โง Contentโ I write SFW & NSFW. NSFW is marked in my master list but I don't mark it in each individual post, so it's up to viewer discretion. My current fixation is DC but it might eventually change. You'll notice I have favorite characters but if you ask for anyone in specific, I'm generally not opposed to branching out.
โค Postingโ I'm incredibly busy/work on a dozen personal projects outside of Tumblr, so I sometimes disappear for weeks to months at a time. I'm still here, just lurking instead of posting.
โก RequestsโI disable it when I'm not taking requests, so if you see it, it's open. You can ask for any character and any idea (sfw/nsfw) but I don't always get around to all of them. If you think your ask is out of my boundaries, just send it anyway. You also don't have to request anything if you just want to say 'hi' or leave a comment you're not comfortable leaving on a post.
โข "Rules"โ Just be a nice person. It's not that difficult. If you don't like a character or content, then don't engage.
(A/N) I think this is the smuttiest smut I've written to date? Pairing: Jason Todd (obviously). Synopsis: While he's away for work you get lonely, but he doesn't mind talking you through it on the phone. (Yes. That is the entire plot. This is who I am now.)
You hated to admit your inexperience. Hated it. Most men were turned off by the fact that you lacked the stamina they wanted, struggled to speak dirty talk, hell even listening to it sometimes still made you blush.
Even before meeting Jason, meeting anyone really, you had always lacked any connection to the sensual side of yourself. A habit formed by purity culture and a busy household that never gave you any alone time.
When you and Jason got more intimate, you could easily admit that it was better than previous guys you'd been with. Like he was genuinely trying to please you rather than get himself off. That wasn't really something you even realized other guys weren't prioritizing until you met him.
You could feel the difference. The lingering touches, his breath hitches, eyes glued to your form. Sometimes, just thinking about him-it-made you feel warm. He honestly loved that. A lot. You'd be watching a movie and your mind would wander, before you knew it you were squirming against him, nestling closer, nuzzling his arm.
And of course he knew what that meant. He had no problem with the sudden shift. He could pull you into his lap at any time and love it as much as if there was an hour worth of foreplay.
The only problem was, sometimes he was gone. Like super gone. Out of the country kind of gone. If he was across town, a call could bring him to you in under half an hour (even if he was far away...speed limits were irrelevant) but out of the country, there was nothing he could do and you knew it.
Still, laying in bed, trying and failing to fall asleep had you restless. Maybe it was the shirt you were wearing which smelled like him, or the fact that he typically spent every single Thursday night with you that made your mind wander to him. To the feeling of his arms around you, thoughts of them gently squeezing you, maybe drifting lower...
It was 1:48 in the morning when Jason's phone rang. The vibration moving it across the wooden nightstand in his hotel room slowly.
He reached for it, face still buried in his pillow as he picked it up and pressed it to his ear. He didn't even say a word, just waited, partially hoping whoever it was would hang up and let him sleep.
"Jay?"
He lifted his head immediately, frowning deeply. He pulled back the phone, checking the caller ID like he'd hallucinated your voice and then glanced at the time. It was nearly two for him, which meant it was even later for you.
"Sweetheart?" He mumbled, his voice raspy from sleep as he forced himself to sit up, sheets rustling as he sat against the headboard. "What is it? Are you okay?"
If you were hurt or in trouble and he wasn't there, he might've actually lost his sanity. He almost never left the country and the one time he actually agreed to it, of course something would-
"I'm fine," you assured him, instantly calming his thoughts. "I was just uh... laying in bed and it sorta smells like you."
Your voice was quiet, hesitant. He could tell with certainty that you were blushing as you laid in bed. Maybe doing that thing where you bit your thumb or pulled the collar of your shirt up to cover your mouth.
"Yeah?" He asked softly, envisioning your soft nod even though he couldn't see it. "You wearing my shirt?"
The thought made his heart beat a bit faster. He loved when you wore his clothes, even though they swallowed you.
"Yeah," you confirmed, pausing before your voice came again sounding hesitant. "But not much else..."
He ran his hand through his hair, waking up a bit more. "Really?" He questioned. You weren't much of a flirt or an instigator. Mostly because it embarrassed you and your face got all blotchy and red. "There a reason for that?"
His mind was pretty much always in the gutter when it came to you. But he was trying desperately not to read into something that could just be as innocent as wanting to be comfortable when you sleep. He knew from experience that you hated tight pajamas, after all.
It could be nothing. But it wasn't.
"I was just, well, I...I was going to, you know..." You murmured, palm scrubbing your burning face to cool down from the humiliation it caused to admit that. Partially admit it, anyway. "...but it's...not the same."
His heart clenched a bit with both pride and sadness. He loved knowing how well he satisfied you, that he left you with an imprint of him you couldn't forget. But he had never wanted to ruin your ability to satisfy yourself. Although, he supposed you didn't really know how to do that in the first place.
A while ago you had admitted to practically never masturbating. That you had tried it a few times, back when you were younger, but never felt very satisfied by it. Then, you'd said that now days he satisfied you plenty and you preferred to wait for him.
He didn't like that you had to, though.
"Sweetheart-" he said softly, not wanting to scare you. "-do you want me to help you with that?" He asked gently, running his lip through his teeth as he waited for your response.
You swallowed harshly to yourself. That was exactly what you wanted. But to hear him say it so plainly caught you by surprise. You supposed you should just be glad he wasn't going to make you ask or hint at it.
"H-help?" You repeated, exhaling heavily. "You uh- you would do that?"
His expression softened in the dark hotel room. "Of course, sweetheart," he replied. "If you, you know, want me to."
Deep down he knew that was probably the exact reason you had woken him up. But you were ashamed about it, like a lot of things. He didn't mind though. Suddenly, sleep was the last thing on his mind.
"...yeah," you whispered, so quietly he barely heard it over the rustling of his own sheets as he shifted, sweatpants starting to tighten.
He smiled to himself. "Alright," he agreed, not wanting to push too far to fast. "Why don't you start by telling me exactly what you have on?"
You hesitated. "Um...the red sleep shirt you have," you muttered. "And some black panties." Nothing special. Not when he was gone.
"No bra?" Jason questioned, his voice still gentle as it was inquisitive, hoping not to scare you into hanging up.
You shook your head before realizing he couldn't see you. "Y-yeah, no...I mean I don't," you stammered, furrowing your eyebrows as you tugged at the massive shirt you wore.
The wire was uncomfortable and there was no reason to have it on while you slept. Not that you had fallen asleep the way you hoped to.
He inhaled, fluffing his pillows up. "Let's start there, then," he suggested calmly. "Why don't you slip your hand under your shirt and just squeeze your chest a bit?" It was quiet for a bit. A little too long for his liking. "Sweetheart?"
"I'm here," you whispered, voice a bit ragged. "Just...just thinking, sorry."
"Don't be sorry," he murmured. "You don't have to feel embarrassed. I promise I'm not judging you."
"You're not?" You double checked.
"Of course not," he swore. "I just want you to feel good. With or without me."
And maybe it was his hushed voice, or the earnest nature of his words. Or just the late night delusion and desperation to believe him. But you did.
"I'm uh... I'm slipping the shirt off," you told him softly, the rustling of fabric coming through his side of the phone for a moment before it hit the floor beside the bed.
A smile tugged on his lips. "Good girl," he murmured. "Just play with your chest a bit. You know how I do it, yeah? Run your thumb over your nipples, feel them harden at your own touch."
Your breathed hit hitched at the thought, but you did your best to emulate the same motion he had done several times before. You could feel your breasts growing more and more sensitive, stiffening against your fingertips. The constant rolling of them between your pointer and thumb making them sore.
"Now, slide your hands down," he suggested softly, guiding you through it. "Under your waistband, into your panties. Run your fingers through your folds...tell me how it feels."
He closed his eyes for a moment, only able to imagine it. He wished he could be there, laying in bed and taking care of you instead of listening through the phone, forced to hear your hesitant appreciation of your own body.
Unable to stand the tightness of his sleep pants, he tugged at them, freeing his aching erection to try to relieve some of the pain. It didn't work very well though. He gently wrapped his hand around his cock, feeling it throb, hot and needy.
He ignored it though, exhaling a shaky breath and waiting patiently for you to respond, to tell him what you felt.
Sliding your fingers through the slick arousal gathering between your legs, you inhaled slowly, trying to think of a way to put it into words.
"Warm..." You muttered, fingertips gliding up and down, trying to feel every inch. "...and wet. Like...like silk..."
Jason felt his jaw clench, cock instinctively twitching against his hand. "That... that's good, sweetheart. So good," he rasped. "Feel your clit...rub it slowly, big circles. Not too much to quickly."
With the pads of your fingertips, you listened, breathing growing a bit more ragged. "This is...h-humiliating," you muttered, right before a light moan escaped. You squeezed your eyes closed.
"Shh, no it's not," he muttered. "Take a deep breath for me and slowly push your fingers inside. Start with one, then add another. Like I would if I was there."
Unable to stand it any longer, he allowed his hand to move a bit. His hips jerked, thumb swiping over the top as precum leaked out. He could still imagine the feeling of your warmth, your walls so soft and welcoming.
God, how he missed it.
"How does that feel?" He asked, pumping his hand up and down a few times. He moved as slowly as possible, trying to maintain his composure.
"... good," you whimpered, your voice sounded a little choked. "But it's still not you."
The words slipped out before you could stop them and you worried about him thinking you were clingy or dramatic. Maybe just plain shitty at taking care of your own needs, always so damn reliant on him.
But he didn't feel that way at all. In fact, in just turned him on more, knowing how desperate you were to emulate his touch. How impossible it was.
"I know...I know sweetheart," he said sweetly. "But you're doing great. Just keep going. Feel your belly tightening, your body tensing a bit more. Do you feel that?"
You let out a small whine before agreeing. "Mhm," you managed to squeak out. "I- i think I'm going to break the phone..." You said, huffing.
"That's alright, just set it down," he encouraged. "Focus on how good you feel. Use your other hand, now. Explore your body with itโ your clit, your tummy, your tits..."
Setting the phone down on your chest, your other hand hesitated, choosing to the just grasp at the skin of your thighs. "I can't," you told him. "It's too....too much."
Jason shushed you again gently. "It's not too much, you can take it," he assured you. "You always take everything I give you and right now, I want you to take your own pleasure. You're almost there."
He could tell from the ragged breaths escaping your lips, the way the fabric of your sheets kept shifting as your hips jerked. His did the same, but he tried his best to control it. Even though he wasn't doing the best job. His head was fuzzy, running wild with so many thoughts and mental images of you that he was feeling incredibly hot and unable to let his hand still even if he tried.
His body felt rigid, tight even as he sprawled out on the massive bed, his legs wide open just wishing you were between them.
"Jay..." You whimpered, voice a bit further now that your phone had been set down, slowly slipping off your chest and onto your tummy.
"You've got it, baby," he assured you, even though the little whine sent a brand new spike of lust shooting through him. "You...are doing so fucking good."
He could hear it, the sloppy sounds of your fingers through the phone and it only worsened his desire. He knew he wasn't going to last and while part of him felt like a pervert for using your neediness like this, he was too far gone to care.
"S-say it again?" You pleaded, the praise and reassurance making your head spin. "I'm doing good..."
His grip on his own length tightened and he suppressed a groan. "Sweetheart, you're doing better than good right now," he told you, panting. "You're doing perfect. Touching yourself how you need to. I want you to come, okay? Come for yourself, not me. Can you do that?"
Another high pitched whine pulled from your lips as your free hand slid up from your thigh, gripping your stomach and the tight feeling in it. "I don't...I don't know..." You confessed.
You'd always had a hard time orgasming, sometimes even with him. It didn't bruise his ego. He knew it wasn't a lack of pleasure, but a personal thing. You tended to get distracted and while he could come even trying to think of the most boring things like taxes or tennis, you had to focus.
He bit his bottom lip roughly, fighting back a full fledged moan as he came in his hand, white hot streams of his cum hitting his stomach. He could swear that hearing your pretty moans and breathless, overwhelmed whines made it better. It lasted longer and felt more intense.
When it was over, though, you were still there, panting and desperate.
"Concentrate," he rasped, his attention back on you, even as he laid there sticky and exhausted. "I know it's overwhelming, but just focus on the rhythm and that growing feeling, building and building..." He muttered softly, hearing your breath hitch. "Ignore my voice and think about nothing else but yourself. How you feel right now."
He went silent, his eyes falling closed as he caught his breath, listening to you for a few more moments before an especially loud cry filled his ears, even half way across the world. He knew the neighbors would have probably heard that, maybe even have wondered if someone else was there to wring the sound from your lips.
He didn't rush you, or speak and risk breaking your moment of bliss. He just waited, until you picked the phone back up with shaking fingers, breathing heavily as you rolled onto the other side of the bed, too tired to get up and wash the sheets.
You pressed the phone to your ear, voice a bit rough but still soft and sweet. "I came," you almost whispered like it was some secret.
He smiled to himself, proud of you and the effort you'd put in even when he knew it wasn't your favorite to be intimate alone.
"Yeah? Good job, baby," he mumbled, shifting to lay on top of the sheets instead of under them. He wasn't in the mood to call housekeeping. "I did too."
"You did?" You murmured quietly, foolishly unaware he was even touching himself.
He hummed softly. "I couldn't help it," he confessed. "I miss you so damn much."
Your cheeks flushed from more than physical exertion. "Miss you too," you replied, fluffing the pillow he usually slept with a bit more. "Will you...stay on the phone a bit longer?" You asked, setting it on the pillow beside you.
"Sure," he agreed immediately. "All night long if you want."
All you had really wanted was for him to stay on the phone until you fell asleep. But all night sounded better. His breathing was comforting and only served to put you to sleep faster than you already were drifting from fatigue.
It didn't take long before you were fast asleep. He could tell from the subtle snoring sound that you swore you never made. But once you were finally resting, he let himself close his eyes too. He kept the phone on, like he promised, but fell fast asleep, reminding himself there were only four more days before he would be home and sleeping in bed with you again.
Your club owner JT is killing me. But I wanna ask something different. Reader is a patron who sits in a corner reading a book. Just using pretty club lights and rhythmic music to enter laser focus/head empty zone to enjoy her book. Is she alone? Is she waiting for a friend(s) who work here/are having fun? Dunno.
Hope it's not too weird of a request ๐
(A/N- Not at all a weird request! It's giving โจ One direction fanfiction from Y2Kโจ lol.
....
Jason is the type of boss to be hands on, partially because it keeps him busy and partially because he doesn't trust the idiots he has working for him. He prefers to do things himself, which is why he'll watch the security feeds of the club live, even when he isn't there. He'll occasionally come down and make an appearance, usually to scare some people.
It starts with him finding someone who is doing something wrong in some capacityโselling drugs, harassing women, etc. Then, he makes a public spectacle about leaving them with a broken rib, busted jaw, and concussion. Just so everyone knows what kind of establishment he's running.
The 'show' pretty much halts everything. The music dies down, the dancing stops, the bartenders shake the drinks a bit slower. Jason takes a lot of satisfaction in that when he walks back through the crowd to his office.
Only, one night, when he was making his way back, he realized not everyone was staring at him. You had your head down, so immersed in your reading you hadn't even realized he'd just beaten the shit out of man and left him bleeding on the ground.
He had no idea how that was possible. He also knew he couldn't stop and ask, not when everyone was watching him like this. So, he went back to his office, sat back in his chair and just observed through the security feeds.
The music got louder again, dancing resumed, Martini's were shaken quicker. You still didn't notice anything was ever wrong.
How curious, he found that.
Even more curious was that you did it again. And again. And again. Almost seeming to find solace in the loud, crowded location most people could only tolerate if drunk, stupid, or both.
He let his mind wander to reasons whyโadhd brain that needed clutter to focus or maybe friends with one of the working girls.
He had yet to ask, mostly because he was afraid you'd stop showing up once he pulled you out of whatever safe space you found in reading at his club.
I love both of you Jason blurbs with him avoiding his family and stuff so I was wondering if there was perchance a possibility you could write one with the family finding out.
Like maybe just some random family outing that Jason didnโt go to bc had plans with his lovely parter and then they all somehow just met?
idk, just let them be flabbergasted or smth ๐๐๐
(A/N- Guyyyss, I'm hitting writers block in my other wip ๐ญ. Anyway! That's irrelevant. Enjoy this reveal- muwah)
----
Jason would absolutely lie to family to hide the fact that he's dating you. At first, he'd put a lot of effort into making up some convincing lies that they bought hook line and sinker. But after a while, they start to get a bit more absurd.
His stories go from- "I promised to teach Lian how to effectively stab someone in the right places." (Perfectly normal, of course.)
To- "I need to go...uh...to a- birthday party. It's for Roy's barber." (Not too terrible, yet.)
All the way to- "The onion farm is about to close and I need more red ones." (Yeah, not his best excuse.)
Of course, it was Gotham. So, there obviously was an actual onion farm. Obscure places that should have closed down but have a weird amount of income were typical. But Jason was never gonna go seven miles outside of town for some, especially not at ten pm when it was already closed. (He hoped his family didn't know the hours.)
"The mattress store is having a sale and I've been saving coupons," he told his father, when Bruce asked why he needed to be excused from an afternoon stakeout.
"You have a platinum card and complete access to my bank account," Bruce reminded him.
"Yeah...but it's more fun to work for it," he replied unconvincingly. "I'll see you tomorrow."
His father hummed, one of those skeptical and quiet hums that he was so fond of. Then, he looked back down at what he was doing, letting Jason go.
But he absolutely saw the slight sigh of relief he made when he walked out.
Jason made it home a bit later than planned, but you were still getting ready. Not that it was surprising. You took a while to get dressed and he didn't mind sitting on the bed, watching.
"A mattress sale?" You questioned glancing at him in the mirror, finishing your makeup with a bit of gloss, swiping the corner with your thumb. "That's the best you could do?"
"I've used every decent excuse possible!" He exclaimed, pulling a tie around his neck and fussing with it. They always made him feel stuffy, but for you he would wear it. For a while, at least.
You huffed, turning around and leaning against the dresser. "You cannot possibly expect me to believe Mr. Broody has run out of all good lies," you teased, stepping closer to fix his tie for him.
He grumbled something under his breath, but you missed it. And he refused to repeat it. Straightening out his tie, you reached for his jacket and passed it to him.
Tugging it on, he stood up, towering over you with ease. "Just be glad I love you enough to go to this stupid thing," he replied, secretly hoping he'd at least get a few kisses later as a reward.
In his defense, it was a large event. Your company had a lot of them, actually. And you knew Jason hated to go, to be surrounded by all the pompous men and greedy women. The loud music, the weird and expensive food. But he did it, because you asked.
The fact that your bosses had begun to know his name was starting to grate on him a bit, but he tried to push that aside. To just be there, a mostly silent piece of arm candy so you didn't have to be alone all evening.
Plus, if you came home and told him you danced with another man, well, the thought alone was enough to make sure he never skipped an event.
So, he went. He stayed next to you the whole time, exchanging idle chit chat with your boss and letting you speak for him when his coworkers tried to learn more about him.
You knew he was checking his watch, the clock on the wall, his phone. Like one would be a minute or two early and he could drag you out sooner than you promised you'd leave.
Finally, it was only four or five minutes until the time you said you were staying until. He tugged at your waist a bit, hoping you'd want to go home sooner. So he could get out of this suit, and take your dress off. Even if it was just to cuddle in bed.
You were going to cave. He knew you were. But before you could, there was a loud and rapid beeping followed by an explosion set off his peripheral vision .
It wasn't like your work function had been specifically targeted for any reason other than the fact that it was a well funded company, which pissed a lot of peopleโcrazy onesโoff. Still, when Jason found himself getting swept off his feet, he was looking for you as well.
He couldn't see you. Not through the smoke, the fire, the part of the ceiling that was falling in. He couldn't locate the specific color of your dress, or find the bracelet on your wrist that he could find in any crowd. Not when his head was ringing and his eyes were fuzzy.
His leg was trapped under something, cinder of some sort. Part of the wall. Maybe in better condition he could move it, but he was a bit preoccupied with thoughts of you, and didn't even try to lift it.
Luckily, he didn't have to. His brothers, did.
And Dick and Tim didn't even realize who was under the block of concrete until he shifted his head, looking up at them. After all, Jason in a suit was a strange sight.
Dick offered him a hand, helping him to his feet. "What are you-"
"You said you were mattress shopping!" Tim exclaimed.
He rubbed his shoulder which had slammed into something when he fell, the sore feeling not subsiding at all. "Yeah, I- I had a different obligation."
"what kind of obligation, Jaโ"
"Jason!" A voice called. But not yours. It was your boss, coming up to him, his hand clasping him on the back a bit too familiar. "Where's your girlfriend?"
He could feel his light grimace deepening at the question when your boss didn't use your name, and instead accidentally revealed your relationship status.
"your what!?" Both of his brothers exclaimed at the same time, heads darting around to locate you. Or maybe the rest of the family to make sure they were hearing this conversation too.
He couldn't be sure of which. Jason didn't bother asking, though, he was more concerned with finding you and making sure you were okay.
"What girlfriend?" Dick asked. "Where isโ"
"Jay!" You exclaimed.
God, he really couldn't finish a single sentence today, could he?
Your voice carried as you rushed across the room, arms thrown around Jason as soon as you were close enough to stumble into his arms. He pulled you against him tightly, both hands sprawled across the expanse of your back and his head ducked down to press a kiss to your shoulder.
"Are you alright?" He asked gently, his hand stroking up and down the silk of your dress.
He suddenly wished he wasn't complaining of being here, that he had let you keep dragging him around instead of unknowingly pulling you closer to the danger.
You nodded against him, coughing slightly from the dirt and other particles you inhaled when you shouldn't have. "Yeah, I'm okay," you assured him, squeezing his arm. "Are you?"
He just hummed, squeezing you tighter for a moment in a silent answer. "Mhm."
But even as he replied, his gaze was fixed elsewhere, on his father and sister, who were helping people out of the rubble and looking for the spare parts of the bomb to assess and compare to a case they were working on. They paused, feeling his gaze. And when they looked up, there he was, standing beside Dick and Tim, with his arms wrapped around you.
Cassandra wore a mask, but he knew she was studying his and your body language from under it. And Bruce, well the part of his face that was visible looked actually surprised for once in life. Then, as soon as that look appeared, it vanished again.
Jason knew he was going to get hell for this, for hiding you. His brothers would probably use it to tease him for months, maybe longer.
But his father would be another story.
There would be an investigation into you, a formal meeting now that he knew he actually had to plan one. He would have to question Jason's reasons for lying, your reasons for your allowing it, your motives with his son. All standard in his eyes, of course.
For now though, Bruce stood there. He allowed Jason to comfort you, watching with a scrutinizing gaze that was half torn between observing the spectacle and continuing his actual job.
Jason usually paid for his own stuff. Call his habit of self-reliance or his refusal to crawl to his father for financial help. Whatever. He liked to take care of his own bills.
It wasn't usually hard. He had a pretty good savings from that short term he spent as a drug lord... Not that the family ever mentioned it. He lived within his means, never feeling the need to splurge or spend a ton of money aside from rent, groceries, and yeah, the occasional random present for you.
But that didn't mean he didn't have access to more money. A lot more. Bruce, after all, gave all of his kids their own credit cards attached to his personal bank account. He just hoped they would choose to not clean him out. For the most part, they were all responsible.
Tim and Dick had their own money, Duke had always been one to spend rarely. Cassandra splurged on new dance shoes and Damian spent an absurd amount of money on the finest animal food. But overall, he rarely bothered to notice any spending habits. Especially not Jason's. He had never once used the money Bruce gave him access to. Ever.
Even when Jason bought your engagement and wedding ring, he paid for it himself. Although part of him wanted to buy you the biggest diamond possible, he knew you wouldn't care about the size or cut as much as the promise he was making you.
That said, when you found out you were pregnant and he started doing the math, not to mention watching you flip through magazines and get excited about decorating the nursery or buy cute onesies...he just couldn't give you a limit.
He wasn't capable of seeing how sad you looked when your pants no longer fit and tell you only to buy a new pair or two when he knew he wanted you to have an entire new wardrobe to feel as comfortable as you could during pregnancy.
He knew he wanted you to have the most perfect nursery possible, the nicest crib, the comfiest pregnancy pillow so you could sleep on your stomach. He wanted you to attend as many of those seminars or practice classes as you wanted to, since you were so worried about screwing the baby up.
He wanted you to have every single one of your cravings even if you wanted ridiculously expensive lobsters or difficult to find fruits that he had to get imported from another country.
That's why, when Jason's card suddenly starts lighting up like a Christmas tree, Bruce gets confused. And then he sees the stores being hitโ a maternity clothing shop, a toy place, a furniture store and paint store.
And Bruce, being Bruce, assumes Jason is being Jason. He probably lost his credit card or had it stolen and refused to tell anyone because he was embarrassed about it. Bruce was going to turn off the card, until it crossed his mind the kind of purchases being made.
If someone was stealing to buy baby supplies, he didn't want the police or insurance company involved. He never wanted to break up a family. So, instead he just tracked the purchases for a while. And eventually, when he realized you were making the same purchase at some expecting mother's class, he decided to show up and handle things himself.
He hoped he could get you to give him the credit card back in exchange for not pressing charges. What he hadn't been expecting was how you reacted to him approaching you.
Unlike he anticipated, you didn't run, didn't panic, didn't apologize. You just said it was nice to finally meet him. That you had been looking forward to it for a long time and really appreciate all he had been doing for you.
"What I've done?" He repeated, taking your absurdly large purse from you. You may have been a thief but he was still a gentleman and you were very...very pregnant.
You nodded, brows furrowing slightly. "Paying for the nursery and everything," you responded. "I know the wallpaper was kind of expensive but it was the only one Jason and I could agree on and he said it would be fine sinceโ"
"Jason said it was fine?" He interjected, pulling you a bit further to the side of the lobby you were in. "Jason knows you have his credit card?"
You frowned, nodding again slower. "Of course he does," you said with confusion. "He said you wouldn't even notice the purchases but I wanted to be sure. He said he checked with you..."
Clearly, he hadn't. You were suddenly putting the pieces together and you couldn't tell if you were more worried about your father in law hating you or more busy being pissed at your husband.
Bruce shook his head. "He never mentioned loaning money to.... anyone."
The tone of his voice made it clear he didn't know who you were or why you had been given Jason's card. Which led to you panicking, admittedly. And rushing to assure him you weren't a thief, just his daughter in law.
"It wasn't a huge ceremony or anything, otherwise we would have had you there, I swear," you told him. "I even asked Jay and he said you were out of town and we didn't want to wait and then we found out I was pregnantโ not that I was during the wedding or anything. That's not why we got married in such a rush."
You were rambling, hoping he would believe you or at the very least not have you arrested.
Bruce held up his hands. "Wait, wait," he demanded. "You're...my daughter in law?" He questioned, watching you nod slowly. His eyes fell towards your large stomach. "And you're having a baby? My first grandchild?"
"Grandchildren," you replied hesitantly. "Twins."
"Twins..." He repeated, feeling stunned. "He never said anything to me."
"oh," you whispered softly. "I- I'm sorry, he said he would. I would have reached out if I had knownโ"
"no. No, Jason has always kept to himself," Bruce assured you. "He likes his privacy."
You nodded, well aware of his tendencies and how long it took to break through his many, many, walls. He'd been absolutely lovely once he managed to admit he loved you, but before that it was on and off again, with him getting shy every time things got even remotely domestic or serious.
"He does," you murmured. "But that's really no excuse. I mean my parents have been at our apartment practically every day. It's tough to get rid of them."
Your mom kept cooking, insisting you had meals that were healthy for the babies and putting extra in the freezer for when you were no doubt too tired to cook after labor. And your dad had assembled pretty much everything in nursery twice, claiming it needed to be even more sturdy in case you bumped into it at night or the babies grew quickly.
Bruce nodded slowly, hiding his hurt as he caught up. "Your...parents are very involved then," he noted quietly. "That's nice."
"Very," you agreed. "And I know there's been quite a few purchases. Jason and I fully intend to pay them back, it's just that we put everything off and there was a limit to our cards so Jason thoughtโ" That Bruce would never in a million years notice a few thousand bucks missing.
"I understand," he interjected. "There's no need to pay it back."
"Oh no, I insist and I know Jason will too," you replied. "My parents taught me to always pay back a loanโ"
"Then consider it a gift," Bruce corrected. "For my...my future grandkids. I want them to have whatever they need." More than that, even. "Whatever you want, just put it on the card. It's fine."
"I- are you sure?" You asked, watching him nod. "Thank you," you said breaking into a smile of relief.
He knew how financially taxing kids could be and even though he never had a newborn let alone two, he was sure that was even more expensive. The least he could do was pay for it.
"It's no problem," Bruce promised, truly meaning it.
"You should come to dinner," you suddenly suggested. "I mean, if you're free of course. Mom is making steak, she's been pushing red meat. She says it's supposed to be good for the baby."
"I couldn't intrude," he muttered. "But thank you."
Your face dropped slightly but you nodded, not pushing it. "Oh, alright. Another time, then?"
He nodded. "Of course," he agreed. "I'd like that."
With another smile, you took your bag back, the heavy straps making you tilt slightly as you said goodbye, explaining you had to meet Jason for something.
He smiled back, but when you left he stood there for several more moments, simply processing everything. All that he had missed. His son had found a partner who made him want to commit, they had gotten married, they were even expecting children. And he hadn't known anything.
please please please I'm on my knees for a popstar!reader who's secretly dating jason
popstar!reader who temporarily moved to Gotham for a change, for an album, manager says
popstar!reader who met jason as red hood, lost and troubled in an alley then saving her (she shouldn't have ventured too far for "ideas")
popstar!reader who later on crushes on him like crazy (only because he's a momentary inspiration, definitely)
popstar!reader who somehow got red hood to be her secret muse bodyguard (he's definitely not curious/interested) and follows her everywhere for safety
popstar!reader who somehow got red hood to be her secret muse bodyguard (he's definitely not curious/interested) and follows her everywhere for her album safety
popstar!reader who inevitably gets invited to a gala by the Wayne's and realized who Red Hood is (another story for another time)
popstar!reader who made songs about intimate details of their relationship, but no one knows of course!
fast forward, popstar!reader's albums taking off and they're seeing less and less of the vigilante. Spying him led to questionable scenes. Hearing the Red Hood sing a pop song with a small smile while cooking breakfast in an apartment littered with popstar!reader's albums and posters?
i'm sorry for yapping too much but oh seeing Red Hood being so domestic while popstar!reader is taking a break after tour (taking a leave as vigilante and living the life as a house-boyfriend)
Oh my God, yes! Do not apologize for the yapping, I love the yapping!!! I can totally see this.
I think it would be especially funny if he was trying to keep it quiet, but his family one day heard him humming a tune and recognized it. Because of course a new album meant the top 100 had at least 4 of your new songs on it, some of which, he'd helped with.
Or at least had given some moral support, reading as you sat at a piano for hours on end playing variations of the same notes in different orders.
And Jason claimed to hate the kind upbeat music you sang, sticking to classic rock instead because it fit his self-proclaimed edgy persona that everyone knew was fake but couldn't prove. So, when they hear him humming, it's instant teasing and mocking.
Which he denies over and over again, claiming he barely even heard your new album (when he vividly recalled you waking up in the middle of the night and rolling over to click on the light and scribble lyrics in the dark) and only had the song stuck in his head because of the radio.
That was a lie.
He had your posters as wall decor in his apartment, along with a few miscellaneous items of merch he wore around the house when it was just you and him. But even when he denies it, they still tease him. To the point Bruce asks if Jason wants tickets to a concert you're doing nearby.
It's been sold out but Bruce could get them. You'd been to their house before for a gala and even though Jason disappeared for the majority of it, Bruce had spoken with you a bit and you seemed lovely.
And Jason turns him down because he already plans to be back stage with you, but Bruce finds a way to buy them anyway for the rest of the family.
So, Jason is dragged along, just standing there trying not to hum along or tap his foot standing next to his obnoxiously loud siblings as you sing a few too many songs that mention the color red.
Dick and Tim weren't expecting much when they visitedโbroke intoโ Jason's apartment. Honestly, despite never being there (because frankly they thought he'd open fire for their trespassing) they had very low expectations for his living style.
After all, Jason was used to the bare minimum. Pretty much all of his past safe houses were almost empty, sans a place to sleep, research, and hide things.
When they got there, picking the window lock on the 5th floor of a nearly empty apartment building in a much shadier area of town, they were expecting the same thing they had always seenโtake out containers, traps, a messy bed laying on the floor without a frame. Probably some rat traps and maybe a few threatening signs, telling them to get out.
Instead, they found a fully furnished apartment that smelled of... cinnamon? Vanilla? What was that smell? They weren't sure, but it was sweet.
The couch had matching cushions, the tv was on a stand instead of sitting on the ground, the kitchen actually had a basket of fruit on the counter instead of a trashcan filled with old Chinese food.
"This is ...weird," Tim muttered, swiping his hand over the countertop, expecting dust but finding it clean and smelling of lemon cleaning product. "Are you sure this is the right place?"
Dick nodded. "According to the most recent address we have," he replied, glancing around at the art on the wall and the blankets strewn over the couch. "I sure as hell hope it is. Otherwise we just broke into someone's apartment."
That would definitely be bad. Especially if Bruce found out.
Thankfully it was only a few seconds later that Jason walked out of the bedroom, rubbing his eyes as he yawned. Which, to their relief proved that they had the correct address.
He stopped dead in his tracks, his hair still messy from sleep, his voice still gravely as he asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Uh...we needed your help," Tim answered, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "Did you just wake up?"
It certainly looked like it. After all, he was still in his sweatpants, no shirt in sight. It was after eleven am, though. They had assumed he would be up by now.
Jason heaved a sigh, crossing their path to start a pot of coffee. "And it couldn't have been a text message? Or a phone call?"
"Not really," Dick replied, watching his brother look through a drawer of coffee pods.
Since when did Jason drink anything other than straight black instant coffee that was probably three days old and freezing cold?
Tim, despite the mild befuddled expression, went on to elaborate about their visit. "Look we know you have the day off, but there's new information on the case with Penguin and Bruce saidโ"
"Jay?"
Tim stopped as he was interrupted, his eyebrows cinching as he turned his head to the voice of the sound.
You.
Your eyes were as wide, if not wider than theirs when you walked in, wearing far less than acceptable clothing in the form of a bra and shorts that were a smidge too tight.
"Who the hell..." Dick was already muttering, like a deer in headlights.
It took Jason all of two seconds to grab his favorite jacket, putting it over your shoulders to keep them from seeing any more of your skin than he found acceptable.
Even as you pulled it tightly to cover your attire, the jacket, which swallowed most of you, still hit your thighs. Their eyes cast down at your bare legs as you tugged his jacket lower awkwardly.
"Hey!" Jason snapped both figuratively and literally, his voice loud and his fingers waving in their faces. "Eyes up here."
"huh? Wh- sorry," Dick murmured, still confused as he motioned to you. "We weren't expecting uh... anyone else to be here..."
"Yeah, that makes four of us, I'm sure," you mumbled quietly, glancing over your shoulder at Jason who towered over you. "I'm just gonna...go get dressed."
He nodded, his hands still on your shoulders as he stood behind you. "Good idea."
Slowly backing away as his hands left your shoulders you waved weakly. "It was...nice meeting you," you remarked with an awkward nose scrunch, pointing over your shoulder. "I'll uh... I'll be in the bedroom."
As you left, the door shutting quickly and loudly, Dick and Tim could both see the look in their brother's eyes which simultaneously told them not to ask and to never ever say a word about you walking out in your pajamas like that.
"I guess we know where the throw pillows came from," Tim noted.
Imagine if Jason Todd, who 6'2, easily over 240+ pounds, always equipped with enough weapons to scare anyone away, and is practically afraid of nothing, mentions something along the lines of his girlfriend being intimidating.
His brothers are asking if he wants to stay for a bit to catch up and he thanks them but leaves, saying something like: "I would, but I made my girl a promise and she's scary when she's mad."
Of course, he's not genuinely scared in any serious way. But he does clearly mean it whenever he tells them he has to go because he doesn't want to make you upset. You sometimes really did match his temper...and his pettiness.
You had once locked him out of the apartment and pushed so much stuff in front of the door (because of course he tried to pick the lock) that he couldn't get in until he called you from the hallway and apologized for breaking a promise.
His brothers know what it takes for someone like Jason to actually be worried about the consequences of his actions. They're pretty sure the last woman they remember him really being intimidated by was Artemis. For a very good reason.
But that begged the question, if it took someone like herโ6'0, Amazonian woman, with a sword and no qualms about violence, to get to Jason...what did you look like?
They'd take bets, obviously. Maybe you had a history of violence too, maybe you were an expert with knives or something, maybe you were freakishly tall or had super strength to crush Jason when he upset you.
But no. No one ended up winning the bet because none of them had ever considered you being...normal?
Not just normal, but rather petite. And sweet. What a weird combination for someone Jason was dating.
They were sure you must have a fire breathing mutation or something that makes you scary. But your grip wasn't very strong when you shook their hand, you barely came up to their brother's ribcage standing next to him, you had a cute laugh and apparently no criminal record.
That was another shock. Who in Gotham hasn't been arrested? Rightfully or not. The only real violation they found was a parking ticket and it shouldn't have surprised them when you said you were four minutes past the allowed time to be in the space.
"So... you're just...normal, then?" Dick asked, skeptically.
You nodded just as confused. "I guess?" You answered, glancing at Jason.
"No secret past as an assassin or multiple personalities that might be violent?" Tim questioned. "What about super strength? Or talent with guns?"
"That's more Jason's thing," you responded. "I don't really like guns. I make him keep them locked up."
They stared at you, blinking in confusion.
"Do you Martial arts?" Damian asked. "Or like fire to an excessive amount that makes you fantasize about starting them or perhaps hurting others with hot tools like a cattle prod?"
You pursed your lips, huddling a bit closer to Jason, gazing back at them all with growing apprehension. "I don't really know how to respond to that," you admitted, eyes wide in a bit of disturbance. "ANY of that... actually."
Thinking about the difference in how Jason loves someone intimately....
He was probably shy at first, worried you'd push him away or he'd hurt you by mistake because he couldn't control how much he weighed or how hard he gripped your hip. And it took a while for him to realize that he wouldn't actually hurt you.
Even if he did leave a few little bruises on your side, you'd cherish them rather than get upset or afraid.
Then, once he really internalized you weren't scared of his strength or put off by his scars and the affection he had, he got more passionate. He'd be quick, sloppy, leaving kisses everywhere, moving from your neck to shoulder, collarbone and chest because he just couldn't decide where. He held on tight like you'd slip away, rushing to bring you pleasure since he wanted to hear the little squeaks, sighs, and moans you made.
He'd be intense and spontaneous. Quick, fueled by drive and lust.
But after long enough, he'd slow down. A lot.
Because as much as he used to rush from place to place, desperate for as much of you as possible, he begins to understand that he doesn't need to.
He can have all of you for far longer. He can place slow, deliberate kisses. He can flip you over and trace your back for a while until you start getting desperate. He can take breaks, grab you a glass of water and spend the entire night loving you until you physically can't stand without his assistance.
And instead of feeling worried or ashamed when he sees the subtle limp two days later, he gets a smile. Because he knows he loves properly and that's something he gets to be proud of, not afraid of.
can I request Damian x reader but reader is like the opposite sheโs clumsy and messy (NOT DIRTY SHES JUST NOT REALLY ORGANIZED) and at first Damian is like no way I could ever like someone like that but then heโs like oh shit I think I like her you donโt have to do it but it was just an idea
(A/N- This has been sitting in my drafts for a bit because people are STILL calling me racist, so I've seriously considered wiping Damian from my page completely. But I love him as a character way too much to do that, so here we are!) (Requests are open again, btw!)
---
Despite being rather pretentious because of his upbringing, I think anytime Damian Wayne is assigned to do a group project, he'd want to go to someone else's house. They usually live in squalor (Middle class) but he deals with it for a few hours because it beats having his classmates fawning over his older brother's or asking his dad if he really used to date Harvey Dent or if that's just a rumor.
Usually, despite the condition of the house (Aka having a dish rack on the counter.) the room they'd work in was pretty clean. But you? Oh, no, no, no. He almost had a heart attack when he saw the state of catastrophe your study room was in.
Books on the ground instead of on the shelves, chair pulled out from the desk instead of tucked in, tons of sticky notes scattered on the walls and reminders pinned up. No one could have that short of a memory, could they? You seemed to.
The number of loose papers on the desk, the open notebooks with illegible writing, fidget toys to relieve stress or increase your focus, cups from when you needed coffee for a late-night study session that hadn't made it all the way to the dishwasher yet. (But it was on the sticky note! Right under the reminder to check your email.
Was that a thing people needed to remember to do?
He was utterly perplexed by the chaos you seemed so comfortable in. What he found most odd though, was how you never made any effort to fix it. He had been to your house three times thus far, trying to make a dent in the project that would take at least another week and each time, your room was the same. He even offered to help you organize (For his own sanity) but you turned him down, claiming you liked it how it was.
"How could anyone possibly like studying like this?" he questioned.
You shrugged. "I find having a pristine desk makes me uncomfortable, like I'm not actually doing work in a space I can relax in," you explained. "Plus, research shows environments like this increase brain productivity."
Damian wasn't sure if he believed that for a single second. But you clearly seemed to.
"But it's so messy," he muttered, motioning to your desk, so covered in God knows what that he couldn't even see what color the wood was.
"It's disorganized, not messy," you retorted. "And I know where everything is. Pencil sharper is by the white out because I use both rarely, erasers are where all the pencils are because I stab the led into them when I'm bored, highlighters are the ruler, which is.... under the syllabus I printed at the start of the year."
You pointed at everything as you said it and he slowly came to the realization that you weren't lying when you said you weren't messy. You kind of, in some weird way, had a system that worked.
Still, it felt uncomfortable for him. For a while. He'd watch you chew on your pencil and reach for tape that came from he didn't even know where, seemingly materializing things out of thin air. You barely even sat in the chair, he realized. He was always the one sitting in it, watching you sit or lay on the floor.
The only time Damian was ever on the floor was when Titus knocked him down or he got beat by his brothers during sparring. (Not that it ever happened..psh, no, don't be absurd.)
He slowly got a bit more accustomed to your room, even starting to find a bit of comfort whenever he stepped into it. It was welcoming, in a way, he'd come to think. When had that happened?
"Aren't you supposed to leave by eight?" you asked him, stretching your arms over your head as you sat on the floor across from him.
Damian frowned, looking at the time. He realized it was already 7:55. Had it already been four hours? It seemed like he just sat down on your rug, which, was surprisingly comfortable.
He hated to admit how much more productive he felt sitting on the floor than at a desk. "Uh, yes, right," he nodded, standing up and stretching as well. "I think we can probably get this finished by Tuesday," he added, feeling a weird pang of disappointment by the thought.
You nodded. "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow at four, then," you told him, watching as he packed up his books neatly, the pages fitting back in the nice folder perfectly. "Unless you wanna stay," you suddenly found yourself offering. "For dinner, I mean. If...if you want to. No pressure."
Damian paused, caught off guard by invitation. He stared at you for a few minutes, lips parting but words not leaving his mouth. Dinner? That was probably going to last at least an hour or two. Longer if your parents were the kind to serve dessert or chat a lot. He might not get home until ten or later.
"Sure," he agreed abruptly, though logically he knew he should refuse. He was supposed to be asleep by nine so he could get some rest before patrol. "I'd love to stay for dinner," he remarked, setting his bag back down for what wasn't one or two hours like planned, but four and a half.
How he would explain getting home past midnight to his father, he wasn't sure yet. But he'd find a reasonable excuse. After all, his dad was the one who told him to find normal friends and he was just doing what he asked.
HEYY I LOVE YOUR WORK SO MUCH AND I LOVE THE WAY YOU WRITE THE BATBOYS ๐ซถ๐ซถ I was wondering could you write how they would react to dating a first responder (eg/ firefighter) I genuinely cant stop thinking about it haha :) but feel free to ignore this and I hope you have a good day/night wherever you are and remember to drink/eat and take care of yourself ๐ซถ
I love this idea too!!! Sort of reminds me of Daredevil with Claire for some reason? (I only got 2 of them done, but I have ideas for the others if anyone is interested)
Bruce: Meets you at GCPD fundraiser that he had planned to only attend for a few minutes, for the media, per Alfred's request before bumping into you very briefly when you both reached for the last glass of champagne off a server's tray. He lets you have it, of course, and later in the evening, Jim Gordon officially introduces you as his new partner that recently transferred from Blรผdhaven.
He spoke with you briefly every once in a while during the rest of the night, asking questions about where you were raised and how long you've been a cop. He finds out it's because your dad was one and he always wanted a son, but got stuck with you instead. Then, embarrasses himself by accidentally letting: "I think you would be an interesting person to be stuck with." Slip from his lips.
Thankfully, you didn't take the comment to seriously.
Since then, he began seeing you at most of the crime scenes he was at, even though you and Jim never noticed him. He also meets you on the room, with Jim, who tells him he can trust you, which he already does because he looked into youโ your perfect scores at the academy, flawless arrest record, plus your father's amazing history and numerous medals he got before retiring.
You were almost too clean, but he quickly realized it wasn't an act, you were just a truly kind-hearted cop. Which, for Gotham, was rare. He would find himself showing up to more GCPD events than usual, hoping to talk to you and sometimes flirting a bit. Lightly, though, so you weren't pressured to reciprocate.
You did, though, occasionally.
Additionally, you were stupidly smart. So, when there was a hostage situation and you two were locked in warehouse with a ton of civilians and he, as Batman, said: "You're not a bad person to be stuck with." you immediately remembered something Bruce said that was extremely similar.
Once the situation was over and everyone was safe, he went to leave, like usual, but you tugged on his cape, pulling him back. "Where do you think you're going?"
He just muttered: "I have somewhere to be." Which was an absolute lie, but usually worked on most people.
"Not without giving me some answers first," You had replied, finally letting go of his cape. "I knew there was something familiar about you. I just didn't expect a billionaire in a cushy house fighting crime."
And Alfred called it, of course. He knew you were getting suspicious with how often Bruce asked you for random favors and all the times you dropped by because you connected something back to him.
His kids, especially Dick, just cackled. Loudly. They thought it was utterly hilarious that you had figured it out by yourself.
But his embarrassment didn't last long because shortly after you discovered his secret, the two of you started dating. And to say he was happy was an understatement. He was in bliss, in a way he never thought he could have with a partner.
You understood the odd hours, his random disappearances, his obsessive nature over a case. You were the same way. The number of dinner dates that had ended when you got called or the GCPD radio he was hacked into went off, causing you both to leave the restaurant together and meet back at the crime scene in your own respective uniforms was uncountable.
The only thing he didn't like, was seeing you get hurt. You could take care of yourself, he knew, but he still sometimes worried. Okay, a lot. The only time it ever mattered was when you got grazed with a bullet and he felt his world come crumbling for the split second it took him to get to you and find out you were alright.
There were little moments he loved though, that balance out the worry. Like when you sit in his lap as he goes over a case, chewing on a pencil and offering suggestions. Or when he got to take you to more GCPD events and lean on your arm instead of trying to steal your attention from other benefactors.
He still flirted, of course. Frequently.
---
Dick: Meets you when he gets his ass handed to him on patrol. How he ended up on the sidewalk, he wasn't sure. It was a routine patrol, a few muggers, some petty thief's, a couple drug dealers. Then, out of nowhere he'd gotten attacked by some of Black Masks men, who, apparently trying to send a message.
He got it. In the form of multiple broken ribs, a busted lip, and a stab wound in his abdomen, where he was bleeding from as he fell off a roof. That definitely wasn't good for his head.
You were walking home from work when you came across him, unconscious and bleeding. Of course you knew who he was, you wouldn't have ever dared taking him back to your apartment if you didn't.
That was a challenge, admittedly. He was lean, but heavy. You managed though, after putting your jacket under his head to make him easier to drag by the foot. Thank God you lived on the first floor.
When Dick woke up, he was startled and in pain, in a place he had never been. Then, he saw you, sitting on the floor with a towel, wiping the blood away from some cuts on his arm that had the torn through his costume.
"Where am I?" he asks, sitting up on the couch and getting woozy. He was high off his ass on the pain killers you gave him. "Did I die? Is that why a pretty girl/boy is taking of me?"
You shook your head and pushed him back down. "You're not dead," you told him. "I'm trying to fix some of your injuries. Stay still."
He listened, partially because he was in pain and partially because he was compliant from the medication. "You're pretty," he mumbled as you cleaned his wounds.
"Uh huh." You ignored his words, until he fell asleep and slept for sixteen hours.
When he woke up, he said the same thing...sort of.
"It wasn't a dream?" Dick muttered rubbing his head, looking around, focusing on you. "You really are that gorgeous, I wasn't imagining it?"
Smooth, you had to admit. You gave him breakfast, answered a few questions, like how long he'd been asleep and where he was, then said he could stay a bit longer if he wasn't feeling completely better, but you had to get to work.
"I'm an EMT," you told him, putting your jacket on. "How else would I have been able to treat your copious injuries."
He scoffed at that, but secretly liked the quip. When you got back, he was gone and you assumed that was the last you'd see of him aside from in the newspaper, but no, he showed up at your door a couple of days later with torn stiches and new injuries.
Not to mention a puppy dog face you couldn't say no to.
It became typical to find him at your door late at night or in the early morning. Hell, sometimes he would already be in your apartment, looking for some pain killers and when you started shouting at him about how he scared you and you thought he was an intruder he just smirked a bit, telling you: "You should get more locks. You live on the first floor, they're dangerous."
This goes on for a few months, until one night he comes to you in such bad shape you seriously don't think he'll live through the night and you stay up for nineteen hours, worried sick as he rests, checking his pulse going back and forth wondering if you should take him to a hospital, like you knew you should, or if if you should respect his wishes and keep him here.
Eventually, you just let him stay. He was in no condition to be moved, anyway.
It was three am, when he finally woke up and you were sitting in a chair next to him, wrapped in a blanket, trying not to fall asleep. He grumbled something about pain and you couldn't tell if you were relieved or wanted to kill him yourself for scaring you so badly.
You were just so glad he was alive, you didn't even realize what you were doing when you surged forward and kissed him, cupping both of his cheeks with your warm hands.
When you pull back, your actions finally hitting you, you freeze, waiting for a response.
Dick just coughs in a bit of pain, groaning as his hand finds yours, squeezing it as tight as he could. "If I knew all I had to do to get you to kiss me was nearly dying, I would have let Deathstroke stab me months ago."
