made to wait at the lobby for supposed 'housekeeping.'
Yeah right. As if there was housekeeping where the bubonic plague probably lingered still. He was pretty sure the sleaze behind the counters from earlier was scraping cadavers off his room floors right about now.
Being stuck in this backwater rural town wasn't ideal. But he'd made the executive decision to go ahead of StormPAR when his sensors had picked up abnormal readings. The barometric dips were strange — and enough to get him out here alone.
"Goddamn Doug…"
Across the dirtied linoleum sat an ice machine — another source of his entertainment so far. It hacked and coughed every six minutes, spitting out what was surely ice from a questionable water source. In the forty-ninth minute, he sees someone.
Out of place, way too put-together, who didn't belong to a motel at the side of a highway. You balanced a silver bucket in your arms, the other, rustling with the ice scoop. He was undoubtedly judging you for your trust in said machine, but that wasn't what intrigued him, no.
It was a slow progression to get to see the stranger, catching flickers of your features, he was straining to piece together.
You turned to look over your shoulder when you felt a stare, only briefly meeting Scott's gaze and returned to your task.
A hairy pot-belly rudely interrupts Scott's leering. He draws back with a scowl to Doug, who dangles a key-card, bound with dried-up sticker-residue.
"About time," Scott sighs, looking past Doug, only to see that you were now gone, dejection filling his chest.
He grabs his key from the man, digging up a dollar & a twenty-dollar bill. "This would've been yours," the twenty flutters out of Doug's view, handing him the dollar bill instead.
"…If it were twenty minutes ago." Scott smiles all bright while chewing his gum.
The man shoots him a dirty look, "glad I pissed in yer sheets, cheap fuck."
Scott simply raises an infuriating salute as he walks off with his duffel.
Monitors lit up with readings of software most would stare dumbly at.
Scott's bed was made — not for sleep, but for his gear. An extension cord had cables snaked all over each other in an organised mess, connected to the nearest power outlet, which was definitely a fire hazard.
A headband sat on his head in place of his cap, hair pulled back with the thin black plastic. Scott had been mouthing numbers off to himself like a man possessed for the better half of an hour when three sharp knocks on the rickety doors stole Scott's focus.
He looks toward it, pen between his teeth, "…yeah?"
"Hey," the voice sounds lighter, casual, definitely a woman's, "I'm from next door. Do you mind if I borrow your shower? The one in mine's busted."
Scott exaggeratedly moves his legs over the equipment in one swoop, cracking the door open with a weary frown. It softens in seconds.
The Ice-bucket hottie from earlier.
"…Lucky me huh? Gave me the only working room in this shit-hole." He nudges the door open with his heel. "Knock yourself out."
"Mm. Rude if you asked me." Scott raises his brow at your wit, watching in amusement as you tug the bath towel draped across your chest tighter, "pretty sure Doug had an eyeful of my tits when I went down to ask."
He clears his throat, though hacking was a better word for it — trying not to look exactly where you'd inadvertently drawn attention to. Slick, coated tits with remnants of soap. Jesus fuck. You, on the other hand, seem unbothered by the state of your undress.
His gaze followed the sway of your hips as you walked off.
"…I'd bet."
The sound of the shower running only served to pester Scott's mind. He doesn't mean to act like a perv, but it was hard not to when he technically hadn't gotten laid in almost six months. So the thought of a girl — who, in a cosmic cruel joke, was visually aligned with his ideals — barely a couple of feet away in a bathroom, naked, it wasn't really his choice when his cock twitched in agony beneath his sweats.
Maybe…just until you'd left. He glances down, wearily bringing his thumb over the slight tent forming.
Almost like you'd sensed his more-than-creepy self-soothing habits, Scott snaps his hand away from his crotch, where he was idly palming himself beneath his was to ease the ache.
"Thanks. I really didn't wanna use Doug's bathroom." You announced your presence before even stepping out of the bathroom, giving him too timely grace period to get decent. "Also, I think our other neighbours are filming a porno."
He sniffs loudly, swiping at his nose with the very hand he'd been busy with. "Don't sweat it." Scott has enough conscience not to look at you, but what made him look up in query was the familiar, minty scent you brought with you.
Bergamot & Eucalyptus.
"You — …"
"Oh. Yeah, sorry. I used the fancy-looking thing you had on the counter."
Scott looked speechless. Who just uses someone else's body wash?
"Gel douche," you enunciate with a forced 'fancy' accent, "you don't come by these places often, do you?"
"…And you do?" He can't help the quirk of a smile that creeps up at your brazenness as you approach him with a trail of dripping water. Thankfully, you were much more clothed this time, wearing what he was pretty sure was his motel-issue bathrobe.
"Clearly more than you," you quipped, then nudging your head toward the array of contraptions on the bed. "Ohhhh. You one of those ghost-hunting freaks?"
Scott squints, bouncing his gaze from his equipment and back to you, "are you kidding? Do I look like a paranormal investigator?"
He graduated from MIT, for Christ's sake.
"Yes." You say without hesitation, he shoots you a disgruntled look when you bring the shower wetness to his bed. Equipment bouncing beneath your weight.
"Hey," he warns. Scott scoots over to make space for you, attempting not to let the flutter in his gut go unchecked from the warmth you radiate. "Easy with the bouncing."
He chokes at his own word choice, immediate, explicit thoughts flooding his mind. Be quiet, brain.
"…That's the entirety of my research grant money you're treating like a damn trampoline park."
You raise your brow at that, "grant money. So you're a paid ghoul hunter?" Turning your slipping attention to the devices, tinkering with the switches that sent a flurry of static through his readings."
"For the love of —" Scott groans loudly, "I study hurricane readings." He grabs your wrist in annoyance. "Quit messing with my shit."
"Ow! Watch it." You steady your palm on the sheets, damn near having fallen onto his lap. "What? This triggers a tornado or something?"
Scott seems to notice the excessive force used, promptly letting you go. Back growing stiff at how close you'd gotten. He cleared his throat for what appeared to be the fourth time that night.
"No. Obviously not. I'm not Superman."
You look up at him for a moment, then gesture at him. "Could be. Without the girly headband."
He grunts, flicking the plastic off his head, combing over his hair repeatedly to get rid of the dent. "Has anyone ever told you how tactless you are?"
"What did I do that was so tactless?" you challenge, leisurely leaning back again onto your palms. Feet propped up fully with ankles hooked over one another.
"For one, this", he aggressively points at your position, wincing at the sight of the plush cotton white having been dragged off your inner thighs. Voice only getting higher-pitched and heated, mostly out of projection of his barely contained desires. "Zero self-preservation skills, I could've had bad motives, and you've sauntered right in next to nothing. You're lucky I'm a good guy."
You paused to think for a moment, then shifted forward. Sliding your palms higher up the sheets to bend at his sight. He gulps when the middle of your robe comes slightly undone.
"I don't think so."
Scott blinks, "…pardon?"
"I don't think you're a good guy." You say simply, then lean closer with a sly smile.
His gaze falters at your proximity, discreetly adjusting himself at the twitch of his cock.
"I am." He bites back defensively. "F'not, I wouldn't have been seated still right now even with your painfully obvious motives here."
A pause, then, "I don't pay for sex."
You let out an offended scoff, "ex-fucking-scuse me?"
"I'm not looking down on that sort of thing," he continues, with his palms raised in surrender, "but it's just not my thing."
"Unbelievable. Do I look like a hussy to you?"
Scott tilts his head, then grins at the opportunity to get back at you.
"Yes." He shoots back without missing a beat.
You mirror a disgruntled look, similar to his own from earlier. When it settles that he was likely fucking around.
A huff of air leaves you. "Jerk. So not equal."
Scott folds his arms, surveying your reaction to his accusation, "look, if you aren't, then I'll admit I was wrong. But…you're quite literally throwing yourself at me. What else should I think?"
"You're my type." You point out, still with an edge of annoyance in your tone.
That seems to get him to stop talking for once.
He doesn't stop you when you shift to him, dragging your knuckle up his jaw, then gently prodding at the indent there when he flexes the muscle there in confusion.
"It's cute. These."
Scott unwittingly smiles into the press of your finger. It only served to amuse you even more at how deep it went. "Whoa-hhohh!"
He gently pulls your wrist away from his face, lips twitching with a dorky grin at your coo of amusement. Frankly, he was flattered at the attention. And if he was being really honest? He'd been hard for a while now at your brazen elusion to societal norms.
Only a dead man would remain limp in this situation.
"Fine. I'll bite."
You follow the direction where he guides you at the tug of your wrist — settling snug onto his lap.
"What makes you think I'd even want to after you called me a prostitute?"
Scott grits when you circle your hips teasingly over his bulge that only seemed to twitch harder.
"Fuck and forgive?" He suggests simply with a smile. It's then you catch a glimpse of pink rolling beneath his canines, and he chews on it, with a cocky lop-sided smirk.
You feel your cunt throb in real time, a whole body shudder taking you at the sight of him. Scott's already twisting his hips over to the side to reach out for the drawer, palm resting snug at the divot of your hips. He feels around the drawer until he feels a crinkle, pulling the aluminium square with him.
Scott stops his movements when you push away at his palms, twisting your robe open with your other hand as you lean in. He grunts at the feel of your warm, bare tits against his chest. The cotton pools at your hips, and he readjusts his hold on the small of your bare back.
"You can fuck me raw."
Holy shit.
"Are you fucking with me?" He croaks, a little too desperately.
You pull away with a slow shake of your head, Scott unabashedly looks smitten, looking at you like you were a spike in his readings. "This isn't some…fetish where you're trying to pass people STD's…is it?"
"No, and no." Offence is evident in your voice, but you suppose you would've asked the same thing. "I'm clean. Fuck me with or without, it doesn't matter. But…" You pause and slide your hands up his shoulder, then down to his chest.
"Somethin' tells me….a raw pussy would send you…" He gulps, feeling the drag of your nail stopping right at the waistband of his sweats, emphasising the next few words as your digit traces over the heavily twitching bulge, poking at where the tip might be, "…riiiiight over the edge."
"Fuck." He gasps, head tilted back, when you finally manoeuvre him out of the too-tight pants. Then, his hips jump, at the wet, dribble coating his cock without warning.
Scott groans loudly, "f-fuck." He pants, sliding his palms up your thighs, pushing the entirety of your bathrobe off them.
He winces at the languid pump you offer, slick with your spit over his length. His fingers flex over your ribs, down to the fat in an effort to ground himself from not cumming right then.
"Fffuck baby." His voice is a mere groan, only serving to emphasise just how incredibly painfully tight his balls were growing in anticipation. " Let me fuck er' raw."
You bite down on your lips, thumbing Scott's lips apart. "Are all nerds hopeless virgins like you?"
"What makes you think…I-I'm a virgin." He manages, rubbing absentmindedly down to your knees while you stroke him.
"Your voice is shaking, baby," you mutter with a mocking edge at the term of endearment he'd used just seconds ago.
His lips press taut with the lack of a comeback. Bringing his hands back up to thumb at your clit in defiance. You gasp at that, doubling over and faltering in your movements.
"Well, I'm not. It's just been a while," he counters, "and…you're stupid hot."
You're immediately pleased by the right choice of words, grinning as you lean in to press a peck at the base of his jaw. "Pleased to be the first, then."
The change in position comes quickly, and suddenly — Scott's not too worried about the boat-load of very expensive equipment on his bed. Loud, whiny static is emitted when your feet knock one of the devices off, the heel pressing onto some of the controls.
Scott couldn't have cared less for it, much more focused on the naked girl beneath him, but then you gasp. "Oh no! The grant money."
He rolls his eyes with a cocky grin, chewing tentatively on his gum while hiking your legs around his hips, "you done yet?"
You shake your head, stretching your arms up much like a cat, providing him a tantalising view of the quiver of your hips at the exertion.
"Christ. So fuckin' sexy." He manages, barely.
You lift your head halfway when he leans down hastily, letting him slot his lips with yours. It's a quick shift of mood then — heavy breaths into each other's mouths. Scott doesn't wait to slide his digits knuckle deep with his mouth still on you, rolling his tongue into yours.
The taste of sour green apples isn't registered in your mind when he steadily fucks his digits into you. It's hot, and wet, Scott's barely able to pull his fingers out with how needily you were sucking them back in.
He pulls away from you, smiling with a suspicious broadness. You pause and frown at him. Slowly chewing on gum that most definitely wasn't yours.
"That's fucking gross."
Scott shrugs with a grin, pulling his slick-coated fingers out of your cunt. You clench around nothing at the loss of his fingers, a flicker of your expression giving you away. "What's it taste like?"
He hums, stroking himself with the gathered wetness.
You sigh, chewing with nonchalance, blowing a bubble, then popping it.
"Green apple."
"Good. That's what your pussy's about to taste like, too."
The sudden dribble of wetness landing cold on your clit catches you off guard. Scott drags the wetness of his spit down and thumbs it into your fold. His cock soon pokes at your folds. You whimper the words that didn't make their way out at how inexplicably turned on you were.
A smaller pair of hands brushes past his as you part your pussy for him. Scott grunts at the gesture, shaking his head with a low whistle.
You were insane. And it was making him think very dangerous thoughts. Like ways to keep his cock snug in you forever, possibly.
Delicious, heady whines leave your parted lips at every inch he feeds into you. Pulsing and relaxing around his hot, throbbing cock. A hard snap of his hips has you clutching the sheets, kicking another one of his equipment to the ground.
"Ten grand you just kicked off there, champ."
"My pussy's worth way more than that." You quip, curling your palms around his bicep that was closest to you.
Scott grumbles low, the annoyance quickly fading off him at just how tightly you were clenching him.
"Something we both can agree on."
He turns his attention back to where you were still struggling to take him; another dribble of his spit follows, landing where you both were connected. You're physically shaking at the gesture, and Scott seems to notice. The wetness proved to be an easy fix, and he buries himself to the hilt in you with a final thrust.
"Ohhhhhhhh my fucking god," you groan, feet on its tippy toes, curled when he held you there.
Scott tilts his head, rutting into you, letting you get used to his size.
"Liked that, did you?" He coos, lightly slapping your cheek when you'd attempted to burrow them into the sheets. "Hey." It's rougher this time, where he forces your cheeks to look at him.
"H-Huh?" You let out a surprised whine when his thumb parts your lips, and he manoeuvres the sticky pink out of your mouth.
"When I spit on your pussy," he reminds with a heavy snap of his hips.
"N-Ng—hrrk!" Your eyes roll back at the intensity of where he circled his hips, and you're brought back with another gentle slap. "Y…eah. Was..reeal…hot…"
He smiles, then you feel his thumb soothe where it was turning red.
"Open your mouth."
You blink up at him hazily, letting him guide your parted mouth further open. Scott leans in. A slow dribble of clear liquid drips onto your tongue. Instinctively, you clench hard around his cock.
"Oh, you fucking love it," he muses, his own voice trembling. He smears the spit that missed over your lower lip. You lock your gaze with his, kitten licking his thumb. He flinches at that.
Scott begins to thrust harder, meaner, drinking in your loud moans.
"Mmmh..—fuck. Million dollar pussy you've got, better make it worth for me, huh?"
You begin to squirm your head away, where he was incessantly whispering stupid, mocking words into your neck.
"G-God. Shut up." You gasp, turning your to then gnaw at his biceps, tugging the shirt that was in the way.
Scott rids himself of the fabric with a fluid movement, relishing in the way the softness of your chest flattened onto him, he shucks his sweats halfway down his thighs for ease — where you slowly begin to rub your thighs against the fabric that remained, toeing it for warmth.
"Try not to kick anything else off." He chides, with a slow roll of his shoulders, hiking your hips closer to him.
You let out a softer squeak as you looked askew, past his biceps and onto the ghastly carpeted floors where his equipment that lay there abandoned.
Scott lets out a disgruntled groan at the bites and marks you were busy leaving all over his arm. "Ow — stop that." You don't seem to listen — red, angrier crescent moon marks form on the muscle, biting him like a woman possessed.
He grabs your jaw to face him, and you return a sharp glare.
"What?" You mutter, trying to keep your eyes focused despite the intrusive stretch that rocked into you relentlessly. Scott's fingers slide down the softness of your tongue — effectively gagging you. Drool collects where he holds you open, not stopping the role of his hips.
"Keep that up, an' I'm just gonna have to muzzle you."
You let out a muffled groan.
"Understand?"
Reluctantly, you nod. He pulls out, with a trail of your saliva following. "Hm. Not so bad when you actually listen, for once." With a grin, Scott lowers his head, stifling your annoyed grunts. You return the sloppy kisses he gives you, moaning low and content into his mouth.
Most of the night is spent like this, tasting of sweet, artificial apples and sourness on your tongue — so much so that Scott failed to notice the dozens of missed calls Kate & Javi had been sending him.
By the time silence had settled — you'd worn Scott out cold completely. With moves he didn't even know would've made him cum. At one point, he was sure you might've been his dream girl (though he'd die first before admitting it.)
It wasn't until a loud banging had him jerk right up, dazed.
"Christ, what?" Scott grunts, clambering off the bed, grabbing something nearby him to get decent.
"Scott! What the hell? Where have you been."
He drags his hand down his face, groggily, "I was with…" Scott pauses, looking at the bed — now completely empty. "….huh,” he points loosely to the bed. A confused look taking his face.
His equipment. Where was his equipment?
Javi doesn't understand why exactly Scott seemed frantic, looking for clothes that weren't there, adding to the missing pile of equipment. He shoves past his colleague, palms clutched around the metal railings.
Car missing from the lot, too.
He looks over to the dresser, where a quaint note he'd missed earlier lay.
Cute car. Doesn't suit a guy like you, hope you don't mind.
"Motherfucking…thieving...." He hisses, turning to Javi, "phone, give it." The shorter man looks over to him quizzically, watching Scott walk back into the room, shoulders hunched. Blue eyes tracking over the moving dot on the navigation map.
To have and to hold chapter four: The Empty planet
➼ pairing: Spencer reid x SecretWife!FBI!Reader
➼ summary: You get called in for a case with the BAU
➼ what to expect:
➼ warnings: Mention of events from 2x08 'the empty planet'
➼ Chapter three / Chapter five
You're only vaguely aware of the warm body pressed against you before the call comes, half asleep but awake enough to enjoy his presence, a rare moment of peace where the two of you are not agents or parents just husband and wife joining a morning of peace.
Until a call comes in.
You both stirr with a groan "Is it yours or mine?" you grumble into Spencer's chest as he picks his head up to look at the cells on the nightstand "Mine" he pats your shoulder in warning before sitting up slightly, you adjusting to place your head back in his chest with the new position as he answers.
"Hello?"
You can barely hear JJ's voice on the otherside of the line, Spencer looks down at you with a look you both know all too well, he has a case. You nod silently, accepting that he was going to have to go soon.
Another call comes in.
Your brows furrow as you sit up properly now, grabbing your own cell, hitting accept. "Hello?"
"Hi L/n, we have a case and need you in ASAP, someones called in a possible terror threat that could be national, we're sending you in to join task forces with the BAU"
"I...Okay thank you I'll be in as soon as you can" Your jaw drops slightly as you hang up, Spencer's call finishing about the same time as you. "Where are you going?" You ask first.
"Don't know yet, you?"
"The BAU Apparently" The two of you share a look of bewilderment and shock until reality sets in of a national terror alert possibly being at play, jumping out of bed. "Do you know why they want you to join us?" Spencer asks, hurried as he pulls on a pair of pants.
You shrug, slipping off your nightgown "Its a possible national emergency and I work in intelligence i've consulted on other teams before" picking out a dress from the closet.
"It's strange they didn't tell us where the case is" he wanders the room in search of his glasses, buttoning up his shirt, you pick them up from your nightstand, smiling as you push them on to his face "They probably don't know yet they did say it's national"
Patting his chest you step away to slip on a pair of heels "Could you call lily? I'm going to go and wake up Lottie" spencer nods, picking up his blazer.
You slip out and into the nursery, Charlotte already stood up and holding the bars of her crib, bed hair facing every which way as she lets out small dissatisfied sounds, clearly only just woke up. "Morning sweet girl"
"Hi mama" You pick her up out of the crib, a welcome move for her. "Mama did you get a case?" She's all too smart for her age as you know, realising by now that if your in a smart dress or if her father is in a sweater and blazer that means work.
"I did, Papa did too, Lily's going to come round and drop you off at pre-school"
"Ugh"
"I know I'm sorry baby I wish I could stay with you" you run your free hand through her hair as you carry her into the kitchen. "It's not that, pre-school"
You frown "You don't want to go to pre-school?"
"I told you I don't" she sulks as you place her down in a chair, Spencer comes rushing in "Lily's on her way, morning" Spencer places a kiss on Charlotte's cheek.
"How about this, I'll leave some extra pocket money for you and Lily to go to the shops after pre-school, but only if you try and take part in your teachers activities?" Charlottes face lights up, as you start to feel a little guilty that you're already resorting to bribery.
A knock on the door indicates that you really should get moving. "That will be lily, have a great day, we'll call as soon as we can"
The two of you walk into the BAU together, unfamiliar and strangely exposing as you do so. "Morning JJ how was your weekend?" JJ is on a mission as she passes the two of you barely acknowledging your presence as she B-lines to hotch's office.
"She's the media liason in a national emergency she must be stressed as hell right now"
Spencer nods in agreement as he watches hotch's office intently. "You can drop your go bag at my desk" With a hand hovering over your lower back as he leads you to his desk area in the centre of the BAU Bullpen. "So this is where you work? I didn't get a proper look last time"
Searching the desk you are met with mostly trinkets that you expect, a crossword book, a few mini magic tricks, and yet tucked into the wall of the desk is a postcard for Charlotte, North Carolina.
You pick it up, a smile growing on to your face as you quickly put together why its there "Spencer you've never even been to north carolina"
"I know...but if anyone asks I went on vacation there, I...it was the only reminder I could think of that was the smallest risk"
"I think its sweet" You smile down at the post card, delicately placing it aback down on his desk "I should figure out something similar for my desk"
"On a bus, in the city where it all began, get my message out"
"Message? What message?"
"That this is only the beginning, until this is all brought under control people will die"
JJ pauses the recording "In the last 20 minutes, virtually identical threats have been made to st of the coast to coast news networks in the country, its same message just different words"
"So it's not a recorded message or script? Displays a measure of confidence"
"Commitment aswell, if this is a mission based attacker he has no hesitation at all if he managed to get through multiple phone calls stating what he's going to do" You somewhat mutter out to no one in particular, making notes.
You're met with slight silence which is when you look up "What?"
"Have you been learning profiling or something?"
You shrug "No but to do undercover work you need to know you're target it requires some level of behavioural analysis"
"He could have easily just called one network this guy clearly wants attention" Spencer chimes in.
"That's typical behaviour for a personal cause bomber. One bomb has a finite impact, make a bunch of phone calls that magnifies my explosion 100 times"
"We have the additional recorded calls being gathered for assessment "
"The networks say the calls came from a restricted number, two have given limited permission to trap and trace teh lines if we should need to."
"You got a news organisation to agree to a trap and trace?"
"Who could say no to me?" Garcia smirks.
"At homeland security's request the networks are going to keep this quiet until we've assessed the situation"
"If this threat isn't followed by an event, no one will take any future calls seriously"
"So, we're going to tell the media to go ahead with the story?" Garcia suggests.
"Absolutely not" You and hotch chime in at the same time.
"Threats like this with an unspecified location will just cause tremendous panic"
"No one will in the country will go near a bus and will lash out against those who try its not worth it until we can at least pinpoint a city" You explain, writing down the notes to see if you recognise that pattern.
"Then...what are we gonna do?"
"Unfortunately, all we can do is wait"
You hum in agreement "That being said...probablistically I have narrowed it down to possibly 30 cities" you mutter, hovering a pen up and down a list.
"What? How? That message was so vague there's nothing we can pull except for behavioural points" Morgan stares at you confused.
"Exactly, I studied the behaviour, wording and probability, the caller said 'the city where it all began' not town, or place, therefore it has to be a city, as for what began who knows however chances are it is either where the unsub lived at somepoint in their life or since it is a mission it could be some sort of movement or creation, either way both are more likely in major cities since there is more housing and more developmental funding. This unsub wants impact and to be national news aswell, no offence to places like portland but that just won't do the job that leaves us with cities such as Washington DC, New york, Chicago, San francisco, LA, Seattle, Vegas, you get the picture, I would rule out new york on that list though if the unsub is targeting public transport there it would be a subway train not a bus"
There is a slight hesitation in wake of your rambling as you realised that you've gotten a bit carried away "Of course thats theoretical though, it may be useful however to notify emergency services in those cities to prioritise call ins surrounding buses"
"What is profiling if not theoretical, good idea, JJ send out a notice to local law enforcement on Dr L/n's list"
With a polite nod you hand over the notepad to JJ, biting your cheek as you realise you may have rambled on a little too long. "Wheels up in 30"
The group breaks up, rushing to grab their go bags.
"You did well you know" Gideon captures your attention befor eyou leave, now just being the two of you in the round table room. "Hm?"
"You when you spoke, you stopped yourself afterwards as if you regreted speaking, it was useful info you shouldn't have" You sigh "I have...picked up Spencers tendency to ramble I fear"
"Well we're used to it by now"
You give a polite smile "Thats good Gideon but... genius suits spencer I... it does not suit me, which is why I really must get out of that habit"
You walk off to the jet before he gets chance to inquire further.
"So seattle's where it all began" Spencer notes as you all walk through the streets on the way to the bus site. "We just need to figure out what it is"
"Off the top of my head I can think of grunge music and overpriced coffee"
"and Grey's anatomy" You joke, taking a sip of said overpriced coffee as you overlook the destroyed bus. "Doesn't seem significant enough"
"It's a personal cause bomber it only needs to be signficant to him"
You all step closer the site "Agent Nick Casey, seattle field office"
"SSA Hotchner, how do you do? This is Dr Spencer Reid, SSA Morgan, Agent Jareau, SSA Gideon and Dr Y/n L/n"
"Have you identified the device?"
"Looks like a small pipe bomb attached to an umbrella" Casey explains, you note details down in your notebook. "I'd like to take a look at those bomb fragments as soon as possible I've got bomb squad experience" Morgan steps forward.
"I'd like to also just to rule out the possibility of it being any known existing terror groups usually there is some sort of M.O even in bomb design" You chime in.
Casey nods "As soon as they're catalogued" Your phone suddenly buzzes.
Incoming call: SSA Anderon...
"Excuse me" You step away from the site as you answer "Hello?"
"Hello Dr L/n I just wanted to check in I've only just come back of leave, you got sent to consult on a BAU national emergency case?"
"Yes, in seattle"
"Well I have my concerns, of course you're there to consult given the intelligence we have on known terror groups and organisations in the US my concern is mostly the conflict of interest of your husband"
"How so?"
"You're meant to consult yes, but you know protocol, we don't share intelligence betweek taskforces unless necessary"
"So what you think I'm more suseptible to spilling state secrets because this team happens to contain my husband?"
Theres a pause.
"I'm just confirming that you know the delicacy of the situation that you are in"
"Respectfully but there is no greater risk of me working on the same case as him than also living with him. Trust me to professional and let me do my job"
You hang up.
"Everything okay?" Morgan asks as he approaches you "Fine, just my supervisor being a bit overbaring"
"Components have just ben catalogued if you want to come back to the station with me to look them over"
"I want to apologise" Morgan steps back from the evidence board, your brows furrow as you look to him "What for?"
"Last time we saw eachother I questioned why you were married to Reid, that was rude of me I shouldn't have done that" You shrug "You apologised in the moment it's water under the bridge to me"
"I only bring it up because it has started to make sense to me now" you hum back in question, focusing back in on making notes on the board. "What do you mean?"
"Well I think it clicked for the rest of the team when you went on a tangent about housing and development probabilities in major cities, however there was a different moment to me"
"Go on"
"When you first came to the BAU, during the Randall Garner case the first thing you did was enter the round table room and kiss him on the cheek"
"I think most spouses greet eachother that way Morgan"
"Sure, but this is Spencer Reid we're talking about, I've seen the man be repelled by a simple handshake or high five, he has recited to me the statistics on germ transmission via kissing so many times and yet when it was you, he leaned into it" You let out a bit of a laugh "I mean you know that Kissing transmits less germs than-"
"Shaking hands, yes, I know, Reid's told me enough times."
"Also, I don't think I need to remind you we have a kid right? Charlotte didn't come from nowhere"
"Touche, but please I don't want anymore details than that"
You smirk, stepping away from the board "I think your morbid curiosity does but don't worry I don't kiss and tell anyway"
Spencer enters a little after "I just had an interesting conversation with the author of Empty Planet" he flicks through the pages of his new seattle bought copy "Also sneakily got a signiture while I was there"
"Of course you did, I need another coffee, anyone?" Spencer lets out a hum of confirmation, as you walk past you make a point to give a slighty prolonged kiss on his cheek. He raises a brow as you walk away "She usually hates public contact" he mutters more to himself in confusion than anyone else.
Embossed braille should be standard on computer keyboards.
It would raise braille literacy more than anything else I could imagine - among both the blind and the sighted. Currently braille is actually vanishing due to an increasing reliance on audiobooks and screen readers.
I think that braille has a lot of potential use among non-blind groups. As an alternative to traditional writing for dyslexics. As a way to help photosensitive people type with their eyes closed. Or simply as a means to help sighted people find things without needing the lights on all the time!
Accessibility note: It’s important that braille doesn’t vanish because it’s one of the only written language that works for blind and sight-impaired people. It is necessary for them to interact with the real world where screen readers and audio devices are not available to them, such as elevators, most major metro systems, stairwells, doorways, the bumps in the sidewalk at corners are actually developed in conjunction with audio signals so blind people don’t step off the curb into traffic before the correct time.
Digital technology has made accessibility so much easier for all of us disabled people, but we still *need* the real-world accommodations that we fought and died for
“But I didn’t and still don’t like making a cult of women’s knowledge, preening ourselves on knowing things men don’t know, women’s deep irrational wisdom, women’s instinctive knowledge of Nature, and so on. All that all too often merely reinforces the masculinist idea of women as primitive and inferior – women’s knowledge as elementary, primitive, always down below at the dark roots, while men get to cultivate and own the flowers and crops that come up into the light. But why should women keep talking baby talk while men get to grow up? Why should women feel blindly while men get to think?”
pairing: baby daddy!jason todd x reader
word count : 1.3k
content: fluff, milf reader x dilf jason, exes to lovers, babies and their shenanigans, coparents to lovers
a/n: im sorry if theres any mistakes guys, i dont proofread anything...also i do gaf abt leo guys, i promise im not forgetting him. its just so much fun to make sofia say silly stuff. anyways thank you for reading, i really hope you guys enjoy!
“Mama, you know something?”
You’re redoing her hair for the third time because, according to her, the pigtails need to look exactly like Bubbles from Powerpuff Girls and so far, you’ve failed every attempt.
“What is it, baby?”
“So you know how I go to school?”
A small smile tugs at your lips. “I do know. I drop you off and pick you up every day.”
She turns to look at you, her little forehead creased in mild offense. “No, not every day. Jason picks me up sometimes.”
Then she turns back around, as if correcting you was just a minor interruption in a much bigger thought.
“So, my teacher at school said they’re doing a daddy-daughter lunch.” She pauses, then asks casually, “Do you think Jason would wanna come with me?”
Your hand freezes mid-motion, the brush still caught in her hair.
“You want Jason to go with you to the daddy-daughter lunch?”
Oblivious to your reaction, she nods. “Yeah. The teacher said we can bring any daddy, and Jay’s the best one I know.” She swings her legs slightly. “What do you think?”
You force your hand to move again, gently brushing through her hair.
“I’d have to ask, baby.”
“Okay,” she hums softly. “I want our clothes to be matching.”
You finish off the pigtails, trying to keep your hands steady even though there’s a sinking feeling inside your chest.
“So the lunch,” you ask, trying to keep your voice light, “Is it soon?”
“It’s on Friday,” she replies immediately. “Miss Teagues said that we gotta ‘rsdv’ or something before Tuesday.”
Despite your other feelings, a laugh bubbles out of you, “It’s ‘RSVP’, babe.”
She crinkles her nose but accepts your correction. She stops swinging her legs and cranes her head up to look at you. “D’ya think he’ll say yes?”
“I don’t know, baby,” you admit. “He might be busy.”
“He’s always busy,” she says, unconcerned. “But he still comes when I ask.”
She’s so certain of it, like it’s a fact. Your heart aches at that. She has so much faith in the unspoken role Jason has created for himself in her life that she doesn’t doubt him for a second.
Once her hair is completely to her liking, you help her get down from the stool and she announces she needs to find a dress and runs off to her room.
You’re not as sure as her. You know Jason cares for Sofia but by agreeing to go to this, they’ll be giving a name to his role in her life. Even if it’s true, you're not sure if he’s ready for that. Hell you’re not sure if you are. But Sofia seems to be and you owe it to your girl to be brave and just ask.
The next time you see Jason is a few days later.
He said he’d stop by to drop off the school supplies Leo left at his place last week. Nothing out of the ordinary. Yet you can’t stop the anxiety from creeping up your entire body
The kids are sprawled out on the floor, cartoons playing loud enough to fill the apartment, when the knock comes.
It’s not even a full second before both their heads snap up.
They’re already scrambling to their feet before you can say anything, socks slipping against the floor as they race each other to the door.
“Hey guys slow down—” you start, but it’s pointless. You don’t know how they know it’s him, but you know there’s no stopping them.
The door swings open.
“Jay!” Sofia beams, practically vibrating.
“Did you bring my stuff?” Leo adds, already trying to peek around him.
Jason barely gets a word in before they’re both talking over each other.
“Alright, alright,” he huffs, holding up the bag in one hand. “One at a time, gremlins.”
Leo snatches the bag immediately, digging through it like it contains buried treasure. “You forgot my blue pen last time.”
“I didn’t forget it,” Jason mutters. “You left it.”
Sofia, meanwhile, has already attached herself to his side, hugging him like it’s routine.
“Hi,” she chirps.
“Hey, bug.”
His hand comes down to her head automatically, ruffling her hair just enough to make her squeak in protest.
“Jay! My hair!”
“You’ll live.”
You lean against the hallway wall, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a quiet sort of familiarity that still catches you off guard.
“You guys wanna let Jay in or what?” you say after a second.
They scatter back to the living room, the big man in tow. Leo dumps all the contents of his backpack in the corner, going through everything. Sofia makes him sit down on the couch before she suddenly gets very shy.
“Um Jay,” she says extremely softly, a complete contrast to her usual tone and volume. “Mama wants to ask you something.”
You narrow your eyes at her as she looks up at you, “Mama wants to or Sof does?”
She blushes and you feel bad for putting your baby on the spot and you’re about to ask her question to him, when he gently pulls her close to him, in the space between his legs, and asks, “What’s wrong bug? You know you can ask me anything, you don’t have to make Mama do it.”
“My school’s doing a daddy-daughter lunch on Friday,” she finally says, her head turned downwards no longer looking at his eyes. “And Miss Teagues said we can bring any daddy we want.”
Jason goes very still.
You see it, the way his shoulders tighten just slightly, the way his breath sharpens.
Sofia doesn’t notice.
“I was gonna pick you,” she continues, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “If… you wanna come.”
There’s a pause.
Not long but long enough that your girl feels it and panics.
“Bug–” he starts, then stops.
She rushes to fill the silence. “It’s okay if you’re busy! Mama said you might be busy but I just thought ‘cause you pick me up sometimes and you help with my homework and you’re the best Daddy I kn—”
“I’ll be there.”
Sofia freezes. “…Really?”
“Yeah,” he says, softer now. “Course I will.”
Her face lights up so fast it almost hurts to look at.
“I knew it!” she cheers, throwing her arms around him again.
He lets out a quiet oof but wraps an arm around her anyway, holding her there for a second.
His eyes flick up to you over her shoulder.
Something unspoken passes between you.
You mouth ‘thank you’ to him and he replies with an ‘always’.
Sofia pulls back, already bouncing again. “You gotta wear something nice! And we need to be matching! And I’m gonna introduce you to everyone!”
“Whoa, whoa,” he mutters. “Slow down, what kinda nice are we talking?”
You can’t help it, you laugh a little.
And for a moment, it almost feels… normal.
Sofia keeps talking, rambling about cupcakes and streamers and how he has to sit next to her, and Jason listens like every word matters.
At that moment, you don’t even know why you felt nervous to ask him. He was so assured in his answer. So certain. Not allowing Sofia to doubt his love and care for even a second.
Leo calls her and his baby sister rushes over to him, content with her grown ups, more excited to play with her brother now.
You plop down beside him on the sofa, and the two of you just stare at each other for a moment.
“Thank you, I mean it really.” You start saying, even though he’s already waving you off like you knew he would. “You didn’t have to say yes but I’m glad you did, it means a lot to her. You mean a lot to her.”
He takes your hand in his palm, his hand warming up your cold one. “She means a lot to me too. You all do.”
You don’t know what to say, your chest overwhelmed with love, so you just stick to squeezing his hand and moving closer to him. You put your head on his shoulder and the two of you watch your kids as they play together.
pairing: baby daddy!jason todd x reader
word count : 2k
content: fluff, milf reader x dilf jason, exes to lovers, babies and their shenanigans, coparents to lovers
a/n: this is one of my favourite versions of jason i have in my head. Something about a big buff man being sweet to tiny humans does it for me. i lowk wanted both single!parent reader and a coparents/ exes to lover story, so i merged them...lmk if you guys want more parts.
She looks up at you through her damp lashes, eyes wide and watery, lips forming a tiny pout. You feel your resolve falter as each second passes but you refuse to let her win. You must hold your own against the tiny terror, that is your beloved daughter.
A well timed sniffle and a single tear drop rolling down her left cheek, makes you almost roll your eyes. It’s very obvious that she's pulling out all the stops to get herself the sweet treat before dinner.
“But mama, I've been so good.”
“I know you’ve been good baby, but if you have ice cream now, you won’t have space in your tummy for dinner.”
“But I will! I promise I will!”
You shut your eyes and pressed the space between your eyebrows with your thumb. Her cries were no longer cute but instead were becoming tiresome. You knew you needed to put a stop to her whining. Not just because of the approaching headache, but because if she was still crying when he came to drop off your shared son, dinner would be long forgotten and you would have lost the fight.
Jason Todd was a lot easier for your daughter to convince than you.
A tilt of her head and a soft, ‘please, Jay,’ usually has him gone and her happy.
It’s not that you were trying to be cruel. You knew your daughter and you knew her stomach. If she finished that cornelli sitting on the top shelf of your freezer, she wouldn’t even look twice at the somewhat healthy pasta you made for the kids.
You also knew Jason, on account of being classmates in school, lovers in your young adult years and now co parents to a lovely eight year old son named Leo. You knew that he would not be able to hold his own when it came to your own younger daughter.
It has always been like this, ever since she was born. Even though you two had been separated for around two years by then, when she came into this world, screaming and wailing, he fell in love. He picked your son up, helping him look through the glass separating the hallway from the hospital nursery. Both their eyes resembling something similar, a softness mixed with parts of awe, love and protectiveness.
Your daughter’s father, a drunken one night stand who didn’t want the responsibility of a child, was a figure rarely missed in your home. The only father she knew was her older brother’s, who was more than happy to share. Jason took on the role valiantly, despite the two of you no longer being in a relationship, and Sofia in turn, looked at him like he held all the stars and moon.
Jason was a good man and even though you hadn’t lasted as a couple, you were immensely grateful for the fact that he was in your life and everything he did for both your children. It wasn’t always like this though. At the end of your relationship and start of your separation, things were tumultuous, to say the least. Both of you were cruel and unkind, spewing passive aggressive insults at one another, refusing to be in the same space as each other.
You would slam doors and curse him and he in turn would stay out late and sleep in your son’s room.
It was the oldest tale in the book, young lovers fall too fast and too hard. Add a kid to that mixture and thus chaos follows.
However now, more than half a decade older, you were both much calmer. You’ve managed to let go of your younger, more crass selves and let yourself grow into mature adults. There’s a sort of rhythm to your lives now, a melody you’ve perfected along with the help of Jason and your angels. Something to be envious of, according to some of the moms at Leo’s school. A part of you can’t help but smile at those comments, you’ve worked hard for the relationship you have and you’re glad that it shows. Not to say you still don’t have pesky arguments here and there, but they’re more about what movie to watch for movie night or whether the kids should get to stay up late. The silly things, but for the important things you guys were in complete sync. You shared your priorities and most importantly trusted and respected one another.
The sound of the front door opening catches both your and your daughter’s attention. You can hear your sweet boy explaining something excitedly to his father.
“Mom!” Leo exclaims, barrelling through the hallway and into your open arms. You let out a small grunt as his body collides with your own. He hugs you so tightly that you would think that you haven’t seen each other in years instead of just one day. He starts rambling about his day, what he did and saw at the park. You try to listen as well as you can but your attention shifts to the man walking in the kitchen.
Even after all these years, he still manages to take away your breath.
Black hair mussed, probably from the ride over. His shirt so deliciously stretched across his chest that you almost want to exclaim out loud, but don’t for the little ears beside you and your self respect you suppose. His biceps that are adorned with tattoos that Sofia loves colouring in, has your son’s Wonder Woman backpack slung on it. Looking at him you can tell that he spends a lot of time at the gym (something you’ve definitely grown to appreciate over the years), a figure that is both desired and envied by people.
He has a smile on his face, and it seems like he wants to say something to you, before his eyes find your tearful daughter and a frown immediately replaces it. He speeds up and walks past you to where she’s throwing her tantrum. He crouches down to her level and opens his arms, allowing her tiny body to be thrown in them. Her small hands hold onto his neck, sobbing into his shirt.
He stands up, Sofia still loudly sobbing in his arms and turns around. You knew this would happen. You knew the second that he walked in, her antics would be turned up to 1000.
As he’s comforting her by patting her back, he mouths to you, what happened?, a look of concern gracing his face. You rolled your eyes and sent your son to wash up with a kiss on his head, before answering only to be interrupted by your girl.
“Jay, I'm so sad!” she sobs out.
He pulls back so he can look at her face, “I can see that bug, you wanna tell me what’s wrong?” His hands continue wiping away the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Mama’s being so-” hiccup “Mean!”
“Is she now?” He asks, the corners of his lips dancing like he’s trying not to laugh. “That doesn’t sound like her at all.”
Your chest warms as he defends you against your daughter. It’s probably time for you to step in and say something, before she continues to spew lies about you. Though part of you does want to just observe how Jason defends you but you push it down quickly.
“Mama’s not being mean. Mama just won’t let you spoil your appetite before dinner.”
At the mention of dinner, your girl starts to cry harder into his chest, her tiny palms gripping his shirt into a bunch. Her sobs are muffled by his tight embrace. His big hands are caressing her hair and he leaves a small kiss in her hair. He’s grinning at you, now that he knows nothing serious has happened, he finds it entertaining. You explain everything that was happening before they walked through the door and then you can’t help but return a smile. You tried to fight it but it shows up, quite similar to the way Jason does in your life. Sometimes unexpected but never unwanted. The two of you’ve built a life together, and maybe it’s different from what you had imagined but it’s something you’re very grateful for.
Jason then whispers something in her ears, you hope it’s not him giving in but you have no idea what they’re talking about. At that Sofia stops crying and she scrunches her eyes brows, indicating that she’s thinking hard about whatever he said. After a couple of moments, she nods her head and kisses his cheek before getting down from his arms and running out of the kitchen.
“What’d you say to her?” you ask, curious to know about what made her stop crying.
Jason just shrugged, finally dropping the backpack on the chair, “I just said that she and Leo can share a cone after they help put their dishes away.”
You stare at him with a blank look on your face. “That’s it? I’ve been trying to get her to stop crying for the past half an hour and you do it with one sentence?”
His face is very smug now and you wish to wipe it off (maybe with a kiss).
“Guess she likes me best.”
You smack his arm lightly and he laughs, grabbing it and placing it on his palm before you could pull it away. He pulls you in an one armed hug and you continue to grumble but make no actions to move away.
“I carry her for 9 months, I give birth for 17 hours and what does she do? Betray me and like you more.”
He just laughs and places a kiss on the side of your forehead, an act too familiar for your current situation but you savor it. “Don’t worry, I like you the best.”
You huff out a laugh despite yourself, shaking your head as you pull away from his side.
“Flattery isn’t going to save you from dish duty, Todd.”
He groans dramatically. “You wound me. I just solved a full-scale hostage situation and this is the thanks I get?”
“A hostage situation?” you repeat dryly.
“Yes,” he says, staring at you intently. “Our tiny tyrant weaponizing her tears is extremely dangerous. A few more minutes and I would have had her in my lap trying to get her to share the ice cream with me.”
You don’t reply, instead you go back to the stove. He follows you and helps bring out the plates and cups from their designated places, because of course he knows where they are. When his back is turned, you lean against the counter, watching him move easily around the kitchen like he’s always belonged there. In truth, he kind of has. The years have carved out a place for him in your life that neither of you ever quite managed to fill with anyone else.
He catches you looking and raises a brow.
“What?”
“Nothing,” you say quickly, turning back to the stove and stirring the pasta.
Behind you, Jason nudges your shoulder with his.
“Liar.”
Before you can respond, Sofia barrels back into the kitchen, followed closely by Leo who’s being dragged by her.
“I told him the plan, Jay!” she announces, all signs of being upset disappeared completely. Behind her, Leo grumbles to himself and you hear, I didn’t even want ice cream, why do I have to help? But he still goes and takes the stack of plates from his dad’s hand, while Sofia drags the placemats to the table.
Across the room you watch as your family works together to set the table. Jason helps Sofia up to her seat so she can place the mats and then goes to Leo to help him put the plates and cups down. They’re all laughing and giggling and your heart is warm in your chest. You love them so much. You love them all you think, even the adult helping, trying to make this mundane task more enjoyable for his kids.
This life that you have is better than anything you could have dreamed of.
(And not because he thinks you’re cheating, okay? He just… you know, made sure he had access to all your accounts in case anything happened to you that required his online presence. He swears, you can even ask Tim why this is important).
Part of that includes, you know, all the basic stuff. He wants the passcode, in case he needs to search up something on the fly. In case he ever has to call your family. So he can read you texts if ever the phone beeps and you’re too busy to grab it.
But yeah, he’ll read your messages, too.
It makes him feel more like he’s an important part of your life. That you’re not joking when you say you’re okay, even if your friend’s been nagging at you about your coffee drinking habits, or your bank account has alerted you of a large expense that might be weighing on your mind.
Jason wants to check your screen time. Wants to see how many hours you’ve been sleeping. What you’ve been putting in your notes app. The grocery list, your online shopping carts, even the games you have timed notification for—if only so he can surprise you with all the snacks and other luxuries you’re not letting yourself buy.
He puts your phone back before you’re ever able to catch him. Not that he’d ever say anything if you caught him, anyway. Throws it to the side of the couch, or buries it under a blanket when you come back with a bag of fresh popcorn for the movie. He logs out of your socials before anyone catches the green icon next to your name. Even deletes the sign-in alerts from your email. Not because what he’s doing is wrong, but because he just wants to know what you’re up to without him there. It’s closer than even skin to skin can get him. He’d die before ever admitting to the habit.
summary: nobody expects the frat boy and the chubby, nerdy girl to ever look in each others’ direction. but who cares what people expect?
word count: 3.5k
contains: fluff & smut. frat clark the wonderful gorgeous sassy little gentleman, reader is a weird literary nerd, lois lane being kickass propaganda. college kids being pretentious to turn each other on, my fav. some talk of drinking/being drunk, fraternity parties. clark and reader uhaul lesbian tf outta each other, first kiss/boyfriend trope. *piv, protected sex, light and bubbly and sweet because ughhhh… *no use of y/n
a/n: well yes, @intwoweeks ! i love frat clark, if you guys want more i will definitely do more with him– fics, blurbs, whatevs. hope you like ;)
————————————͙͘͡★———————————
If we asked anyone to explain how you and Clark Kent went well together, they would be at a loss for words. From the outside, it just… didn’t make sense. But then again, neither of you really made sense as individuals. That is, you didn’t fit into boxes in the way college kids like to.
Clark was a brother in Alpha Gamma Rho. He was a backwards-hat, cut-off tank kind of guy. The legend of AGR keggers because he never seemed to get drunk. The very same legend who held doors for everyone, even if it made him late. You could see Clark mowing down brothers on the frat lawn in a game of tackle football, or studying with a pair of crooked, taped glasses in the library. Sometimes he was pulling senior pranks, parking cars on roofs or wrapping an office in Christmas paper. Other times he was exercising his secret duty of negotiating with campus police when a party was coming up, bringing them donuts and promising no problems, if they’ll only let it run its course. Needless to say, the farmboy wore many hats– but he had a core that was simple. Warm, thoughtful, passionate love. Intentional care. Remarkable intelligence. Those were just a few things that you loved about Clark.
And you– well, who could ever figure you out? The girl with no solid shtick. President of the literature club, occasional peer tutor through the university library, who could often be found committing drunken karaoke offenses at the off-campus bar with your friend and roommate Lois. Nobody would be shocked to see you in fishnets and lacy black everything one day, and mary janes and a denim skirt the next. You walked with your head down and iPod blasting on school sidewalks, but you managed robust debates in class. You even put on the bulldog mascot suit and rushed the field during your sophomore-year homecoming game, because your public speaking professor (assistant coach of the MetU team, coincidentally) offered anyone a pass on the final presentation if they had the guts. When your peers would walk by and see you either hiding in a novel or handing out bookmarks for your club, no one batted an eye – because you were just that girl who did anything. Knowing everyone, yet knowing no one.
It seemed every expectation of you both was subverted by another facet. Multi-dimensional in a one-note world. College isn’t always the place for fully-formed people like that, but perhaps it can be good for finding each other… can’t it?
You and Clark worked from the beginning.
He liked you when he found you standing in the corner of one of his frat parties, cradling a vodka cranberry (heavy on the vodka) with glazed eyes, staring over the sea of bodies like someone had personally offended you. He thought your dopey frown was sweet. You both remembered that night like it was yesterday.
—͙͘͡★—
“What’s the matter?” Clark had cooed, sauntering over with an empty beer bottle and a torturous little smirk on his face. His eyes were green and bright like the light across from Gatsby’s dock. You loved Gatbsy. Your drunken self thought of Gatsby religiously. Something about drinking and prohibition, and then the thought train just…
“My one friend dragged me here, and I think she’s gettin’ her face chewed over there,” you slurred, pouting, as a black-polished nail pointed across the party to another corner near the kitchen. Your good friend Lois, the only friend you had, really, had a guy in a jersey shoved up against the wall like she wore the pants in that makeout.
Clark snickered and rested his elbow on your shoulder, laughing softer when you tried to wrestle out from under it. “You’re friends with Lane? That can’t be right. Lois is wild– and she’s here all the time. I’ve never seen you before.”
You lifted your buzzing head and rolled your eyes, sipping your drink– nearly missing the straw, and chasing it with your tongue. “Yeah, well, she needed a resume booster and I needed to get out of the house.”
Clark grinned at your soft mushing words, and he jutted his chin out with a curiously furrowed brow. “How many of those have you had, shortie?”
With a disgruntled scoff, you deflected: “M’not short!”
“Right, you’re just tall among hobbits,” Clark said, and he sat against the windowsill beside you.
He took a second to look you over that night. You had on quite the mix: a dainty little silver necklace that would nod to self-discipline, but it was bracketed by a denim jacket filthy with button pins screaming of new wave and half-niches. A little square neck tank that revealed a freckle by your collarbone. Army green cargos that rose low enough to squeeze the chub of your hips and tummy. Your boots had to have a platform at the very least one inch tall, he deduced, because they were serious and you were still short. And to top it off, there was a plum rim around your lips but a soft, neutral center, which meant you had lipstick on at some point, and had drank it all off.
All of your small contradictions mixed with your very suspicious glances at him made his heart thump, and he knew then and there that he could see you sitting across from him at diners and nuzzling into his neck at theaters. He saw you kissing his cheek, he saw you crying over a test, he saw you waking up with tank top straps slipping from your rounded shoulders and yawning like a cat. He saw you with him, the little romantic…
“Y’know, you don’t look like a frat party kind of girl.”
“I do what I want,” you scrunched your nose, “Nothing means anything anyway.”
“Oh, do I detect a little nihilism, shortie?” Clark teased.
You swatted his shoulder and whined, “I am not short! And do you even know what that word means?”
“What, you think I’m an idiot?”
“Who coined nihilism?” you sneered, leaning down a bit to study his eyes, to see if they shifted.
Clark tipped his head back and craned up, giving you a knowing grin. “Nietzsche. But that one guy Jacobi was the first guy to bring it up, Nietzsche just made it big. There was that other guy who wrote about it in Fathers and Sons…”
“Turgenev,” you suddenly smiled, the drunken judgement slipping away. “You know your depressing Germans!”
“And Russians,” he hummed, smiling wider. Your eyes were big as the moon, and his heart felt like it could seize at any moment. He had to find a way to keep you. “What’s your name, smartypants?”
By the way you smiled, it was clear you preferred that nickname.
—͙͘͡★—
It was unusual, following that fateful encounter. Usually in college you get the couple who dances around each other for years, or you get the two horndogs who can’t even wait until the first date. For you and Clark, it just started… shapeless.
You were too drunk to walk home that night, and so was Lois, so instead of letting you crash with all the other drunkies on the ground floor of the AGR fraternity, Clark personally put you both up in his room. He slept in his buddy Oliver’s room next door, in case he heard any creepers try to catch you or Lois offguard… or if he heard any puking. Then, when he expected to find you embarrassed the following morning, you were simply precious. A perfect, whiny little picture of a hangover– asking him shamelessly for McDonald’s and hogging his mattress until the fog cleared. When he asked Lois if you’re usually so fond of quick friendships, she just raised an eyebrow and said, “Don’t be stupid.”
And you liked him from the start, too. Let’s get that straight.
You didn’t really want to, because the reputations of frat guys seemed to lean towards accuracy in most cases– but you couldn’t deny that they could be brutally attractive. When he stalked over with a Sharks cap on backwards, pretty little curls of chocolate peeking out at the nape of his neck, flexing those annoyingly toned arms under an AGR short-sleeve, you felt heat creep up the back of your neck. If you weren’t drunk, you might have been a bit more stuttery. But it was when he gazed up at you like a puppy whilst dropping all kinds of specialized knowledge on philosophy, the soft timbre of his tone cutting through the egregious EDM shaking the house, you felt the butterflies making your toes curl in your boots. He was sweet, non-threatening, and he smiled like a wolf. Something in your gut told you that Clark Kent was hiding a whole lot of beautiful behind that brotherhood insignia on his chest.
It took you two all but a week to fall disgustingly in love, because Clark fell first, and he was a self-starter.
He found you at the library the day after your drunken romp at his house and brought you a coffee (his brothers felt the urge to adopt you as their pet, by the way, when they found you rummaging like a racoon through the fridge and Clark sitting on the counter behind you, staring with hearts in his eyes… and Lois asleep at his side.) The day after that, he bribed Lois with five bucks to tell him you would be leaving the literature club at four. He walked you to your tutoring shift. The next, he almost breached the creepy line when he used the student directory at the tutoring center to find your dorm number… but you didn’t mind when he showed up with Chinese food and that God-given grin.
Then the week was up again, and there was another AGR party. You were formally invited that time; he snuck you up to the roof through a series of window-hoppings, and he kissed you when you were in the middle of a rant about women writing under male pseudonyms…
—͙͘͡★—
“And did you know that they didn’t even let George Eliot get buried in Westminster? All that judgement for being a female writer, and then the thing with her husband dying and finding a new lover, and the Church said no, so now she’s buried in Highgate and she’s never been moved! Such bullshit, because she literally redefined–”
Clark couldn’t take it. Your eyes did this special thing when you got angry over book stuff, this little flash– like someone was starting up a lighter, over and over again– and it made his knees weak. He lurched forward as if he had no control over the urge, and he pressed his lips to yours in a manner that didn’t match the preceding; gentle, like he might hurt you if he wasn’t careful. His big palms, a bit rough around the curves, cradled your cheeks, and he smiled when he felt the way you sucked in a little breath, like he made you lose your place in thought.
You didn’t even pull away, you only let your lips brush his as you asked, "What are you doing?”
“I think I’m in love with you,” he said, like an absolute idiot. But he wasn’t one. If any girl would take that kind of truth bomb well, it would be you. He knew that for sure.
You nearly knocked him on his back with how excitedly you kissed back, lips slotting against his eagerly and unorganized, head tilting from left to right, trying to find the right way, the right pace, the best feeling. He knew within a second of your sloppy mouth that you had probably never kissed anyone before and were dying to figure it out.
“Easy, easy!” he chuckled, passing his fingers through the strands of hair around your face. “Jeez, Einstein–”
“Shut up,” you giggled, pulling back. Your eyes were on fire in a whole new way. “You love me?”
“Probably,” he hummed. Definitely.
“I love you,” you countered.
“Yeah?”
“It’s probably too soon,” you reasoned, eyes drifting to his lips like they were a magnet.
“Yeah,” he breathed.
“Maybe we’re moving really fast,”
“Maybe.”
“What would I be?”
“My girlfriend.”
“And you’d be my boyfriend,”
“Hopefully.”
“And you want that?”
“Sure I do.”
“You don’t think I'm fat?”
“What?” Clark mumbled against your skin, because he couldn’t take it anymore. He could volley your questions with his lips on your neck. “Stupid question… I like how much you weigh, and if you lose a pound I’ll be pissed.”
“I’ve never had a– mmf– a boyfriend before,”
“That’s fine,” a kiss.
“I might get needy,”
“Mm, please do…” a nip.
Your eyes fluttered when his hands slipped into your back pockets, squeezing happily. “I have a lot of h… homework, all the time,”
“So do I.”
“I vote in every election,”
“Mhm, so do I,” a squeeze.
“I want to write books for a living, even if it means I’m poor,”
“I have a family farm back home… won’t ever have to worry…”
“I- I want to have kids… three kids and two dogs,”
“Farm’s definitely big enough… they better have your eyes, cutie.”
“Mmf–” It got hard to think when his teeth scraped behind your ear. “Are you even listening? You’re talking crazy,”
“Three kids, two dogs, active citizen of democracy, I’ll keep you fed and pretty and– mm, is this new perfume? – n’ you love me?”
“Oh, god… yes.”
“Good. Then we’re both crazy.”
—͙͘͡★—
So, it worked. Nothing you said turned him off or away. He practically knew what you were thinking before you said it. Clark didn’t have to learn to anticipate your every move, he just did. And you seemed to read his mind, although that wasn’t so innate as it was easy– it was all over his gorgeous, gorgeous face.
It was one of those things where you seemed to just fit like interlocking fingers. Every strength, every weakness, they melded into a trade of wills. Where he couldn’t, you could, and you shared life like a milkshake. One straw and a lot of kissing between sips.
Your first time was in your shared dorm room with Lois, when you remembered to lock the door but forgot to deadbolt it, and so she had the misfortune of opening it up and finding the two of your startled into fits of laughter, hiding from her grumblings about ‘boys’ and ‘privacy’:
—͙͘͡★—
You really had never felt anything like it before, and whatever bad porn you watched or had seen in artsy movies did not do it justice. Or, maybe it was just Clark.
Clark had you pressed into the mattress under two hundred and twenty pounds of soft, twisting muscle, his hands wrapped around your back and digging into your sides. You weren’t sure you’d ever be small enough to hold, but maybe you just needed a bigger guy all this time. Everything in proportion, right?
And god, he was a whiner. Clark rutted into you in what should’ve been little motions, but he was so genuinely large that any thrust made your legs shake. It was quite a struggle getting the condom on, actually, because he was so anxious to be sweet with you that his hands shook. You had to roll it on for him, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his blushing cheeks.
“Oh, god, baby,” he whimpered, nibbling at the joint of your neck and shoulder as the plush heat of your walls throbbed around him. “Oh my god, oh my god…”
You were a hot mess, burning up and completely eager. Every grind was met with a buck of your hips, your knees hitched high and your fingernails– purple this time– digging into the meat of his back. For a first timer, you had no reservations. You moaned into the dampening hair behind his ear, “Ho-oly shit, Clark…”
His hands rushed to touch every inch of your back and sides as he lifted himself up a bit and gazed down at you. His chain dangled against your lips and he watched as you took it in your mouth, passing it between tongue and teeth, batting those sinful lashes up at him. He scrunched his face up with a weak desire and tucked a hand under your knee, opening you up that last bit before driving into you with a force that managed to compromise speed and safety. Just as his hands kneaded your tummy, just as your hands twisted the sheets up, just as the two of you were begging and pleading and whining like little vocal twin flames, Lois unlocked the door and froze in the doorway.
You startled immediately and Clark flopped on top of you, his first concern to cover you from whoever it was. But a poor moment of judgement caused him to keep going, even when Lois burst into a flurry of curses.
“Jesus Christ, you guys– oh my god, somebody should’ve just told me, I wouldn’t have come home, couldn’t even put a fucking sock on the door like civilized people– oh my god, are you still going? Fuck, guys, ew! Privacy! Privacy in my own dorm room, that's all I ask! Boys in the room, there’ll never be boys in the room she said– oh, Christ, someone text me when it’s over!”
You devolved into helpless, shocked laughter as she babbled herself out and locked the door again, and Clark smiled into your chest as he made you punctuate every giggle with a moan. He couldn’t get enough of the way you sounded– it was breathy, like a whisper, until it hit harder and your pleasure reached a low register, whiny and hungry. He wanted to chase it out of you until you had no sound left. And he did– until your back arched, until the condom simply couldn’t take any more, until your eyes fluttered shut and wouldn’t open again, until your body twitched and slumped and every other word either sounded like “Clarkie” or “Love you.”
—͙͘͡★—
No matter what first came to pass, or whatever college threw at you, Clark didn’t budge. He knew it when he sought you out at that party. He knew you were the stroke of good luck he’d never find again. So, he kept you. Good choice, because he got a free tutor out of it- not that he needed it. The perks were really just making out in the library.
He met your parents after a couple months, and they gushed over him. The homegrown farmboy had the good sense to bring flowers, and your parents kept them on the sill for weeks until they wilted to nothing. You showed him your childhood room, and he nearly cried at a little list of birthday wishes you had pasted next to your vanity, to which you laughed and accused, “You sap.”
Then it was his turn; he took you home on break to the farm, and his parents nearly gave Martha’s ring over on the spot. You received five pie recipes free of charge. Jonathan Kent gave you a rigorous tour of the farm, and he even let you brush the horses– one of which sneezed on your nice blouse. Clark took you into town for a new one and you got to see all the places he grew up in, and then you nearly cried, and all he could do was kiss you and tell you just how pretty you looked with grass in your hair.
Clark bought you exactly one second-hand novel a week, and you wrote him little poems on scraps of paper and tucked them in every place possible, so that when he went through life, he’d find it unexpectedly, and remember that wherever he was, you were, too.
He went to the slam poetry night your club hosted. You were crowned kegger queen to his kegger king at a particularly rowdy party. His brothers threw you a birthday party and got you delightfully drunk, so you could enjoy a childhood birthday wish of stargazing at midnight next to a cute boy. Said cute boy had to usher his friends to bed just so he could consummate the day you were brought into the world properly (and it was better than the first, somehow.) When you woke up the next morning, hungover in his bed, you smiled to yourself. Your tank top strap slid down your arm. He pushed it up.
It didn’t matter on your shy or outgoing days, or when you felt dark or light. It didn’t matter when he had to put on the ‘brother’ face and do the stupid shit fraternities do. What mattered was that he protected your heart in a little box, and just when it felt like maybe you two wouldn't meet on some small level, you did. It was synchrony. It was easy.
And you know what? It didn’t have to make sense. You two were the odd couple. Soulmates exist like flames in the eyes of girls who float in the wind. He was yours, backwards hat and all, and there was nothing easier than that.
