#fluff?

[kookieroosins]

What a dynamic duo.

[katzlolly]

you were out shopping with Sukuna, holding your pregnant belly while you browse the stores with Sukuna at your side. Everything goes smoothly as Sukuna tries to not make you mad because the one thing he doesn’t want to see is you getting mad in any way possible.

So now, when Sukuna was watching from a few steps away while you shop for baby clothes even though you’re only three months pregnant, A woman slut decided to approach him.

And boy did she try to get his attention. The woman started off by twirling a strand of hair between her fingers as she smiles up and Sukuna. Sukuna raises an eyebrow at the woman and says,

“What do you want?”

The woman giggles and adjusts her low cut shirt to show off her chest more and leans a bit so her chest is barely touching Sukuna’s.

“Just wanted to see if a handsome man like you would want to-“

The woman was cut off as you pull Sukuna from the woman and you roll your eyes

“He isn’t interested in sluts like you.”

You say glancing at her in disgust as you take in the low cut top she tried putting lower for Sukuna and her mini skirt, the woman glances at you and your intimidating gaze and backs away slowly.

“I-im sorry I don’t know he had a girlfriend-“

“Wife, not girlfriend.” You say as you turn around and drag Sukuna by the ear to the malls exit, he doesn’t say a word. Already thinking about how you’re gonna punish and yell at him.

You two reach the car and get in, you immediately yank Sukuna’s hair and bring him face to face,

“What the fuck was that Sukuna?!”

“I didn’t even look at her-“

“Bullshit!” You say yanking his hair harder and he winces slightly.

“If I ever see you look at another woman I’ll rip your hair out and cut your dick, you understand?” You say as you let go of Sukuna’s hair and eat one of the pieces of bread Sukuna got for you from the bakery calmly as if nothing had happened.

“Yes ma’am” he said as he fixed his hair and turned on the car and drove back to the house.

If anyone were to ask what Sukunas biggest fear was it would definitely be you, no hesitation. Your jealousy and possessiveness alone is a lot to deal with.

But sukuna loves you for it.

And he knows you didn’t act out too much this time.

———-

This was my first time ever writing a fanfic guys kinda nervous ✌️

[dcxdpdabbles]

With John's Mask, does Bruce know that John has kids or has he just figured out that the slightly creepy smoker is a facade? And John has to be aware that Bruce knows that something's up, even if not what.

Bruce is helping Dick set up for the day, having offered to spend his Saturday by running the front desk. Dick's gym was a pipe dream he hadn't been aware his eldest had, until Damian had barged into his room one late night, demanding his signature on purchase agreements.

Apparently, his youngest had been attempting to buy a building for Dick's gym, only to run into the problem of no one being willing to sell to a child. Bruce wanted to say that funds were also an issue, but Damian had quickly reminded him that the Al Ghuls' wealth was far above the Waynes'. The monthly allowances that Talia sent him were more than enough to buy an entire block in Gotham.

It's taken a bit of tense negotiation for Damian to admit what he was planning to do before Bruce had jumped on board and gotten the legal side of the business up and running.

They've given Dick the keys to his gym on his birthday, and Bruce was pretty sure he saw his boy cry when the "The Flying Grayson Gym" sign was revealed. It made his heart swell with pride when Dick's other siblings had each jumped at the chance to teach a class.

Cass is going to teach ballet. Duke was doing karate. Steph took up boxing. Damian offered fencing for children (no adult wanted to learn from the teen, which angered him). Tim was very eager to do the aquatics courses, while Jason surprised everyone with his Zumba instructor certification.

Even Alfred had joined in, claiming he would be teaching at least one yoga class. After much consideration, Bruce stepped up to do spin classes. It was the only one that he felt Brucie could get away with having teaching credentials in.

Yes, Dick's gym offered a variety of classes and sports. Damian was making noise about expanding the gym into a community center, wanting to add more crafts and art. Dick seemed to glow with the idea, but it was apparent his gym was his top priority, especially the gymnastic classes he personally ran.

With half the staff being family, it made things easier for their nighttime activities without Dick having to worry about explaining his absences or behavior. What made it harder, however, was that the other half were regular people, so sometimes Dick was scrambling for employees who actually wanted to do a job and not get close to the Waynes.

As it were, Dick had to fire his last receptionist because she kept trying to come on to Jason. Apparently, a rumor about Bruce's will circulated a few months back, claiming that Bruce would leave Jason his entire wealth after finding the young man alive again. Jason has been struggling with treasure hunters, flinging false promises of love at him for weeks.

Bruce is in the middle of answering some emails about the kids' classes when the front automatic door slides open. In walks two kids, a boy and a girl, obviously twins by their near-identical features, both approximately five years old, looking around in wonderment.

Bruce's lip curls up into a smile as the little boy spots a poster of ballerinas, and quickly sticks a similar- if sloppy- pose. His dance outfit gives away his dream of becoming a dancer himself as he wobbles in place, trying with all his might to keep the arabesque as perfect as the women in the photo.

His sister, who was dressed in a gi with a white belt, claps enthusiastically for him.

She has a lovely British accent curling around some of her words, which tells Bruce she was either raised in Britain or her guardians are from there. Her American accent showed in the rise and fall of her words, though, and that let Bruce know she was being raised here now, long enough for her peers to influence her speech. "Wow, you're already so good!"

"Thanks!" The boy falls out of it. "I'm so excited to learn how to do the jumps. What about you? What are you excited about?"

"The kicks!" The little girl cheers, throwing a foot into the air as if she were kicking a soccer ball. " I'm going to be a ninja!"

She did a couple of chops in the air while her brother started standing on his toes, each making an odd little drawn-out side. It took Bruce a moment to realize it was supposed to be a battle cry, and he had to hide his laughter behind his hand,

Though the sound still carries, causing the children to pause and glance in his direction. At once, their eyes widened, then brightened, grasping onto each other and squealing. "It's Bruce Wayne!"

Hmm, now these are the youngest fans I've ever encountered. Bruce muses as the children race over to the counter, babbling about space travel and autographs. Were he anyone other than Batman, he doesn't think he would be able to understand them at the speed they speak or when they talk over each other, each saying a different fact about space.

"Did you know the sun is a star?"

"A day is longer on Venus!"

Mercury and Venus are the only planets that don't have moons. Isn't that cool, Mr. Wayne?"

"Can you lend me a spaceship? I'll take good care of it!"

Blue stars are the hottest! And the prettiest."

Bruce couldn't get a word in, even with the tiny things barely being able to look over the counter edge. Their tiny hands were gripping the edge of it, standing on their tiptoes just so their eyes could clear the counter. The automatic doors slide open again, this time by a well-dressed man, carrying two gym bags, who walks in. "Alright, alright, lambs, let the poor bloke breathe, yeah?"

The kids listen instantly, and Bruce knows, before he looks up, that this man is their father. Not only did their accents match, but their body language gave away their relationship. A healthy one, filled with love and trust that only kids who adored their parents could show.

"Sorry about them. They tend to get a bit excited about space. Weren't too rude, I hope?" The man apologizes. Bruce raises his head, a smile already pulling at his lips, and his hand reaches for the drawer of candies he keeps for the little ones.

"No trouble at all. The two are angels, it's great to see kids excited about science!" His words die in his throat when he makes eye contact with John Constantine. No iconic trench coat in sight. No signs of intoxication. No slouched over poster. No leer or scowl.

Instead, a while pressed transparent white shirt, a perfectly tied knot, in Alfred's preferred style of Eldredge, fresh pants that hug long legs and a fit waist, and the oddest detail of all, the polite, friendly smile being aimed at him. In fact Constantine's entire expression showed a man comfortable in his own skin and just as welcoming.

He was stunning.

Was this an imposter?

"Um...I...How can I help...you?" Bruce would deny to his dying day that he shuddered as Constantine's smile stretched further across his face in an entirely amused manner and not a disgusting leer.

"My lambs are big fans of space travel." Constantine starts after a moment. He must have realized the connection between Bruce's brain and his mouth was broken. "I was wondering if they could get an autograph of yours on their Wayne Spae travel shirts. We got them from the last tour your company did. Then, the kids can get to their classes? Danny is in kids beginning ballet, and Dani- with a i- is in kids beginning karate."

Bruce coughs, scrambling for the proper paperwork, though taking quick glances at Constantine as he does so. He was trying to find clues of the imposter theory, or maybe this was a form of magic? An illusion?

Some kind of clone, perhaps?

"Certainly! Let me just...ugh, get you to fill out some forms. Safety questions, waivers, and policies." Bruce coughs and hands a clipboard over the counter. Constantine offered him a polite grin, gave the board to Danny to hold, then walked the kids by hand over to the sitting area to fill out their information. Bruce watches him go, still stunned by the gentleness and... normal behavior he never thought a man like Constantine could exhibit.

The British man quickly finds a seat, sitting down with a regal elegance that makes Bruce swallow nervously. One leg crosses over the knee, creating a table with the limbs, which Constantine uses to balance the clipboard and start filling out the paperwork. In the same motion of picking up the pen, he rubs the heads of his kids, who kneel at the ground by their bags.

Both children giggle at the hair rub, causing the blond's face to soften. Bruce's mouth waters, hyper aware of those long fingers curling around a pen and the concentration on the man's face.

The blond man doesn't look at Bruce while he fills out the forms, but he does let the kids dig through their gym bags until each stands with a shirt. The familiar silver-blue symbol of Wayne Space travel is waved around like a banner as the kids bounce at Constantine's side, asking something in their hushed little voices.

The man looks up from his paperwork long enough to nod and smile at the children, keeping an eye on them as they run to Bruce. In Dani's hand is a Sharpie. "Mr. Wayne, our autographs!"

Bruce glances up at their father, makes eye contact, and flushes deep red at the utter adoration Constantine shows his children. He coughs again, shaking his head as he holds out his hands for the maker. "Of course. Where would you like me to sign?"

Maybe he's wrong. That man looks a lot like Constantine, but it's not possible that such a great father could be him? The Justice League Dark member couldn't even make it through half a meeting before puffing cigarettes and making one lewd comment. Bruce was pretty sure he never washed his trench coat either.

And yet, when the kids run down the hall to their rooms, the blond adult, one step behind them, calling out reminders about inside voices and feet, Bruce is left with paperwork clearly stating that John Constantine is their adoptive father.

The Justice League will never believe him. They must also never find out.

Because if they did find out John Constantine was a father who likely used his vulgar hero persona as a disguise, as Bruce was starting to suspect, then they would also find out Bruce actually thought the man attractive.

He would never live that down.

[lucywritesx]

maybe this time

ab x reader

warnings: angst, infertility themes, crying, lowkey heartbreaking lol

a/n: haven't posted in a while so here's something angsty again because apparently i hate peace. hope you like it :(

the front door shut with that usual little bang because alfie never really closes it properly.

"reader?" he called out, kicking his shoes off, shrugging his jacket off one shoulder.

but then he heard it. and yeah- his stomach dropped straight away. not quiet crying, not the 'i'll wipe my face before he sees' kind. this was loud and messy sobbing, like you couldn't breathe.

"shit- reader?" he said, already moving down the hall.

the bedroom door was slightly open and when he pushed it, there you was. curled up on the bed, with your phone in her had, tiktok playing. it was some baby video- tiny little thing asleep on his mum, holding onto her like she was his whole world. you looked wrecked. like properly wrecked. face flushed, tears everywhere, breathing uneven like you couldn't catch it, fingers gripping the duvet like it did something wrong.

alfie didn't even think.

"hey- hey, what's goin' on girl?" he said, climbing onto the bed straight away.

you didn't answer, just let out this broken sound and reached for him, and that was enough. he pulled you into him instantly, one hand on the back of your head, pressing you into his chest.

"i've got you, i've got you," he murmured, steady, even though his chest already felt tight.

you grabbed onto him like you needed him to stay upright.

"i can't do it," you cried into his hoodie, words all messy. "i can't- alfie, i can't do it-"

"hey, slow down, yeah?" he said softly, rubbing your back, but you shook your head, pulling back just enough for him to see your face- and fuck, yeah. completely shattered.

"why can't i just get pregnant?" you cried.

that hit harder than anything else you could've said. he swallowed, jaw tightening slightly, but he didn't interrupt.

"i don't get it," you went on, voice breaking, hands shaking a little. "we've been trying for months and it's just.. nothing. every time it's nothing and i feel so fucking stupid for thinking it'd be different."

he pulled you back into him straight away.

"you're not stupid," he said quietly into your hair, but his mind had already gone back there.

the doctor's office was too quiet. your hand was in his, squeezing his every time the doctor paused like you alreadt knew something was coming.

"everything looks fine," the doctor said. "you can conceive."

you actually smiled at that- small, but it was there. alfie squeezed your hand like, see? told you. but then..

"it may be difficult."

and yeah, that smile didn't last.

"difficult how?" you asked, trying to sound normal but he could hear it.

"it could take longer than average. possibly a lot longer."

silence. alfie felt your grip tighten.

"right," you nodded. "okay."

but it wasn't okay. not really. he knew that the second you walked out and went quiet.

"i'm so tired alfie," you whispered, pulliing him back. your voice wasn't loud anymore, just drained. "every month i think maybe this is it. i overthink everything, every little thing, and then it's just- nothing again."

he kept his arm around you, his hand moving slowly up and down your back. "yeah," he murmured. "i know."

you sniffed, wiping your face but more tears just came anyway. "i saw that video and i just-" you let out a shaky breath. "i want that so bad. i want a baby."

"i know you do."

"i've always wanted it," you said, voice wobbling again. "since i was little. i just wanna be a mum, alfie."

"and i know you want it too," you added quickly. "you'd be such a good dad aswell and i can't even-"

"oi," he cut in, pulling back slightly. "don't start that."

but you shook your head, crying again.

"i am though. i'm the reason it's not happening. i'm the reason you don't have a family and-"

"stop," he said, a bit firmer this time, and you went quiet.

he softened straight away, his hand coming up to your cheek.

"don't put that on yourself. that's not fair on you."

"but it's true-"

"no it's not," he said, shaking his head. "this isn't just on you, yeah?"

you didn't argue properly, just looked at him like you didn't fully believe it.

"i didn't choose you so you could give me a baby," he said. "i chose you 'cause you're you."

fresh tears, obviously.

"and yeah, i want one. course i do. with you. only you."

your breathing hitched.

"but i want you more."

that broke you again, quieter this time, and you folded into him.

"i feel like i'm failing," you whispered.

"you're not failing, love."

he kept holding you, hand moving slowly along your back.

"i just want our baby," you said quietly.

"yeah. i know."

"i want it to be easy."

"yeah.. same."

"what if it doesn't happen?"

he paused. "then we deal with that together."

you grip tightened.

"you're not doin' this on your own, yeah?'

you nodded.

"i'm sorry," you whispered.

"you're gonna have to stop sayin' that." he muttered, pressing a kiss to your head.

you'd gone quieter as time passed, just worn out, face tucked into his neck, your fingers holding onto his hoodie.

neither of you spoke.

the room was quiet apart from that stupid fucking video still playing softly in the background.

alfie's eyes flicked to your phone. he looked back at you, curled into him like you were holding yourself together by staying close.

then, without saying anything, he reached over, grabbed your phone, and locked it.

the room fell properly quiet this time. no baby, no music, no reminder.

he set the phone further away, then pulled you closer again, holding you a bit tighter.

"you're alright," he murmured. "i love you."

[loyalguma]

best friend!satoru never fucks around with his friendship with you.

he loves hates thinking this, but after another shitty boyfriend cheats on you, he’s more than elated that you’re single again. you shouldn’t be dating snotty pricks like those man children anyway. he’s right here for you, so why won’t you take the bait?

you’re knocking on his giant apartment door, vision blurry with tears and puffy cheeks. when he opens the door, satoru already knows the drill. 

let you into his humble abode, offer words of comfort about how “that guy’s just another manwhore, y’know,” and, “you deserve much more than him, sweetheart.” then satoru goes all out by creating a fluffy bed fort—complete with the softest of pillows and heated blankets that keeps the two of you warm. 

“it’s okay, just let it out,” satoru whispers to you, letting your emotions flow freely into his chest. “‘m right here.” 

you’re just friends, but he decides to kiss away your tears anyhow. it’s for good luck, satoru reminds you, his lips a hair’s breadth away from yours. 

at some point he can’t take it anymore and just molds his mouth to your lips (once you’ve calmed down, of course). you’re just too soft, too kind for men that waste your time with false hope. 

satoru doesn’t even know if he deserves you. 

“can i tell you something?” he blurts after (very reluctantly) pulling away. 

whoopsies. . . . 

you nod your head, dazed from the kiss you just shared with your best friend. “what is it?”

“. . . .i like you. like, really like you.” the words tumble out of satoru’s mouth before he can stop it, and he’s left with dead silence and an awkward flush on his cheeks. 

FUCK.

[puppyboyneedslove]

Simon just got back go his apartment, tried and needing to relax. He's begrudgingly taking 2 days off after getting roughed up on an OP. Price had insisted, though Simon knows the old man simply wanted his boys to go home to their respective partners so he can also go home.

Once Simons inside, he carfully put his shoes n jacket by the door, he can hear his Fiancés voice softly talking to.. someone? Probably, he doesn't hear another person though..

He moves through their apartment to the bathroom, hearing his Fiancé talk softly

"Oh poor baby.. gonna get you so nice n clean hm? Oh sweet thing.."

Simon froze, cause Reader only talks to him like that when he begs. He had a small pout as he opened the bathroom door to see Reader sitting on the floor by the tub, washing a black cat with matted fur, it's not fighting with him, looking like a wet mop.

Reader smiled up at Simon.

"Love! You're home, welcome back.. I uh, found this little guy outside.."

Reader was nervous of course, he didn't know Simon would be home, and Simons just staring at the cat making intense eye contact..

"Why.. did you bring it in?.."

Simon asked genuinely, staring at the cat because who would let in a wild animal right?

"What do you mean why? He doesn't deserve to be outside!"

Reader huffed, the cat purrs softly filling the silence.. Simon looked at his gorgeous Fiancé and sighed, knowing he'd have to share his beloved with this.. cat.

[soraanniks]

— ❤︎ Cream coloured couch | Jason Todd x F!Reader .ᐟ

♪ — Le Voyage De Pènènlope - air

Summary — > You’re a constantly tired, third year medical student. Sadly, your roommate doesn’t make your life any easier. This only amplifies when you come home and he’s bleeding on your nice vintage couch, and you put that almost medical degree to work.

cw — Mentions of blood and injury, no explicit sexual content. Fem!reader, reader is in med school.

a/n — > Might be a little ooc.. haven’t read any Jason in awhile sorr .. ! super rushed as well ..

Your head ached in that dull, relentless way that only came after fourteen hours beneath fluorescent hospital lights. You were dead on your feet, your attending in the ER seemingly determined to make your clinical years of medical school a living nightmare. You didn’t even want to go into emergency medicine—this week alone had cemented that fact in a way that was honestly sad. Three more weeks, you reminded yourself as you climbed the stairs to your apartment. Then surgery. Something cleaner. More precise. Less chaotic. The entire reason you doing med school.

You unlocked the apartment door, already expecting the familiar creak that usually announced either you or your roommate to the entire floor. As you prepared for it, it didn’t happen. Not a sound.

Your eyes narrowed slightly when you stepped inside. Jason must have fixed it. You had mentioned it weeks ago and then promptly forgotten, buried beneath exams and overnight shifts. That sounded like him, quietly taking care of things without bothering to mention it afterward.

Jason Todd was, strangely enough, an easy person to live with.

Quiet. Self-contained. Never invasive.

And thankfully, so were you.

The two of you co-existed beside one another more than together, bonded mostly through shared space and occasional conversations about books or cars. Sometimes you’d find leftovers waiting in the fridge after brutal shifts, portions set aside with no note attached because he understood unpredictable hours better than most. You weren’t friends, but you were friendly. That seemed to be enough for the both of you.

You knew little about him besides what you’ve observed, and what he’s said. He liked classic literature, drank coffee black, slept irregularly, and disappeared at odd hours. You also knew, entirely by accident, that he was the Red Hood. That discovery had come one night when he stumbled through the apartment door in full tactical gear and that signature red domino mask while you were cramming for an exam. He stumbled over words, tried to explain himself. Sure, you were freaked out at first.. but you got used to it.

You kicked off your shoes by the door, pulling your headphones from over your ears to rest around your neck. Exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders as you looked up—

Blood.

A horrifying amount of blood soaked into your cream-coloured couch. The blood itself did not alarm you nearly as much as the fact that it was your nice, vintage couch. The one you had specifically bought because it made the apartment feel less depressing and more homey.

And currently, all one hundred and ninety pounds of Jason Todd was sat up, hunched over on it, trying and failing to patch himself up one-handed. His dominant arm appeared occupied with keeping pressure against his side while his other hand awkwardly fumbled through the medkit beside him.

“Didn’t get my text?” Jason rasped out. Voice much more rougher than usual. You glanced toward your bag, realizing your phone had died somewhere during hour nine of your shift.

“…No,” you muttered. Your eyes flicked from the blood on the couch to the mess beside him. Gauze wrappers torn open. Alcohol wipes scattered everywhere. Tactical and vigilante gear scattered across your apartment floor.

You clicked your tongue softly. Right. This was happening. Awesome. Cool. Put that almost-medical degree to work.

“Move your hand,” you said, already tying your hair back into a quick, severe ponytail.

You didn’t bother asking ‘what happened.’ You, honestly, didn’t care. Even if you did, Jason would never answer properly. The arrangement worked specifically because neither of you pried.

To your surprise, he obeyed immediately.

The second he lifted his hand away from his side, blood welled sluggishly from the wound again and Jason hissed through his teeth, shoulders tightening.

“Jesus,” you muttered under your breath. Not even wanting to imagine what got him here in the first place.

“Not that bad,” he said automatically. Trying to down play his situation. You had a feeling he did that a lot. “You should see the other guy.” He added on.

“It’s actively bleeding onto my couch.” You paused. “..And I’m good on that.” A blunt response to his attempt at humour.

“…Fair enough.” He was seemingly struggling to keep conscious.

You crouched beside him, pushing the ruined medkit closer with your knee. The supplies inside looked like he’d attacked them blindly. Gauze half-unrolled, tape stuck to itself, antiseptic nearly tipped over.

“You’d think after this many injuries you’d get better at first aid,” you muttered, a dry joke and jab at his many scars and old stitches. Most notably an autopsy one across his chest.

Jason gave a weak shrug. “I’m not usually the one needing first aid.”

You ignored him.

The wound itself sat low along his abdomen, ugly but manageable. Not arterial. Thank god for small mercies. The bleeding was steady though, and from the look of the torn suit and bruising already forming around it, he’d probably been fighting for longer than he should have before coming home.

“You clean it at all?” You asked, glancing up at him.

“Tried.” He groaned.

“That explains why it looks infected already.” You critiqued.

He just rolled his eyes and stayed quiet after that one. Thank god.

You pulled on gloves anyway, peeling back the torn material carefully enough not to aggravate the injury further. Jason went rigid beneath your hands at the pressure, jaw clenching hard enough to visibly tick.

“Relax,” you murmured absentmindedly.

“Easy for you to say.” He shot back.

You soaked gauze with saline first, cleaning away enough blood to properly inspect the wound. Your movements were efficient despite the exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Precise muscle memory built from too many hours in hospitals and simulation labs.

Flush the wound. Check depth. Watch for continued bleeding. The instructions replayed in your head.

Jason watched you quietly the entire time. Not tense exactly. Just… attentive.

“Yknow,” he started. “Most people would be freaking out right about now.”

You pressed fresh gauze against his side a little harder than necessary.

“Most people don’t repeatedly bleed on seven-hundred-dollar furniture, either.” You muttered, butthurt about your couch.

“Christ, I’ll get you a new— fuck,” Jason groaned, his hand clenching hard against the arm of the couch as you dragged antiseptic over the wound.

“That’s what happens when you get stabbed,” you replied flatly, not even glancing up from your work. Pausing before you spoke. “Repeatedly.” You bit back a grin.

Jason shot you a look somewhere between offended and exhausted, his head falling back against the couch cushion with a dull thud. “You always such a joy with patients, or am I just special?”

“With patients? No.” You pressed the gauze down again, watching him tense immediately. “With idiots who try stitching themselves together one-handed on expensive furniture? Absolutely.”

A rough laugh escaped him despite himself, though it quickly dissolved into a hiss when you cleaned deeper into the cut. The wound wasn’t catastrophic, but it was nasty enough to need proper stitches eventually. For now, stopping the bleeding and keeping it clean would do.

“You’re lucky,” you muttered, peeling off your bloodied gloves. “Another inch and you’d be in actual trouble.”

“Feels like actual trouble.”

“That’s because you apparently have the pain tolerance of a concussed raccoon.” You scoffed.

Jason stared at you for a long moment after that. “You say the sweetest things to me.”

You ignored him, already reaching for fresh gauze and tape. Your movements had slowed slightly now that the urgency and adrenaline had passed, exhaustion settling back into your bones in heavy waves. The apartment was quiet beyond the occasional rustle of medical wrappers and Jason’s uneven breathing. Rain tapped softly against the windows. Somewhere outside, a siren wailed faintly before fading into the distance.

You secured the dressing carefully against his side before finally leaning back with a sigh. “There. Try not to tear it open again doing whatever the hell you people do at night.”

“You people?”

“You know.” You gestured vaguely toward him. “Vigilantes with… martyr complexes.” You shrugged, stretching out the word ‘vigilantes’, like it was a particularly dirty secret.

Jason barked out another laugh at that, lower this time, rough around the edges. It suited him more than silence did.

You stood, stretching your aching back with a grimace before surveying the disaster around the living room. Bloodied gauze littered the coffee table. The medkit looked gutted. Your poor couch might never emotionally recover. Or physically.

“Don’t move,” you warned as you disappeared briefly toward the bathroom. “I’m getting towels before you bleed somewhere else.”

“Yes, doctor.” He leaned his head back and looked up at you.

“…I’m not a doctor yet.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He stretched his arms a little while sat down. Wincing and immediately stopping.

You returned a minute later with damp towels and disinfectant spray, tossing one directly at his chest. Jason caught it lazily with his good hand, watching as you began cleaning the streaks of blood from the floor with the sort of resigned irritation usually reserved for terrible roommates and minor natural disasters.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

It was strangely domestic in the most absurd way possible—you cleaning blood off hardwood floors at nearly two in the morning while Jason sat shirtless on the couch trying not to reopen his stitches.

When you finally glanced up, you noticed he’d gone quiet.

Not his usual quiet, either. Focused quiet. His eyes were fixed on you in a way that made something in your chest tighten.

Your brows furrowed slightly. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

Jason blinked once, as though you’d interrupted a thought.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to say something annoying.”

A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth then, crooked and tired and unfairly attractive despite the blood loss.

“Can’t a guy admire a nice view?” he said, voice rough with exhaustion.

You rolled your eyes immediately, looking back down at the towel in your hands. “You’re concussed.”

“Mhm.” He hummed.

“And bleeding.”

“Only a bit now, thanks to you.” Jason’s grin widened faintly. There was genuine appreciation in his words.

You stared at him for exactly two seconds before tossing the bloody towel directly at his face.

“Go to sleep, Jason.” You sighed. He did a mock salute.

Tomorrow was about to be exhausting.