For my daydreams and random ideas. Feel free to make requests (or just chat)! I only write male x female and will let you know if there's anything I don't feel comfortable writing. Profile pic credits to @qp_tink on Instagram!
all day at work i think about coming home and writing but then i come home and im so tired from work that all i do is lie down and beat myself up for not writing like i planned to THIS LIFE IS A PRISON
I made this Hobie Brown cosplay for my first ever con last year, and I'll be wearing it again because I have more time plus more knowledge. I'm gonna update it and add things I missed (like the boots that I've ordered)
We don't give Selina enough flack for choosing Bruce of all people as a significant other because he just fits her cat obsession to a tee because the guy is literally a cat? Hear me out, but Bruce gives off insane cat energy. The man's attention is attracted by a beam of light. The guy likes to crouch on high surfaces and gaze down on everything. The man likes only like five people enough to let touch him. He'd probably come running if you shook a puzzle at him. He moves so quietly he should wear a bell. The man takes long naps during the day to prowl around at night. He has a fascination with brightly coloured little birds. The man is a cat, of course he belongs to Catwoman.
i. The gift(s) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
ii. The hormones II
iii. The new recruit
iv. The depression
v. The outfit
Warnings: none.
_______________________________________________
Miguel glanced at his gizmo for the hundredth time: 05:27. Only three more minutes left until—
His thought broke off halfway when he caught sight of X rounding the corner, her steps casual and completely unaware of how happy she was about to become. She glanced up as Miguel leaped out of his seat, and her features—just as they always did—lit up immediately at the sight of him.
“Hi!” Miguel exclaimed, maybe a little too loudly. He clenched his fists to stop his hands from shaking from the adrenaline flooding his system, then tried again—something a little cooler this time. “Hey.”
But his voice came out embarrassingly hoarse, so he cleared his throat and added a nonchalant smile this time as well. “Hola, arañita.”
X’s grin tightened as she tried—and failed—to stop herself from laughing at his pathetic greeting, but it didn’t take her more than a few seconds to recover and respond in turn. “‘Hi, hey, hola’ to you too, mi araña.”
An awkward chuckle slipped through Miguel’s clenched teeth as his cheeks flamed at her teasing, but X didn’t seem to notice as she stopped in front of him.
“¿Qué estás haciendo … ici? (What are you doing … here?)” she asked in her usual mixture of Spanish and French. “¿Es ‘aquí’ en Español? (Is it ‘here’ in Spanish?)”
“Sí, sí,” Miguel confirmed with an enthusiastic nod. “I … I got this … for you …”
He stepped aside and gently nudged a brand new purple tumbler across the counter, then lowered his gaze from hers shyly. X stepped closer to the bottle, her hands clasped together to stop her from waving them about with excitement. A purple bottle?! Purple?! A beautiful little tumbler that the man she so loved and admired had gotten especially for her?!
She reached forward and wrapped her hands around the bottle, her movements tight with intensely controlled restraint. There was so much excited energy inside of her though, that she couldn’t stop her toes from wriggling around in her boots. She swiped up the tumbler and began bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet when she turned to face him.
“Thank you,” she told him, clutching the bottle tightly to her chest. Migue regarded her with a soft smile, then reached forward to brush her hair behind her ear.
“You know, you can …” he paused to wave his arms around meaningfully. “You can move if you want to.”
X opened and closed her mouth as her bounces turned into small jumps. It was— he was okay with her expressing herself like that? People didn’t usually let her physically express her excitement like that; they’d make her force it down and compress it into a container that was nowhere near big enough to hold it until she could find somewhere isolated to let it all out.
Miguel held a hand out to her, noticing how carefully she was holding her bottle, and she handed it off to him so she could begin jumping up and down, her hands waving about as she spun around with an excited squeal. She turned back to him once she was done and touched her fingers together in a prayer pose. “Thank you.”
And then she leaped forward, throwing her body against his as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Miguel stood frozen in place for a second, unsure how to react. Sure, it wasn’t the first time she was hugging him, but it was the first time she was hugging him in public.
Miguel’s gaze flickered around their surroundings, nervously taking note of all the eyes trained on him, all the murmured whispers being exchanged around them. Dios, they were going to be the talk of the town for the rest of the—
“Miguel,” X whispered, the naughty smile clear in her voice, “if you don’t hug me back, I’m gonna kiss your cheek in front of everyone.”
Miguel snapped his arms around her waist immediately. X let out a soft snicker, then stretched up to get closer to his ear.
“Gracías, mi araña,” she repeated before burying her face in his shoulder and wriggling happily against him. A smile crept onto Miguel’s lips at her unwavering excitement and he melted forward, curling tighter around her to keep her secure. It took about a minute, but eventually, she calmed down, sinking against him as the adrenaline finally dissipated from her system. Miguel loosened his grip on her, and X took it as a cue to pull away. She reached for her tumbler and slid it back over to her to explore it more. Miguel watched quietly as she unscrewed the lid and inspected the contents. Finally, she lifted the bottle to her lips and took a sip.
“Wow!” X exclaimed—maybe a little dramatically. “This is even better than how I make it!”
Miguel fixed her with a doubtful look and she laughed before rubbing his arm affectionately.
“You want me to make your coffee too?” she asked with a tilt of her head. Miguel gazed at her in silence for a moment, too distracted by how pretty she looked with her hair falling to frame her face like that to listen to what she was saying.
“Uh, no!” he replied suddenly, straightening his own head. “I can … I can make it, arañita.”
“Then go make it!” X commanded, grabbing her tumbler before walking around to the other side of the island. Miguel raised an amused eyebrow as he watched her climb into the middle seat.
“Why so demanding, arañita?” he teased, turning around to grab his mug out of the cupboard.
“Because!” X exclaimed. “Then we can sit and talk about our days!”
Miguel pressed his lips together as a smile tugged on them at her naive excitement, and turned around to face her while the machine poured coffee into his mug. X grinned and rested her chin on the palm of her hand. “How was your day, mi araña?”
Miguel folded his arms across his chest and shook his head at the mischievous look on her face: she was too cute for her own good. He grabbed his mug once the machine was done and pulled the bag with her new socks out of the drawer he’d hidden them in before rounding the island to take the seat next to her. “I got you … something else, too.”
X watched curiously as Miguel placed a paper bag down before them. He’d gotten her two gifts?! Had something happened? Had she forgotten some important event in her life that he had written down in a file somewhere?
“It’s not my birthday,” she said with a smile, vibrating in her seat as her body started to buzz with joy again. Miguel snickered softly.
“I know,” he told her calmly. “But … you got me this mug. And … you’ve done– you’ve helped me … in so many other ways too.”
He lowered his head as his neck flushed adorably, and X was too distracted admiring the way the colour flooded into his cheeks to remember the bag.
“Are you … gonna open it?” Miguel asked her suddenly, his fingers brushing lightly against hers and his feet balancing on the footrest of her seat as he waited for her response. X shot up and reached for the bag to take a peek inside.
Miguel held his breath as X’s features widened with what she saw was in the bag. She eagerly reached in with both hands and pulled the pack of socks out before squeezing them against her chest.
“I love it!” she screeched, her voice uncharacteristically loud—not that either of them cared. “I love socks! I–”
She cut herself off suddenly, seeming to realise something, then reached forward to place a hand on his knee.
“You pay attention to me,” she observed, her voice soft with delighted awe. Miguel’s smile stretched wide enough for his cheeks to start hurting and he leaned forward to twirl a loose curl of hers around his finger.
“Of course,” he agreed, his voice equally as quiet. X shuffled forward, perching on the very edge of her seat to try to get as close to him as possible.
“Gracias, mi araña,” she thanked him once again, her cheeks flushed adorably with a faint glow.
“De nada, arañita,” Miguel replied, pulling back and forcing his eyes away from her face. He paused to take a sip of his coffee, then twisted in his seat to angle his body towards hers. “So. How was your day?”
i. The gift(s) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
ii. The hormones II
iii. The new recruit
iv. The depression
v. The outfit
Warnings: none.
_______________________________________________
Miguel gripped the handles of his paper bag tightly as he walked down the corridor to the pantry. X would be here at around five-thirty, which meant that he had about an hour to figure out how to make her coffee and surprise her with the new gifts he’d gotten her that morning.
Miguel tucked the bag discreetly behind his thigh as he passed some Spiders, shielding it from their curious glances: he didn’t want anyone making a big deal out of him getting a gift for his …
Friend.
Mierda, the word still left a sour taste in his mouth.
Miguel shook it aside and pulled out X’s new tumbler when he reached the pantry. Coffee, he had to make coffee. Oh! Milk, he needed milk.
Miguel spun around to grab a carton from the fridge and set it down beside the tumbler. He knew X liked milk—enough to turn her coffee a pale, milky colour—but how much of it exactly? He was quite particular about his coffee and, based on what he’d come to know of her and her highly specific food preferences, he couldn’t imagine that she wasn’t equally as uncompromising.
Miguel chewed on the inside of his cheek as he regarded the purple bottle and packet of milk. C*ño, what kind of a friend was he when he didn’t even know how X—the person who made his coffee every. Damn. Day—liked her own coffee?!
“Ay, mierda,” Miguel sighed, stepping back and laying his head down on the kitchen island. How the hell was he supposed to figure out– Maybe he could review the security camera footage for whenever she’d gone to the pantry to make her coffee?
Miguel raised his head and tapped his gizmo, searching for footage from the day before—
Wait.
MJ would know!
He clicked on her name and soon, her image was hovering over his screen.
“Miguel? Is everything all right?” she asked, voice drenched with worry.
“Yeah,” he reassured her quickly, dismissing her concern. “Just … Do you know … how X makes her coffee?”
He remained straight-faced as he waited for MJ’s response, but he could feel his cheeks getting hotter than a furnace. Thankfully though, MJ didn’t seem to notice.
“Erm, I’m not sure,” she replied to Miguel’s not insubstantial disappointment. But then she continued. “Oh! But Ben might! He’s usually hanging around the kitchen with X when she’s making coffee.”
Miguel’s jaw worked at the observation: that was a problem he was going to have to take care of another time.
“Noted,” he said, nodding once in understanding before hanging up the call. He pulled up Ben’s contact instead and opened up a new message thread.
Hey
Do you happen to know how X makes her coffee?
His jaw remained clenched as he waited for the response, and he wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or irritated when it finally came.
Oh yeah!
She gave me a tutorial once
You need help?
Miguel huffed at the word, and it took him more than a minute to respond.
In the pantry
Ben sent him a thumbs up emoji from the keyboard X had somehow convinced him to programme into the gizmos and Miguel sulked around the kitchen a little more before Ben arrived.
“Hey,” he greeted cheerfully, none the wiser to—or maybe unbothered by—Miguel’s sour demeanour. “You want to make X’s coffee before she gets here?”
He leaned on the kitchen island, a wide, excited grin stretched across his face, and Miguel fidgeted with his fingers for a second before sliding the tumbler in front of him.
“Oh!” Ben gasped, his eyes glimmering with wicked delight. “You got this for her?”
Miguel kept his face turned away, avoiding Ben’s gaze as he nodded in confirmation.
“She’s going to love it,” Ben added, shifting around to try to catch his eye. Miguel folded his arms across his chest, a little annoyed that someone else knew her well enough to know that she’d love it.
But he couldn’t deny the smug little thrill that shot through him at the confirmation of how well he knew her.
“I know,” Miguel agreed casually, before gesturing at the tumbler. “How does she make her coffee?”
Ben rounded the counter, but paused when he reached the tumbler, hesitating as he glanced around the pantry.
“What?” Miguel asked.
“I … There’s a lot of things she eyeballs,” Ben explained, causing Miguel’s shoulders to tense with apprehension: how was he going to make it perfect now?! X had made it enough times for herself that she would know without having to measure everything precisely. And she’d said before that she didn’t trust people with even trivial favours for her like making her coffee! F*ck!
“So we should make it in a glass first before pouring it into the tumbler,” Ben finished, oblivious to Miguel’s internal turmoil. But he’d tasted her coffee before, so maybe he could recall it well enough to know if any of the proportions were off, Miguel tried to reassure himself.
“Okay,” he relented, his jaw tight with frustration. But he watched closely as Ben began aliquoting the required amount of sugar into an empty glass.
“She starts with the sugar?” Miguel asked, incredulous. Ben nodded solemnly.
“She’ll add a little water and then heat it in the microwave to make a sugar syrup,” he elaborated. And of course she would think of something like that! She was so clever, after all, and having the sugar in a syrup form would be much more conducive to its mixing thoroughly with the coffee rather than relying on the manual dispersion of the solid sugar crystals via stirring.
Miguel knelt down, getting on eye level with the glass so he could quantify the amount of sugar Ben had added. It was about as much as the width of his finger—which was still way too much. He’d have to find a way to condition her into decreasing the amount of sugar she consumed.
Miguel got back to his feet and nodded at Ben, allowing him to continue with the process …
But he stopped him again after he’d added the hot water to the glass.
Miguel picked it up, lifting it to his face so he could assess the amount Ben had added—twice the level of sugar. Miguel handed the glass back to Ben, then stepped back again to let him put it in the microwave.
“We can’t heat it for too long ‘cause the sugar will burn,” Ben cautioned him, setting a thirty second timer on the screen. “But we do need it to reach boiling point so it melts completely and dissolves in the water.”
Yes, of course, that was only common sense.
“So,” Ben began, trying to make conversation while they waited, “you like her?”
Miguel’s internal processes froze.
But wait—maybe he meant platonically? Like in the same way Ben liked X—as a friend and nothing else? X had gotten him a gift first, after all, even though she knew that they were just friends—even though she saw them as just friends—so there wasn’t an issue—wasn’t a big deal, or any deal at all—that he’d gotten her a gift in return. Only to reciprocate and thank her for always being so patient with him and … and …
“I-I,” Miguel stammered, unsure how to respond to the question. Was it a trick question? Like the ones teenagers would ask each other and then twist the answer regardless of what it was? Thankfully, Miguel was saved from having to reply by the sound of the timer going off.
“Oh!” Ben exclaimed, grabbing the mittens above the microwave before he pulled the glass out. Miguel wrung his hands together, still reeling from Ben’s accusation, and hesitated for a moment before bending over to make sure the sugar had fully melted.
“Okay! So next, we add the coffee,” Ben continued, untroubled by Miguel’s lack of a response to his question. He set the glass in the coffee machine, then selected the ‘caffe latte’ option.
“And finally, we’ll top it up with a little extra milk,” he finished, selecting the milk option on the machine. He set the glass back on the island when he was done, and Miguel cautiously took a sip of it. His eyes widened with surprise when he found that it was practically perfect and he turned to Ben with a questioning look.
“And she only explained this to you once?”
“Yeah.” Ben shrugged. “But you know how she gets when she’s excited about something.”
And, before he was even aware of it, a smile had leaped to Miguel’s face: he did know how she got whenever she was excited about something—hopping around like a cute little bunny whose small body couldn’t contain their excitement. She’d ramble and repeat her words and double-back on her explanations, and there was just something so infectious about her enthusiasm; her earnestness and zest for the things she enjoyed in life.
Miguel cleared his throat and smoothed his features before nodding at Ben in dismissal. “You’re free to go.”
“Okay, boss,” he said, spinning on his heel and walking away without argument. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Hmm,” Miguel hummed non-committedly, turning his attention to pouring the coffee into the tumbler. X was going to be so excited when she arrived! She’d most definitely give him that smile whose brightness rivalled the sun on a clear summer’s day, and treat him to that wide-eyed gaze that softened something in his chest and made him forget about anything else. And then she’d bounce around the kitchen, wiggling with delight at the perfectness of the gift.
Miguel checked the time on his gizmo, eager to see X’s reaction: 04:42. Only forty-eight more minutes to go!
i. The gift(s) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
ii. The hormones II
iii. The new recruit
iv. The depression
v. The outfit
Warnings: none.
_______________________________________________
Miguel stood in the middle of the entryway, regretting his decision already. What the hell had he been thinking, going out in public like this?! The lights were way too bright for his spider-enhanced vision, the gloves he’d worn to keep his claws from popping out felt much too out of place in the cool autumn breeze, and he couldn’t shake the paranoia that someone might look too closely at his mouth and notice his protruding fangs. Mierda. Maybe he should just turn around now and return to HQ; take shelter in the familiar silence of his control room and—
But X hadn’t run away.
She’d stayed with him, despite her own trauma, refusing to leave his side until he’d run out of arguments to make on that rooftop.
So maybe he could do this one thing for her.
Miguel sucked in a breath, straightened to his full height, and stepped into the store … which was—to his not unpleasant surprise—pretty empty. There was a middle-aged woman racing around the aisles frantically, a young couple perusing the wares on display, and a trio of elderly women giggling to one another as they trailed distractedly past the pillow covers. Miguel raised his arm to check his watch and found the numbers 10:03 blinking up at him. Right—people were probably at work by now. He uncurled his fists, feeling a little more relaxed, and wandered over to the bottles section of the store.
Purple, he’d start with purple. But a purple mug or a bottle? A bottle or a tumbler? She already had a bottle—a translucent purple one that never strayed far from her side—so it would make more sense to get her something she could drink her coffee from; like she’d gotten for him.
But she took a while to finish her drinks—long enough that she’d sometimes have to reheat them in the microwave—so maybe a tumbler would be the more practical opt—
“Good morning, can I help you find something?”
Miguel startled as an unfamiliar voice piped up from much too close to him. He turned to find a kindly older woman smiling warmly up at him—though it faltered for a second as her eyes flickered uncertainly up to his sunglasses. Miguel took a step back from her, curling up instinctively to draw as little attention to himself as possible, and shook his head. “No, I’m—”
He paused as the reality of how daunting his task was going to be hit him all of a sudden. He’d never … gotten someone something so … personal before. Sure, he’d bought jewellery or flowers for his exes—generic stuff most women appreciated—but this …
Not that X was, like, his girlfriend or anything! She was just … She just …
“Uh, yeah,” Miguel mumbled, his shoulders slumping with defeat. “That would … I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”
“Oh, it’s fine, dear,” the woman—Deborah, according to her nametag—assured him. “That’s what I’m here for! So, where should we start? You … like the colour purple, I take it?”
“Oh! No, this is for my—” Miguel cut himself off, reluctant to say the word. It was the right word, sure, but … it tasted like bile on his tongue. “For my friend.”
An understanding look flooded Deborah’s face and she flashed him a knowing smile. “Ah, got it. Any special occasion?”
Miguel felt himself flush even harder at her question. “N-No, just …”
F*ck, what was he really doing here? Trying to lead X on? She was so open with her emotions that it was becoming harder and harder for him to convince himself that she didn’t see him as more than a friend. The way she’d light up every time her eyes landed on him, the way she’d find some way to touch him despite avoiding physical contact with everyone else, the way she’d glance away red-faced whenever he flashed her a teasing smirk. What the hell was she going to think when he showed up with such an intimate gift—something that made it obvious just how closely he paid attention to her?
“That’s fine,” Deborah repeated patiently. Thankfully, she made no mention of the lengthy silence he’d slipped into and instead, casually turned her attention to the rows of bottles on display. “Why don’t we start with the type of container, hmm? Would your friend prefer a water bottle or a coffee mug?”
“Uh, I was … I was thinking of a tumbler, actually,” Miguel admitted, scratching the back of his head nervously. “She likes hot drinks? But she takes a while to drink them, so they tend to get cold before she’s done. And she doesn’t like drinking cold drinks! She says they can shock your nervous system and the coldness dilutes the flavour or—”
Miguel stopped short when he heard for himself the unsolicited lecture he’d just launched into. Mierda. He really wasn’t doing himself any favours regarding the whole ‘friend’ situation. What did this stranger care if he knew X’s favourite colour, or her preferred drink temperature, or how deathly afraid of butterflies she was, or how she’d wrinkle her nose whenever she was getting irritated, or how—
“What about these?” Deborah suggested, holding three different models out to him. “They’re the top of the line, so can keep a drink warm for up to sixteen hours!”
Miguel pursed his lips as he accepted the tumblers from her. They looked nice enough, and sixteen hours was more than enough for X … but the larger ones wouldn’t be very convenient for her to carry around HQ; one of the slimmer ones would make more sense. “Do you have any other designs for this one?”
Miguel held the smallest model out to Deborah and she dutifully returned to the shelves to scour for any alternatives. “We have two options. Which one do you think your friend would prefer?”
Miguel took the tumblers from her and analysed the colour, design, weight, and durability of each. He tested the grip without realising, twisting them around in his hands and noting how they caught the light. And he checked the lid mechanisms too, popping the covers open and inspecting the triggers for any sort of damage. Finally, he settled on the lilac one with elegant flowering vines painted along its sides. “This one, I’ll take this one.”
He held his chosen tumbler out to Deborah, but snatched it back suddenly when another thought crossed his mind. “Does it come with a warranty? In case it gets dented or anything?”
“Oh yes! It comes with a one-year warranty,” Deborah informed him. “You just need to hold on to the receipt—we can email it to you!”
Miguel nodded thoughtfully, and returned the bottle back to her. “Do you have the option to add on another year for the warranty? I can pay extra.”
“Sure! I can work that out for you.” Miguel followed behind as Deborah began leading the way to the counter, but then she twisted her head back to call over her shoulder. “Would you like anything else?”
Miguel paused in the middle of the aisle, glancing around the store again. Did he want to get X anything else? He didn’t want to come across as presumptuous or—Dios no lo quiera (God forbid)—affectionate.
But … those pillows looked good. And X loved pillows: aside from the one she’d brought specifically to his house, he’d noticed that she had a little pile of mismatched ones on her sofa—different sizes and textures, like she’d pick up ones that caught her eye.
“Does your friend like pillows?” Deborah asked, noticing where Miguel’s gaze had landed. He nodded slowly, and chewed his lower lip as he ambled over to the shelves. There were a few purple and pink ones—soft, fluffy little things that matched her vibe perfectly. And it would be another practical gift …
“She likes soft things,” Miguel confirmed absent-mindedly as he reached for the two most fitting options. He squished each gently in his palms, testing the give and squeezability, then handed one carefully over to Deborah. “This should be good. It’s just one pillow. Right?”
Deborah’s mouth twitched with amusement as she accepted the item from him, but she said nothing as she followed him towards the counter. Halfway there though, another sign caught Miguel’s eye—one advertising a sale on selected carpets. X liked carpets: they were soft, too, and she’d told him once how her feet and hands were always cold, so a carpet would be another good, practical gift.
Miguel walked over to the display and brushed his fingers across the furriest-looking one—only to retract his hand immediately. Synthetic—X wouldn’t like that. He’d noticed how soft her suit was when he’d brushed up against her once—very unlike the latex-like materials most Spiders would use. She’d told him with a proud smile after he’d asked that she’d taken apart kevlar vests and sewn the material into the more vulnerable parts of a bodysuit she’d made out of jersey. She struggled with certain fabrics, she’d explained, getting upset or ill in the worst of cases. She only ever wore jersey, cotton, and denim, if he recalled correctly. Oh and knit too.
“Hmm. I think I’ll just stick with the tumbler,” Miguel decided after reaching the end of the row of carpets. He was going overboard with this whole ‘gift’ thing—even the pillow seemed a bit overkill. X would probably prefer to buy her own pillows. “I can put the pillow back.”
“Oh, it’s fine! I’ll handle that for you.” Deborah waved his concerns away with another easy smile, and they returned to their journey to the cashier.
But no sooner had they reached the queuing section when another display caught Miguel’s eye; socks, this time. He drifted over to it and rifled through the options before picking up a set of three: a purple one sprinkled with little cupcakes, a blue one dotted with little candies, and a pink one decorated with images of tiny ribbons.
“Are these … pure cotton?” he asked, searching for the tag to confirm it. “There’s no polyester in them?”
“Oh, yes!” Deborah informed him enthusiastically. “They’re one hundred percent pure cotton.”
She paused for a moment, then leaned in to him curiously. “Is your friend allergic to polyester?”
Miguel pursed his lips in thought before responding. “No, not allergic. Just … sensitive to certain fabrics. I want her to be comfortable.
“She loves socks,” he admitted, his lips curling at the ends as he lifted his gaze to Deborah’s. “She still wears them to sleep—like a baby! She says they help regulate your body temperature; she gets cold really easily, so—”
Mierda, he was doing it again.
Miguel cleared his throat and shoved the socks into Deborah’s hands before he could overthink this gift too. People got socks as gifts all the time! It was hardly a romantic option—more something you’d get for your grandmother at Christmas. There was no need to worry that X would look too hard into it and read into feelings that—
“And how will you be paying today, sir?” Deborah asked from behind the cash register. Miguel blinked at her for a few seconds, momentarily lost, then snapped himself back to the present moment.
“Uh, card,” he replied, pulling out his credit card and tapping it on the machine. Deborah tore out the receipt and handed it over to him along with his items in a paper bag.
“Thanks, hon’,” she said with a bright smile. “All the best with your friend—I’m sure she’ll love the gifts.”
Miguel shifted uncomfortably despite her sincere tone, and nodded in thanks before striding out of the store. He opened up the bag once he was outside, double-checking his items to confirm that they were still in good order. The tumbler sat comfortably next to the socks, the receipt tucked neatly beside them. They were small, cute, and objectively practical—all things X loved. Miguel let out a soft exhale of reassurance, then carried on on his journey home.
To the world, he was the Red Hood - brutal, sarcastic, carrying the weight of death and resurrection like armor. He snapped at his brothers, glared at criminals, and kept everyone at arm’s length with sharp words and sharper knives.
But with you?
He was the biggest lover boy in Gotham.
He remembers everything.
You mentioned once, months ago, that you loved the way the first spring flowers smelled after rain. Now, every time it rained in early spring, Jason would disappear for an hour and come back with a small bouquet of fresh flowers - never store-bought, always ones he’d picked himself from quiet corners of the city where no one would see the big, scary Red Hood playing gardener.
Tonight was no different. He walked through the door of your shared apartment, rain still clinging to his leather jacket, and handed you a small bunch of pale purple flowers wrapped in brown paper.
“They smelled like you,” he said gruffly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thought you’d like them.”
You took them, heart swelling, and kissed his cheek. “You’re such a sap.”
He huffed, but his ears went pink. “Only for you. Don’t tell anyone.”
He takes care of you without being asked.
You came home from a long day at work exhausted, shoulders aching, feet sore. Jason was already there - apron on, sleeves rolled up, cooking your favourite meal. The apartment smelled like garlic and herbs and home.
“Sit,” he said, pointing at the couch. “Dinner’s almost done.”
You tried to protest. “I can help—”
“No.” He crossed the room in two strides, gently pushing you down onto the cushions. Then he knelt, unlaced your shoes, and massaged your feet with careful, strong hands. “You worked hard today. Let me take care of you.”
His touch was firm but gentle, thumbs pressing into the arches of your feet until the tension melted away. You sighed, leaning back, watching him with soft eyes.
“You don’t have to do all this,” you murmured.
“I want to.” He looked up at you, green eyes warm. “You take care of everyone else. Let me take care of you.”
Later, after dinner, he pulled you into his lap on the couch, arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. His hands stroked slow circles on your stomach under your shirt - warm, comforting, with just a hint of heat in the way his fingers occasionally dipped lower.
“You’re too good to me,” you whispered.
He kissed the side of your neck. “You deserve it. All of it.”
He’s protective in the quiet ways.
You were walking home from the library late one night when a group of guys started catcalling. Before you could even react, Jason was there - stepping out of the shadows like he’d been waiting, tall and broad and radiating danger.
The guys scattered.
He walked you the rest of the way home, hand on your lower back, silent but steady. When you got inside, he pulled you into a hug, arms wrapping around you like a shield.
“I hate when they look at you like that,” he muttered into your hair. “Like you’re not mine.”
You hugged him back, smiling against his chest. “I am yours.”
He kissed the top of your head, then your temple, then your lips - slow and deep, hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss grew warmer, his fingers pressing into your sides, but he never pushed. He just held you, grounding himself in the feel of you safe in his arms.
He leaves little notes.
You found them everywhere.
A sticky note on the coffee maker: “Made this for you. Don’t work too hard today. Love you.”
A scribbled message in your favourite book: “This part reminded me of you. You’re stronger than any character in here.”
A note taped to the bathroom mirror after a rough night: “You looked beautiful even when you cried. I’ve got you. Always.”
Each one was written in his messy, hurried handwriting, like he was embarrassed to be caught being romantic. You kept every single one in a small box under your bed.
One morning you woke up to find a note on his pillow next to yours:
“Gone to handle some shit. Be back before you miss me too much.
P.S. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.
— J”
You smiled, pressing the note to your chest, heart full.
He’s soft when the world isn’t watching.
Late at night, after patrols, Jason would crawl into bed behind you, still smelling like leather and gun oil. He’d wrap his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest, legs tangling with yours.
“Missed you,” he’d murmur against your neck, voice rough from the night’s work. His hand would slide under your shirt, resting warm and possessive on your stomach, thumb stroking lazy circles.
You’d turn in his arms, kissing him softly. He’d kiss you back - slow and deep, hands roaming your body with gentle reverence. He’d pull you closer, hips pressing against yours, the heat between you building but never rushing.
“I love you,” he’d whisper between kisses. “More than anything.”
You’d fall asleep like that - wrapped up in each other, his heartbeat steady under your ear, his arms a shield against the world.
One quiet evening, you were reading on the couch when Jason came home early. He didn’t say anything. Just kicked off his boots, crossed the room, and pulled you into his lap.
You laughed softly, setting your book aside. “Rough day?”
He buried his face in your neck, arms wrapping around you tightly. “Better now.”
His hands slid under your shirt again, stroking your skin, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. The touch was comforting, but there was heat in it too - a quiet promise of more when you were ready.
“You’re my favourite person,” he murmured. “My safe place. My home.”
You cupped his face, kissing him softly. “You’re mine too.”
He held you like that for hours - kissing you slow and deep, hands exploring with gentle affection, whispering how much he loved you between every touch.
Jason Todd was not a soft man.
But for you?
He was the biggest lover boy in the world.
And you wouldn’t have him any other way.
a/n : for the lovely @blueberrycandymuffin !! reqs open, and pls follow <3
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