Summary: Bruce came home from patrol to find you battling your period cramps alone, and he decided to show you that his lovemaking techniques are better than painkillers. (Also on AO3 - check out the whole series!)
Character(s): Bruce Wayne, Fem! Reader (NSFW/MDNI)
Tags & Warning(s): menstrual sex, body worship, blood kink, cunnilingus, lovemaking, fluff & smut, creampie, vaginal fingering, crying during sex, emotional sex, praise kink, service kink, aftercare, dacryphilia, extreme yearning, possessive bruce wayne
Word Count: 5.3 K
Music: Speechless by Beyoncé
Inspired by this article about menstrual blood and stem cells' healing factors! Special thanks to my love @sakunai for guiding me through this! I'm very rusty on tumblr, so I hope you like it! only bey can inspire me write poetic lovemaking <3
Bracing the wave of cramps that swirled hot in your belly, you curled into a fetal position on the bed, sweat dampening your forehead as you cursed that damn period in the middle of the night.
“Fuck…”
It all started this morning. Awful would be an understatement for it.
You woke to a dull, persistent ache shadowing you at every turn, a telltale sign that your period had begun. Right on schedule from all the tracking you’d been doing.
When your hand drifted across the other side of the bed, the sheets were already cold. Bruce must have taken Tim to Gotham Academy for his parent-teacher meeting that morning. They had plans for a fishing trip later this afternoon, which meant they wouldn’t be back until patrol ended.
Despite his barely recovered state, Bruce had brushed off Leslie’s warnings to take it easy. Months of physiotherapy for his spinal injury had left him restless, and now he was making up for lost time by rearranging his schedule to the brim.
You vaguely remembered the ghost of his lips against your cheek before he left, but sleep had claimed you again before you could respond.
Unfortunately, it was Friday. Which meant dragging yourself to the board meeting at Wayne Enterprises, whether you like it or not. The hearty breakfast Alfred had prepared and the smooth ride Miguel offered did little to dull the relentless ache coiling in your abdomen.
Then again, some of it was your own doing. Stubborn as a mule, you refused to take any anodynes to soothe the cramps due to your history. But God damn it, it felt like someone was twisting a knife into you over and over again.
Your workday didn’t get better either. The board meeting was chaotic—Rowan stood alone in opposing the annual budget again, citing that pouring more funding into the R&D department was the equivalent of feeding a black hole.
On any other day, you would’ve laid out the reports and walked him through every projection. But you barely had it in you today. You vetoed him in your husband’s name and let his passive-aggressive remarks fly by without acknowledgment before Lucius dismissed him. Honestly, Dickie’s worst jokes had more charm than whatever he was trying to pull.
By the time you returned home, Alfred informed you that Bruce and Tim had just left for patrol, missing you by merely five minutes. Chewing dinner alone soured your mood even further; you declined Alfred’s attempt to lift your spirits by serving you a banana split for dessert.
A brisk, almost mechanical shower later, you slipped into a satin nightgown and collapsed onto the bed with a disgruntled huff. Your hair sprawled across the sheets in a tangled mess.
Not even the vanilla-scented candle on the nightstand could pacify you this time. Its delicious fragrance twirled around the room like a ballerina. The flames trembled with each passing draft, and the wicks popped faintly from moisture.
You cursed at yourself for not taking the painkillers and curled into a ball, waiting for your husband to come home for snuggles. Tears pricked your eyes when another merciless wave crashed in, sucking in a ragged breath to ride it out.
Gazing at the digital clock on your nightstand, you watched the minutes drag past in stubborn increments, each one stretching longer than the last.
It was already half past one. Moonlight spilled through the blackout curtains in a pale, silvery wash, fracturing into uneven fragments across the Egyptian cotton sheets and your curled form above them.
Another cramp coiled low in your abdomen, and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for it—
Then came the unmistakable sounds of footsteps pattering in the hallway, followed by Bruce’s deep murmurs with Tim’s soft chatters. The familiar cadence of them unravelled something tight in your chest. You loosened your clenched fists around your belly, and before you could stop it, tears slipped free, trailing silently into your hairline.
The doorknob turned and swung open. Bruce stepped in, already out of the Batman gear and clad only in his worn magenta robe. His obsidian locks clung damply to his forehead, darkened by his mandatory post-patrol shower, and the faint scent of rain followed him into the room.
Even in the dim light, you could hear his sluggish movements etched into every step, mindful of his injuries. He eased the door shut behind him with a faint thud.
“Honey, are you okay?”
His voice dropped to a gentle whisper as he crossed the room in a few quick strides, the mattress dipping as he climbed in beside you. He reached for you immediately, gently coaxing you to turn toward him.
”Alfred said you didn’t eat much today. What happened—”
Bruce visibly winced when you stared back at him—tear-streaked, face flushed with red, and crumpled in a state that made something in his heart lurch painfully tight.
“Talk to me, baby. What’s wrong?”
His brows knitted together as his thumb brushed instinctively beneath your eye, catching the remnants of your tears.
“Where have you been, baby?” you mumbled, cradling his face with tenderness. “Been waitin' for you all day.”
“Patrol, honey. I’m sorry for not coming back sooner. Tell me, what’s in that pretty head of yours?”
You sniffled at the question, touching your belly. “Baby, it hurts so much… I can’t take it anymore.”
Bruce shrugged his robe away, discarding it on the floor before pulling you into his arms. Propping his back against the headboard, he anchored you against his body and gently caressed your hips.
“It’s okay, honey. First day?”
You gave him an audible groan, resting against his shoulder, and breathing in his scent that resembled shea butter and coconut. The dull ache in your abdomen was mitigated slightly from it alone, and your body slackened against him.
“Is there anything I can do to help you, my love?”
You shook your head, thumb tracing idle circles on his chest as your hair draped across his right arm. “Just talk to me, honey. Tell me about your day.”
“Well, Tim’s meeting was great. He’s still at the top of his grade,” he began, kissing your forehead in between. “He had a great time this afternoon, caught the biggest fish I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, he has a natural talent for it.”
Bruce pulled your thighs closer, squeezing your calves as you curled further into him.
“How’s patrol?”
“Peaceful. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Did Timmy get hurt? I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to check him.”
“He’s fine, honey. Barely a scratch. Dick trained him well.”
“How about you, Batman? Is your back hurting?”
“No, honey. I was extra careful tonight. It’s okay, the warm-up exercises helped a lot.”
“But—”
The protest dissolved into a sharp intake of breath as the pain surged back without warning. You tensed in his arms, teeth clenched as your body curled instinctively into his, seeking something to ground yourself. This wave hit harder than the rest, stealing the air from your lungs.
“Fuck—” you gasped, your manicured fingers piercing into Bruce’s skin.
Bruce didn’t flinch at the sting, but his body went rigid at the way you trembled against him.
“Honey, are you okay?”
Your words came unevenly, breath ragged as heat flushed your cheeks. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just—just gimme a minute.”
Before you could argue, he leaned in to press a brief, reassuring kiss to your lips. He eased you back against the mattress and propped you up against the pillows.
“That’s it. Let me take care of you.”
“Bruce—” you started, but he was already moving, slipping out of bed before you could stop him.
The faint rush of running water filled the quiet moment, and then he returned with fresh towels in hand. Sliding them carefully beneath your hips, he adjusted them around the bed to keep you comfortable. Then he leaned over you again, brushing another kiss against your lips.
“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice shaking with discomfort.
“Shh, just taking care of you,” he murmured, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “You know orgasms help with the cramps, right?”
You stilled, fingers curling around his muscular biceps as concern flashed through the haze of pain and need. “Yeah, but your injuries—”
“I’m healed, love. You can feel it, see?”
He guided your hands to his lower back, pressing your palms gently against his sacrum before tracing upward along the length of his spine. Your fingertips followed the path of his surgery scar, where the skin bore the faint ridges of everything he had endured. The once-angry line had softened, though redness loitered where friction met sensitivity.
Your breath hitched, a shudder slipping past your lips as your hands trembled against him.
For months, you had avoided him in that way. Every time he reached for you with that aching want, you pulled back. You redirected him to snuggly embraces, impassioned makeout sessions, to anything that wouldn’t risk nullifying the recovery progress he had fought so hard for.
Honestly, how could you not?
When he was confined to bed rest, every waking moment was clouded by delirium and bone-deep fatigue. He’d call out for you and Jason in broken sobs, disoriented and crushed in spirits. And whenever the spine brace came off, the pain would seize him without mercy, fracturing his composure just enough for it to bleed into his vocal cords.
Your needs had felt insignificant in hindsight. You could barely bring yourself to touch the scar, let alone consider anything beyond his recovery.
And yet, Bruce had never stopped trying. You’d seen it in every gritted breath throughout the gruelling physiotherapy sessions, pushing himself to the limits with nothing but resoluteness to recover.
“See?” Bruce murmured, drawing your attention back as his warm hands settled over yours, pressing them a little more firmly against his spine. “It doesn’t hurt like it used to. You can feel that, right? I’m not that fragile, baby.”
You gulped as his hands slid back to your thighs, giving them a gentle squeeze before easing them apart to settle closer. The cold metal of his gold wedding band glimmered against the moonlight.
“You’ve been taking care of me for so long,” he continued softly, his forehead brushing against yours. “Let me do the same for you.”
The hesitation clung stubbornly to your chest. “But…”
He pulled back to meet your eyes, a pout forming on his lips. His eyes glistened with vulnerability like a wounded puppy.
“You don’t wanna make love to me anymore?” he whined, pairing with that boyish pout just enough to make it impossible to resist.
God, he always did that when he wanted your attention.
If you so much as took longer than five minutes to respond, he would brood around the manor with a ginormous I want attention sign plastered on his forehead, lingering around the doorways and staring at you for hours until you acknowledged him again.
Even the children had grown thoroughly exasperated by his shameless theatrics for you.
Personal space seemed to be a foreign concept to Bruce Wayne, not where you were concerned.
He clung to you like an octopus in the California king-sized bed every night. In the Batcave, he’d hover close while you worked, finding reasons to orbit around, until you allowed him to sit beside you. Even during your evenings, when you sank into a bubble bath to unwind, here came your husband, settling beside the tub as you spoke about your day before he left for patrol.
The last time you were away on a business trip in Paris, he grumbled under his breath about how you’d abandoned him to Alfred while obsessively checking your live location. He paced irritably around the manor, making it painfully obvious how much your absence distressed him.
By nightfall, he flew the Batjet halfway across the world under the meagrest excuse of detective work, only to show up at your penthouse suite. The moment you opened the door, he was already pulling you into him, holding you like a famished man.
He stayed long enough to have you entangled in the sheets, barely letting you out of his arms, reassuring that possessive part of himself that you were coming home to him soon. When morning came, he slipped away before your meetings began, already counting down the hours until your trip ended.
Frankly, you never found it suffocating. If anything, you relished in your husband’s presence too, because you knew how rare it was for both of you to find time together.
You were the first face he searched for in the morning, and the last one he held onto before the night took him.
And neither of you would have traded that for anything in the world.
“I—I do. I really do,” you admitted, grimacing at the thought of your husband yelping in pain from intimacy. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again. Aren’t you tired?”
“I won’t. I know my limits.” His hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your flushed skin until you met his gaze again. “Let me take care of you, please? Wanna make you feel good.”
A pause.
“Okay,” you sighed, feeling his growing erection brush against your core. His tail wagged at your answer as he snaked his hands under your nightgown, trailing upwards to feel every inch of your curves.
Pressing wet kisses on your lips, he swallowed every single whine and pushed you deeper into the pillows, feeling your tensed frame relax on the bed. He tasted just like peppermint mouthwash and coffee. His right hand slid up your waist and cupped your left breast, thumb brushing over your nub until you arched into his touch.
Bruce broke the kiss to catch his breath, leaving a trail of spit connected to you before kissing down your throat and across your collarbone. He darted out his tongue to lick those faded scars around your shoulders, taking in the aromatic smell of your shea butter and vanilla body lotion.
He treasured it to the point that he couldn’t sleep without it. Ever since that shower at your apartment nearly a decade ago, he had memorised every brand you used and requested Alfred to keep them stocked throughout the manor.
He adopted your shampoo, your body wash, lotions, and anything to immerse himself in your honeyed scent. He’d mist your favourite perfume all over his sheets, rolling around it like catnip, clinging to the illusion of your presence beside him.
He worked his way down your chest, licking and kissing your right breast before circling your nipple. His right hand kept kneading until his mouth moved to your left, sucking a bruise beside the nipple. Tangling your fingers into his wet locks, you tugged them slightly with soft mewls. He groaned into your nipple, sending electrical currents down to your core.
“Bruce…”
“It’s okay, honey. Just lie still.”
You leaned against the pillows as his warm mouth continued its journey around your breast. His free hand trailed down to your stomach and hips, gently massaging the dull ache away.
“Oh, Bruce… feels so good,” you moaned, bucking your hips to him.
He kissed his way down your body, pausing to nip gently at the scar tissue on your torso.
“That’s it, baby. I got you.”
“Just st—stop if it’s too gross, okay?”
“Nothing about you is gross, baby. I love every single inch of you, blood and all,” he cooed, gently pulled down your cotton panties, and removed your pad, tossing them on the spare towels around the bed.
You winced at the feeling of something gushing out of your slit, squeezing your knees together in embarrassment.
“Open, honey. Let me taste all of you.”
Bruce settled between your thighs, spreading you wider with his shoulders. His warm breath tickled your sensitive skin before licking a long stripe on your blood-slicked cunt. It was slow at first, savouring your slick honeyed with copper. His stubble made it ticklish against your core.
You whimpered into the pillows, jerking your hips at the pleasure. It felt almost overstimulating after months of neglect. But he caged your thighs with his forearms and pulled you closer with sheer strength. Pinning you still, he flattened his tongue to spread your slick all over your clit, and sucked it gently to make you see stars.
“Bruce—fuck—Bruce—”
Bruce hummed, building up your orgasm by sucking your clit gently, then circling it with his tongue, then humming against it again and again. He pressed his nose bridge against your swollen clit when he worked on your slit, consuming every ounce of blood your body produced to satisfy his appetite.
“Bruce, I’m cumming! Cumming—”
It wasn’t long until that coil inside your belly snapped, and your orgasm crashing through your body in waves, your velvety walls pulsed around nothing as you wept his name, curling your pedicured toes from the intensity of it. He kept going until you rode out your high and evened out your breath. The dull ache in your belly faded slightly from the pleasure.
His entire lower face was painted with your blood like he had just committed cannibalism.
“You like it?” he breathed, hovering over you and kissing you deeply. You could even taste yourself on his tongue—metallic, salty, sweet, and ludicrously addictive.
“Ew, gross,” you chuckled, wrapping your arms around him. “You’re a vampire now.”
“My beautiful wife.” He lay on his side to run his right hand through your slick folds, collecting blood and slick with his fingers, circling your swollen clit just the way you liked it.
“I miss you so, so much. My precious baby. I wanna hear you sing for me.”
You moaned at the sensation, your body was still recovering from the euphoria. His fingers brushed your clit before pressing one long, thick finger into your heated cunt.
“God, Bruce—”
Your velvety walls contracted around his finger, and a loud whimper flew past your lips. Your whole body started to heat up when you tipped your head into the pillows. Sparks flooded through your head as Bruce groaned into your ear. You gushed out even more slick at the sound, coating his hand in a wet mess. His pupils were blown wide from lust.
“That’s it, baby. I got you. All you need is my fingers, don’t you? Sounds so beautiful just like that.”
He began to move, rubbing your clit in small circles with his thumb. Biting your lower lip, his motions sent another wave of pleasure building up in your core when you rocked your hips into his finger. Your right hand searched for his locks and tugged on them.
“Fuck, baby.”
When he added the second finger, your mouth gaped open and squeezed your eyes shut, adjusting to his size.
His chest swelled with pride at the mere sight of it. You had poured so much of yourself into his recovery—tending to him with unwavering care, comforting him through the nightmares, and never leaving his sight for more than ten minutes.
Easing your burdens had always been one of his solemn vows, and the fact that you trusted him enough to let him do so filled him with so much gratitude he could hardly contain it.
Bruce searched for your favourite spot that made you sing by thrusting deeper into you. The wet noise echoed throughout the room along with your breathy moans, coating his fingers more and more with your slick.
He curled his fingers upwards, and you chirped with a high-pitched noise.
“Ahh—! Right there! Right there, Bruce—”
Grabbing onto his right bicep, you left crescent marks on his skin with your fingernails. Sweat gathered at the back of your folded knees and chest. Bruce continued his motions, thrusting his fingers in and out, focusing on that sweet spot to keep you floating. He pinned your hips down with his left hand to hold you still.
“That’s it, baby. Feels good, right? Just like that. Keep singing for me, baby. I wanna hear you.”
“Yes, yes, yes. Feels so good. Yes, baby—” you whimpered, your head filled with nothing but the need to chase your high. That coil in your belly twisted even tighter when he moaned into your ears.
“Cum for me, baby. Please,” Bruce grunted, licking that sensitive spot under your right ear that made you roll your eyes back. “Cum for your good boy. C’mon, cum for me.”
Your walls pulsed around his fingers when he sped up his thrust. Then it hit you—that coil snapped again as your climax hit you like a freight train. Your body went taut around Bruce’s fingers when he worked you through it. You tossed your head back, mouth hung open for a few seconds until you wheezed for air.
He withdrew his fingers with a faint pop the moment you relaxed against the sheets, whining at the loss.
“I love you, baby. Cum so beautiful on my hands,” he whispered, fingers coating his cock with your nectar.
He swiped the precum leaking at the sensitive tip with his thumb, swirling his wrist around his cock to mimic your movements from muscle memory.
You didn’t miss the way his slick-coated, girthy cock bopped against his pelvis, flushed red and begging for attention.
God, your husband’s sweaty, brawny body alone made you yearn for more. You wanted to keep drowning yourself in his love until you couldn’t walk the next day.
“One more?” you asked, catching the way he gazed at you with that rapacious smirk.
He loomed before you, his silhouette carved in silver by the moonlight, every line of him aglow with a divinity that might have put Zeus himself to shame.
“Third time’s the charm?” He lined his cock before you, sliding the sensitive tip between your slick folds and against your clit, pressing in down for extra friction.
“Mhmm,” you hummed, guiding his cock and pushing it into your slit. Bruce kissed you fervently, ingesting your wanton moans as he pushed in, inch by inch, until he gradually bottomed out. The sensation was overwhelming—you felt the tip pulsing with need, every veiny inch of him inside your velvety walls.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting your body adjust to his size again. His cock stretched you to the brim, filling you perfectly as you belonged to him, and he to you.
And the two shall become one flesh; let no one separate them.
It felt so intimate, so full inside you, that he got you speechless. Your eyes filled with a desperate shimmer before it finally traced a path down your cheeks.
“Honey…?” Bruce drew back at once, taking in the sight of your lashes clumped with tears as you sobbed against his palm. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
“No.” You shook your head, breath catching as you sniffled. “I just… love you so much. I miss you so much.”
Bruce softened his gaze at your raw confession. His hand came up to brush your hair away from your damp face.
“I love you too, baby.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you so much. My beautiful, precious wife.”
The sight of you writhing beneath him in all of your naked glory, vulnerable and confessing your innermost love for him, was almost sufficient for him to come undone inside you, if it weren’t for his ironclad self-restraint. Your skin glistened with a fine sheen of warmth, tears and sweat fusing in a way he knew he’d never forget.
In that moment, he felt untouchable, as if he had reached the very height of something infinite. It was you who had brought him there, and made him believe that he could stay for the rest of his life.
He didn’t even realise he was crying until salt touched his lips. His vision blurred, tears spilling freely down his cheeks until a drop landed softly on your skin, joining with yours.
“... Bruce?” you breathed, your hand rising to cup his cheek.
“I love you so much, my baby.” His throat tightened, emotion catching as he leaned into your touch, nodding through tear-filled eyes. “I love you.”
He slowly pulled out before easing back inside, feeling you pulsed around him with need. He thrusted into you, whispering sweet promises into your ear.
“You’re so perfect for me. So precious to me,” he whispered. “I love you. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Bruce. I—I love you—”
Everything about you was intoxicatingly irresistible. He ached to bind your body to his permanently, intertwine your lips and devour you whole; to consume you down to the bone marrow and blood vessels as an act of worship; to keep his tormented soul ablaze with the swētnes of your love.
You let your eyes fall shut as he guided you closer to the edge of ecstasy. Your hips moved instinctively against him, chasing your third orgasm as his sweat-slicked frame moulded against yours. Your left fingertips drifted along the length of his spine, tracing the path of his surgery scar, committing every curve and line into memory.
He cupped your jaw and licked away your tears between each deep thrust, and you did the same to his gorgeous face. Your combined drool dripped from the corner of your lips and under your chin.
God, both of you were such a wet, horny mess, he thought.
“I lo—love you so much, Bruce. I love you—”
Like a man possessed, he leaned down to consume the sweat gathered around your neck and collarbone. Sinful bruises bloomed under his lips, and you were confident that no amount of concealer could cover them.
Anchoring your left thigh a bit higher on his waist, he interlaced his left hand with your right and pressed it down on the sheets. His cock hit that sweet spot over and over, causing your body to twitch uncontrollably.
“Nghh! More, more, Bruce. Yes, yes, yes, yes—”
“You’re so beautiful, so, so beautiful—”
The rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin filled the bedroom, blending with the bed creaking, your breathless wails, and his unrestrained moans. The air was dense with the scent of sweat blending with the soft vanilla from the candle you’d lit, wrapping around you both like a haze.
Without breaking the kiss, he slid his right hand between your legs, rubbing your sensitive clit with figures of eight that made you reach your peak.
“Cum for me, baby,” he grunted, speeding up his rhythm into your cunt. “I’ve got you. I love you so much, so perfect for me.”
“Bruce, fuck! I’m—I’m cumming— Fuckkkk—”
Bruce whimpered your name repeatedly the moment you shattered. White stars burst behind your eyes like supernovas, your whole form quivering as you clung to him. He felt your legs tightening on either side of his waist, your cunt seizing up for a moment before releasing the pressure in a rhythmic spasm against his cock.
He followed closely behind, burying himself to the hilt before his orgasm crashed down, shooting hot, thick ropes of cum inside you until it overflowed, making a delectable mess on the stained towels and all over the sheets.
Bruce saw heaven the moment you succumbed to ecstasy, your voice breaking as you brayed his name, over and over like a prayer tailored just for him. The rawness of it, the fondness in every gasping breath, seared itself into his heart.
He witnessed the blood all over his cock, his pelvis, his pubic hair, and even his thighs, leaving only one conclusion in his mind.
Your blood purified his sins, his soul, and his heart was washed de novo.
You were his God, the one he devoted himself to, the one he worshipped on his knees, even beyond the veil.
And that was never going to change.
Exhausted, Bruce languidly pulled himself out, and you whined at the loss on his lips. You glanced down through teary eyes to see crimson blotches all over his body and yours as well. The sight alone made you light-headed.
“You feelin’ better, baby?” Bruce muttered softly, tucking your locks behind your ears.
He pressed his damp forehead to yours, brushing the tip of your nose playfully, gazing at you with lovesick eyes.
“Hmm…”
You whined even further when his cum dribbled out of you, commingling with your blood and honeyed slick onto the towel under your hips, no doubt all over the pristine bedsheets too.
Basking in the fading euphoria, you tipped your head back against the pillows, tears slipping freely down your temples. A soft groan departed your lips, your head spun as a restless flock of birds circled overhead, whirlpooling your thoughts.
Bruce drank in every microexpression of yours, ensuring your satisfaction was his utmost priority tonight.
“Honey, you okay?” He caressed your face, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb, noticing your frame trembled like a leaf. “Honey?”
“Di—dizzy…” you managed, feeling your limbs grow waning from relief. Your breath came in shallow, exhausted pulls. “I… very… dizzy.”
“Breathe with me, baby.”
Bruce nestled in the crook of your neck, pressing his body to yours. His calloused hands roamed from your waist to your thighs, adoring each faint stretch mark with his fingertips. You felt his feather-light kisses across your skin, murmuring fond whispers to coax you back to reality.
“C’mon, honey. Breathe with me,” he cooed. “In… out…”
You synchronised your breathing rhythm to his, your chest rose and fell with each guide. Slowly but surely, you returned from the cloud of exhaustion and euphoria, fluttering your eyes open to see your husband once more.
“I love you, baby,” you laughed weakly, pressing one more kiss on his eye. “I love you so much.”
“You like it?”
“Mhmm. I don’t feel the cramps anymore. Better than any anodynes out there.”
A fond smile curled the corner of your husband’s lips. “Told you.”
He pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek before slipping an arm beneath your knees and another behind your shoulders, lifting you from the bed with ease. Nestled against his chest, you listened to the steady cadence of his heartbeat as he carried you into the bathroom.
The bath he had drawn earlier still held its warmth, steam curling gently in the air. He stepped in first, testing the water before carefully guiding you in with him, easing you both into its soothing embrace.
Enfolding you within his arms, he held you close as you rested against him, the heat wrapping around your body like a second skin, melting the dull ache from your muscles bit by bit.
“You okay, honey?”
“Mhmm.” You traced the jagged scars across his chest with your fingertips. “Let’s hope Alfred won’t freak out at the sheets tomorrow morning.”
“He’ll survive.” Bruce giggled, resting his arms at the edge of the tub. “Or I can do it tomorrow.”
“You? Doing laundry? That must’ve been the eighth wonder of the world.”
“Don’t underestimate me, dear wife of mine. I’m a man with a multitude of expertise.”
“Then can you explain why I found you and Timmy wrestling with the washing machine yesterday? Or the sheer amount of bubbles that flooded the laundry room?”
“Your eyes were playing tricks with you, honey. That didn’t happen at all.”
“Hmm, of course.” You rolled your eyes at his half-assed excuse, feeling his arms around you like a devoted, fearless protector. “I love you so much, Bruce.”
pairing: jason todd x fem! reader, platonic!damian wayne x fem!reader, platonic!tim drake x fem!reader, platonic!dick grayson x fem!reader
summary: Teaching Jason's girlfriend self-defense didn’t turn out as they expected.
word count: 890
warning(s): English is not my first language, not proofread, no use of y/n. Only dick, damian and tim on this fic, sorry! fake gun and knife
author's note: my ig's feed keeps popping this account, and i knew i had to do something with this hahah
˗ˏˋ ♡ fic inspired by this video and this one tooˊ˗
Boredom had arrived at Wayne Manor.
Everyone was gathered for a family lunch. It was customary for the whole family to get together at the Manor once a month to spend some family time—away from their vigilante lives.
It had been a couple of months since Jason had introduced his girlfriend to the family. Or rather, formally introduced her; after his siblings had invaded his apartment looking for answers about his disappearances.
The group was in the living room. Each one held a drink in their hands or had one by their side.
It had been a while since boredom had swept over the group, and now they were talking about the first thing that came to anyone’s mind.
“We could teach you some moves,” Dick said to the girl.
The conversation had drifted toward the lack of coordination among Gotham’s criminals.
Jason’s girlfriend turned to look at one of her brothers-in-law, frowning in confusion.
Jason laughed under his breath, the bottle of beer just inches from his mouth.
“Yeah... good luck with that.”
For space reasons, they moved several pieces of furniture so they could move around freely without worrying about breaking something and getting a scolding from Alfred.
“What is this?” the woman asked, referring to an extendable wooden ruler Tim had handed her.
“It’s a ruler.” Jason’s girlfriend looked at him, stating the obvious. “But we’ll use it as a knife.”
Dick leaned against a table next to Jason, crossing his arms.
“Bruce used it with us at first to train us,” the boy explained. “After that, he moved on to real knives.”
“Huh,” she muttered under her breath, inspecting the ruler. “What a nice family,” she murmured sarcastically, raising both eyebrows.
“And yet you’re still here, doll.”
The girl winked at her boyfriend.
“All right. First I’ll show you how it’s done, then you’ll try,” Tim announced. “Extend your left arm forward with the ruler.” The girl did as asked. “Perfect. I’ll block your move.”
With a nod, the woman extended her arm forward again.
Tim raised his left forearm upward to prevent her from attacking him by pulling her arm toward him. With his other arm, he would strike the girl’s wrist with his elbow to disarm her.
However, the girl raised the ruler upward, pretending the blade was up.
Faced with the new movement, Tim stopped his arm.
“What just happened?”
Jason smirked and took another sip from his bottle.
Dick’s turn.
“After that weak job from Red Robin, Nightwing will show you how it’s done.”
The three boys rolled their eyes and sighed tiredly.
“Go ahead, Wonder Boy!” Jason exclaimed with amusement.
“All right,” Dick said, mentioning her name. “You’ll attack me from above and I’ll block your move, okay?”
The girl nodded.
Dick had given fewer instructions than Tim, which showed he wanted to catch her by surprise and prevent her from making a move he didn’t expect.
“Now.”
With her left hand, she raised the ruler above her head. Dick, with a quick movement, blocked the action by forming an X with his arms, preventing her from lowering her arm any further.
However, the girl dropped the ruler, quickly catching it with her other hand, and hit Dick on the head with it, taking advantage of the fact that he was distracted by the unexpected move.
Jason burst out laughing at that.
“Another wonderful job by the incredible and marvelous Nightwing.”
“Tt. I’ll show these fools how it should be done.”
Pff... it didn’t turn out as the boy expected.
Unlike his brothers, Damian hadn’t even given her instructions.
The boy let her approach to secure victory.
The girl, just as she had done with Tim, extended her left arm.
Damian grabbed that arm to immobilize it and take the weapon away.
However, when the boy turned his head, Jason’s girlfriend pulled a toy gun from her pants and pressed it against his head.
“Bang!”
The room was suddenly plunged into silence, as three out of four vigilantes blinked, assessing the situation that had just occurred.
Damian looked up to observe the woman, who was smiling at him while still holding the toy gun against his head.
“Impossible.”
Damian’s eyes went to the toy gun.
“How do you do that?”
“Where did you get that from?!”
The girl laughed, handing both things back and moving closer to her boyfriend.
“I took it from the box while Dick was thinking about what move to make.”
Jason extended his arm around the girl’s waist, pulling her closer to him.
“I used to take self-defense classes when I was a kid,” she said, feeling Jason’s fingers slowly caressing her waist.
“Before I knew he was Red Hood and before I could do anything, she stopped us from being robbed with a broomstick.”
Damian looked at the girl and narrowed his eyes.
“Would you be interested in being a vigilante?”
Before the girl could say anything, Jason began pushing her away to get his girlfriend away from his crazy family.
“We’re leaving, it’s time for our son’s dinner.”
When both disappeared from the room—which happened incredibly quickly thanks to Jason—to say goodbye to Alfred, Dick frowned and tilted his head in confusion at what had been said.
A/N: Calling all angst lovers!!! Here's a Jason x reader angst that was heavily inspired by In My Room by Julia Wolf!
“I want your things in my room, I miss you all of the time”
Gotham is always harsh, this is something you have learned over time in this city. Lately it feels like Gotham has personally been against you. It’s a push and pull type of situation, whenever something good is in your grasp it gets taken away. For the past months you’ve had a glimpse of what you thought would be a great slice of life, but the fates seem to have other plans. Just like everything, it had all started out good; great even.
A steady job, a good circle of friends, a decent apartment and a guy. Not just any guy, a very nice, sweet and caring guy but while he had good qualities it had gotten a little complicated. Before you knew it the guy was out of the picture, still all you want is to get him back. Yet, you are still somewhat unsure if you can take any more of Jason’s odd excuses and disappearances at random times of the night or the visible bruises he always seems to have an extra manual of excuses for.
Clearly, he needs to work out some stuff; that’s what one side of your brain tells you while the other toys with the crazy idea that he’s perhaps one of the vigilantes camouflaging in the shadows of Gotham. Tonight is a particularly lonely night; rain beats harshly against the city, dark clouds sit heavy and thick, and rain envelops the dark city in a deeper shade of blackness. Thunder and lightning streak across the sky, igniting it in a white haze for a few seconds. Your glass windows are bolted shut; only two sources of light keep you from being enveloped in total darkness: the kitchen light and the bedroom light that peers in from the open door, casting a shadow over the middle of your apartment.
After spending the day wrestling with your thoughts you just wanted to do nothing. Still, even the prospect of doing nothing turned daunting by the fourth hour. Restlessness is taking over you, so you reach for your computer and put on a movie. Halfway through you zone out and don’t notice until the credits end. The thoughts that have plagued you for god knows how long, are back at the forefront. So you do the only other rational thing, listen to music. Tune after tune as if you can will the thoughts away you stare at a wall. It provides a reprieve but quickly turns treacherous when the music seems to sense the source of your dilemma and the memories come flooding back.
Every single song weaves in pieces of Jason, pieces of a relationship that started out as a friendship and quickly morphed into more. A particular song transports you back to the day you and Jason first met.
January, Wayne Enterprises.
You had started as the newest recruit for the engineering department a week ago, and Lucius Fox had already entrusted you with extremely crucial projects. After Bruce had concluded the board meeting, Lucius hung back to discuss other matters, so you excused yourself and took your leave. Clutching the portfolios with your recent projects, you walked towards your desk. One of the folders started to slip and you tried to reach it. Unaware of the direction you were going on, you were stopped rather brusquely by colliding against something rock hard. “Dammit,” you muttered as the rest of the folders clattered to the ground. At the same time, a masculine voice uttered an apology, “Shit, sorry.”
Your fingertips brushed another pair and you looked up from the floor. “Sorry,” both of you spoke at once, small laughs left you and you made eye contact with him. His green-blue eyes stared back at you, feeling your gaze on him he lowered his eyes to help you retrieve the folders. “Hi, sorry about before I was-” you said. “It’s okay, I should’ve known better than to get in your way,” he replied. Standing up you set the folders on the nearest desk, Jason sets a stack next to yours. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” you replied and stated your name while stretching out your hand. He shook it, “I’m Jason, nice to meet you,” he replied. Your name fell effortlessly from his lips.
Once again, your eyes meet his, and you took note of the black hair with the white strands. Quickly, you looked away and smiled. “So you must be new, I haven’t seen you around before,” he said. “Yeah, I am. Do you work here?” you asked, “Uh, no I-“ he started to say. “Jason, you’re a little early,” Bruce said, and you turned to face him. “Weird, huh?” Jason said with a slight smirk, and Bruce laughed before setting a hand on his shoulder. “Everything okay?” Bruce asked you both.
Once again you started to talk at once, “Yeah we just bumped into each other,” “I accidentally knocked over the files.” Bruce and Lucius exchanged glances before smiling a little. Jason turned to you, “Do you need help with those?” Waving him off you replied, “No, it’s fine thank you though. It was nice meeting you,” you tell him.
“Y/N use the lunch break this time, you’ve done more than enough this morning,” Bruce kindly said and you nodded. “Will do, Mr. Wayne,” you replied.
Curtly he nodded at you before walking away with Jason. Lucius stepped forward to help you with the rest of the folders. “Who was that?” You asked. “Jason Todd, one of his kids,” he replied. “Huh,” you mused. Lucuius invited you to lunch and you headed out with him. Lucuius had instantly welcomed you into the company and was personally overseeing your development in the company. The man was highly invested in the promise you showed in this field, it was nice to have a mentor in a new job and a new city.
The next day
Shutting your computer you stood up and began to gather your things when someone clears their throat. As you look up you’re met with Jason. “Oh hey, Mr. Wayne is still in his office,” you announced. “I know, but I’m not here for him, I’m here for you,” Jason replied. You took notice of how his hands were in his jean pockets, “Oh.” Jason chuckled at your reply. “Do you want to get coffee? My treat, it’s the least I can do to apologize for yesterday.” Say yes, “Sure” you replied smiling and he visibly relaxed before leading the way.
Over time, the visits turned more frequent, as the months passed, your friendship quickly evolved into something more, and before you knew it, you found yourself in a relationship with Jason.
Present day, October
Your ringtone pulls you out of your thoughts, glancing at your screen you look at the text from Steph. Despite being his sister nothing about the split had changed the nature of your friendship with her. You and Steph had met the second day of your move, you had struck up a conversation with her after complimenting her shirt in the checkout line of the grocery store.
S- You want to come over for a movie?He’s not at the manor btw
Y- Raincheck, I’m dead from work. About to take a nap 😔
S-Okay, let me know when you’re free 💛
Hearting the text you toss your phone to the side and set it on the bedside table along with your computer. Pulling the blanket over you, you curl up on the couch. The sounds of rain and thunder lull you to sleep.
Thunder crashes across the sky, drops of rain land on Jason’s jacket and helmet as his and Tim’s boots rhythmically land on the alley. “Dude I’m just sayin’ you went a little too hard on the guys,” Tim says. Jason grunts. “It was just a little extra roughing up Tim ‘s fine.
“Whatever you say man,” Tim replies. Back at the cave Jason sets his helmet on a nearby table and they all huddle around the Batcomputer. Bruce asks for the patrol reports and Tim glances at Jason. Jason huffs and gives the entire report to Bruce who looks at him.
“Jason, we discussed this before,” Bruce says sternly. Anger rises in Jason, “No one is dead! They’re just roughed up, I took care of it,” he spats. His nostrils flare, “More like maimed,” Tim mutters and Jason glares at him. Everyone stays silent, exchanging looks. Bruce stares at Jason and takes in how his shoulders and still set rigidly, nostrils flaring and his jaw is clenched. “Adreline gets the best of us, just remember to-” Bruce says. “Keep it in check, I know, I know” Jason huffs and starts to walk away.
Knowing Jason, they let him leave. Steph exchanges a look with Cass. “Is this about her?” Cass asks. Steph nods, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” Jason paces in a corner of the cave before letting out a loud sigh followed by a pull of his hair. “Fuck, it’s been too long,” he mutters. Part of him knows Bruce and Tim are right, he roughed up those goons a little, might’ve broken a few bones too. Patrol was his excuse to let off some steam, which admittedly wasn’t the best but his thoughts have been plagued by you. God he’s a fucking idiot, he let fear of fucking up ruin something good and guess what he ended up fucking up, colosally.
Anger rises in him again and he punches the wall, he can feel everyone’s eyes on him. Stalking past them, he grabs his helmet from the table and sits on the bike before revving the engine.
“Not asking for much man, thought maybe you’d call me”
Despite the rain, traffic is still a thing. Zooming past the cars as the streets fade past. Jason takes a few shortcuts. He just needs a drive, with no destination in mind, at least that’s what he tells himself as he nears your neighborhood.
Turn around, don’t be a fucking idiot Jason. It’s what he constantly tells himself over and over as he parks the bike in the alley next to your building. Using the side ladder to your floor, he lifts the windowsill and easily slips into your hall. Jason never understood why your landlord or anyone else on this floor never closed that window.
Dude, just stop. Turn around don’t you dare knock on her door. His subconscious is screaming at him, but he ignores it with every step he takes towards your door. Stopping before your door, he lets out a breath, his fingers twitch and he closes his eyes. Your face pops up, God he misses you. Badly, Jason yearned for your touch, for your soft caresses, the way you held onto him while walking at night. He craved the feeling of your lips against his, the small noises you made when he intentionally pressed too close. Part of him knew this would be a longshot. Ever since he ended it you didn’t call once, and he deserved it.
Letting out a shaky breath, his knuckles make contact with your door. He hears the shuffling of feet, and the waiting feels like eons. A few excruciating seconds later, your door opens, and you instantly recognize the build. “What the fuck?” you yelp. “Baby, it’s me,” Jason says, but forgets he still has the helmet on. “Why the fuck is Red Hood at my door?” you whisper. Shit, shit, shit. Not waiting for your answer, he brushes past you and clicks the door shut. “So you just walk into people’s houses?” you ask. The sass in your tone makes his chest flutter with want. His helmet hisses, and he turns to face you; your mouth flies open.
“I just want to talk,” he says, setting the helmet down on your counter. Your eyes track his movements. Your heart clenches and Jason braces himself for an outburst that doesn’t come. He thought you’d be pissed and you thought so too, but seeing him in your kitchen at three am, vulnerability radiates off him and your heart betrays you. “Jason,” his name softly falls from your lips. Jason closes his eyes, he stays rooted on his spot. “I’m sorry.” he says and sighs.
“Fuck baby, I’m so sorry for everything. I was stupid, reckless, and a massive dick,” he says. “Jason,” you say again, and he keeps talking. “I should’ve been honest, the minute we started to get serious, I really should’ve told you instead of giving you those fuckass excuses.”
“I was scared okay? I was worried that this part of my life would hurt you, that I would lose you so I thought keeping you in the dark was the best.” “I got scared because I- I love you, and the thought of losing you is so terrifying.” Words fly off him and you just stand there staring at him, “Hit me, scream at me, kick me out, whatever I deserve it,” he says. “Fuck, I just I’m sorry, I know its probably too late but let’s-” “Jason stop!” you shout and he looks at you. Wordlessly you walk towards him, your fingers reach out and you touch his arm. “You have blood on your knuckles,” you murmur.
Jason looks at you, “What?” he replies. “Sweetheart I-” he starts to say and you crash your lips against his. It’s the only way you know that can shut him up, at least for now. The action takes him by surprise but he reacts quickly. Jason kisses you back with the same intensity, he presses his body into yours. Your hands are glued to his forearms and his hands are on either side of your waist. Heat rushes through you as the atmosphere turns charged.
Months of pent up frustration pour out of Jason and his fingers slip under your shirt, kneading the skin there. Taking it as an invitation your hands crawl up to his hair and you pull, earning a groan from him. Jason turns and presses you against the counter, his hands slide lower and he squeezes the back of your thighs.
A small moan tumbles out of you, desire rises in him. Not pulling apart you jump and he sets you on the counter, caging you in. Jason kisses you again, he feels your back arch once his hand makes contact with your bare skin. Pulling apart your chest heaves up and down, chasing a breath of air. Slowly, he opens his eyes to find you staring at him. “You were saying?” you say and a laugh tumbles out of him.
“Fuck baby, I missed you,” he says. “Me too,” you reply, caressing his back. “I poured my heart out, and all you could say was you have blood on your knuckles,” he says. You just roll your eyes. “I panicked, okay!” you counter and he just smiles before reaching out to touch your cheek. Sighing you lean into his touch and close your eyes. Delicately, Jason places a kiss on your forehead. “For the record I’m pissed at you, but I love you” you reply, he hums. “Yeah I know, you can be pissed at me later. Wait, what?” he says, and you pull back to look at him. “I love you, Jason Peter Tood, I love you,” you say, and he kisses you.
You let out a breath, “Okay, so all the excuses are all this,” you say gesturing to his suit and he nods. “You should’ve told me, Jay. It sucked, so much,” you say enunciating the last part. Jason nods, “I’m sorry, I was shitty at handling it but if you’ll have me again. I swear I’ll be better,” he says. Jason stares at you, you scan his features and rub your palms on his shoulderblades. Instantly they drop, a shaky breath leaves him and you reach for his hand, your fingers lace with his and you bring it up to place a kiss against his knuckles. “Let’s do this, let’s try again,” you say.
Relieved he smiles and pulls you in for another kiss, the action knocks the breath out of you and he effortlessly carries you towards the bed. Your hands fumble with his suit and he breaks the kiss a little to chuckle before setting you down on the mattress. Jason pecks your lips before undoing his suit. Pieces of armor fall to the ground but you’re too entranced by his gorgeous eyes to notice the gear littering your floor. “I love you,” Jason says before his hands start to roam over your body. Smiling, you pull him closer and press your lips to his. You were still pissed at him and still had a lot to talk about. But right now, the least you wanted to do was talk. Why would you even want to have a conversation right now when the man you love is touching you as if you were the most scared thing on this earth?
Yeah, you definitely wanted his things in your room all of the time.
And you, like an angel (like something holy that's graced the earth)
love is not designed for the cynical - series masterlist here
pairing: jason todd x reader (gender neutral, no use of y/n)
length: 1.5k
genre: hurt/comfort
warnings: the times that you remind him that he's still alive, and then the times that he has to remind you too, there's always something to live for, even if it's just seeing the sun rise tomorrow
a/n: I've actually been posting pre-written fics so I might be rusty but I tried my best :( anyway based on this blurb
"Why are you up so early?" Jason's voice is quiet in the early morning, still scratchy from sleep as he slides open the balcony door to find you. When he does, he wraps his arms around your waist from behind and hunches over to press his face between your shoulder blades, drowsy and slow.
"Because it's nice out," you murmur in response, as if speaking any louder could break the peace that dawn has given you.
"It's cold," he counters, and you twist around in his hold to face him.
"That's because you're in the shade," you point out, hands on his hips so that you can shuffle the both of you around and switch places with him. "Here, stand in the sun."
"I don't care about the sun," he sighs, but still, he's pliant in your hold, letting you move him however you please. "I care about being back in bed, asleep, with you."
"I'll come back to bed," you assure him. "In just a minute. Close your eyes."
It's difficult, you think, not to laugh at him when he closes his eyes, so willing to follow wherever you go, so ready to do whatever you ask. You take his face gently in one hand, squishing his cheeks together and angling him to stare up to the sun.
"There," you say softly. "How does it feel?"
"Unnatural," he mumbles, his face still held in your hand.
"Unnatural?" you laugh in shock.
"Mhm. It's weird for it to be sunny in Gotham."
"The sun has to shine everywhere eventually," you murmur, moving your hand from his face, finally, so that you can trace the streaks of sunlight across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. "Even if you're not used to it."
"I think you might be making that up," he says, his breath coming out in a big exhale, and you laugh.
"Maybe. Does it still feel wrong?"
Jason thinks that maybe he just shouldn't answer you, shouldn't tell you that it all feels wrong - the unnatural beat of his heart, the body that he dragged out of the grave, the stark white streak of hair that you thumb between your fingers now.
"Do you know what I think?" you continue as you sweep it out of his face, white bleeding into black until he's almost recognizable again.
"What?"
"I think that sometimes… um, you know - feeling weird is how you know you're still alive," you say slowly, your hand slipping down his front until it rests against his chest. With just a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips, the sun spreads over his shoulders and torso and warms him in a way that feels a bit too strange to be real.
Your hand travels further, pressing against his pec and tapping, with one finger, the steady beat of his heart.
"Baby, I think -" You catch yourself, pressing your lips together like you're not sure you should say it. That, in itself, is troubling to him - the idea that you might have to bite your tongue around him.
He reaches his hand up to yours in reaction, squeezing your fingers gently in his own until you hold his hand back, still tapping that rhythm against his palm.
"I think maybe… if we wait to do it until it feels normal, or good, then we'll never really get there."
Jason squints against the sun, tilting his head down to look at you as you stare up at him. He keeps his hand in yours, letting you tap that endless rhythm against his palm, and his other hand brushes some of your hair out of your face.
"That doesn't seem sad to you?" he murmurs. "To keep trying, even when…"
"When?"
"I don't know," he murmurs. "To live even when it's wrong."
"Jason," you say, your voice uncharacteristically sombre as your brows furrow. "There is nothing wrong with you being alive."
"It wasn't supposed to happen," he counters, blinking his eyes open wider as the sun slips behind a cloud, washing the two of you in a cooling shade.
"Wrong," you say firmly, but then you sigh, rocking back on your heels a bit as you give him some space - an act of kindness from you, but not one that he wants. Jason slings his arm around your waist and tugs you closer, his hand pressing your palm against his chest over his heart.
"I know we don't… talk about it very much," you begin again, quieter now - breathing out in a big sigh against him. "Maybe we should, I don't know -"
"I don't want to," Jason says abruptly. "I don't… You know, I'm - I'm alive now, aren't I?"
"You are."
"I don't want to spend every day pretending I'm dead," he blurts out, and your fingers stop tapping against his chest so that you can press your hand against his skin, instead.
The sun breaks out from behind the clouds again, beaming down towards the two of you until he closes his eyes against the onslaught. You inhale deeply, shifting the two of you around again so that his back is to the light, and as he opens his eyes again, the sun haloes him from behind like something holy.
"Then don't," you say gently. "Don't. You don't have to, anymore."
"I'm not sure I know how," he admits, and you take his hand in yours to press it over your own heart, letting him feel and tap out the beat of your own life.
"I'll help," you murmur, and he's not sure he has any choice but to follow wherever you lead.
"Baby, it's over," Jason says tiredly, throwing a blood-soaked towel into the bathtub and watching as red splatters against the white porcelain.
"It's not over," you retort. "You're -"
"I'm fine," he says firmly, crouching down in front of you while you sit on the edge of the bathtub. "Hm? C'mon, baby, look at me - I got a little banged up, that's all."
"More than a little," you respond sternly, but your resolve is starting to waver under the kiss that he presses against your forehead.
"Talk to me, hm?" he coaxes gently. "What are you thinking about?"
"You," you retort.
"Flatterer," he murmurs against your forehead, but then he pulls back slightly to really look at you. "I'm ok."
"You weren't," you say flatly, and he sighs as he takes your hands in his, rubbing circles onto your palms with the pads of his blood-stained thumbs. "It just scares me, you know."
"I know, baby," he murmurs, and then he tugs one of your hands closer to press against his chest. As you feel his heartbeat, steady and ever-present against your skin, he taps out the rhythm on the back of your hand.
"I really don't want you to die, Jason," you say bluntly, and he huffs out a half laugh.
"Yea, I… really don't want to die, either," he responds.
"Well," you murmur, your eyes trained on your joined hands over his heart. "At least we can always agree on that."
"I'm not dead," he reminds you firmly. "I'm right here."
"But what if -"
"Hey," he says sternly. "I'm right here. And I've…"
"What?" you murmur, because, really, you think you need to hear him say it tonight - just this once.
"I've spent enough time being dead," Jason continues slowly, tripping a bit over his own words, like the confession is foreign to him - like the hope that's carving itself into his chest is new to him. "I'd like to be alive now. Don't… baby, I love you. I'll let you deal with this however you need to, you know that."
"I know, Jason," you say honestly.
"But please don't mourn me while I'm still here. Please don't act - just don't… don't think like I'm still dead, yea?"
"Yea," you sniff a bit, and his hand finds your cheek while his other keeps your palm pressed firmly to his chest. You tap your fingers against the skin there, steadily on beat with the rhythm of his heart and the sound of his life.
"It's scary, being alive - isn't it?" you murmur. "Gives you something to lose."
"Gives you something to live for," he counters, and you huff out a laugh.
"You should live for more than just being loved by somebody," you say softly. "Not that it doesn't matter, but it can't be… all."
"Yea," he muses, and you quirk a brow - because you realize, just a bit, that maybe he's finally begun to think about this the way that he should. "You know - the sun is nice, too. I wouldn't mind living another day, if it means I can stand out in the sun again tomorrow morning."
"There you go," you laugh wetly, your eyes glassing over as you look at him, haloed by the dim light of the bathroom, shining amidst the dullness of it all - like an angel, you think weakly. Like something holy that's graced the earth. "Now you're getting it."
A/N: Hi! Oh my god, thank you so much for the love on my last posts! Since a lot of you enjoyed Just the two of us and the anniversary dinner, here's more of Jason x journalist reader. Hope you enjoy this one!
Following your anniversary and your first dinner with the Wayne family, yours and Jason’s life has been as hectic as ever. At least you had a small reprieve from your daily life on those occasions. Jason has been away on a very important mission with Bruce, Dick and Tim; or as Bruce had put it, a “business trip”. All Jason told you was that he would be gone for two weeks and a half, so for safety reasons communication was limited. On previous occasions you were grateful that your work kept you busy, but as of right now you were not feeling that way. Countless days of working extra time at the Gazette had barely made the first week flyby, you still had a full week ahead and the work kept getting more demanding. It was a big week for everyone at the Gotham Gazette but especially for you. For months you have been working on breaking a story about organized crime in Gotham.
Sighing, you lean back in your chair. The bullpen is empty aside from you and Cass, who had come by two hours ago to check on you. Your coworkers had insisted on staying, but you waved them off, reassuring you’d be okay. Pushing your glasses up to the top of your head, you rub the itchiness on them. The fluorescent glow of the computer is a slightly harsh contrast against the dim lights. “You okay?” Cass asks, turning in the chair to face you. You nod, but before you can reply, a yawn slips past you.
Cracking your knuckles, your fingers inched closer to the keyboard, but your boyfriend’s sister is faster and closes it. “Cass, c’mon,” you whine, and she gives you a little smirk. “Nope, I’m taking you home,” she says, concern laces her tone. “I’m fine here. Don’t you have patrol?” you ask her. “Damian and Steph are on patrol. Also, quit stalling,” she says. “You’re tired, and you’ve been here for almost eleven hours,” she says. “Besides, Alfred is waiting out front,” she adds. You sigh and stare up at the ceiling, debating your options.
“Jason would literally kill me if I told him I left you alone, so c’mon we’re going,” she says. Defeatedly you stand up and pack your bag. “Thanks for staying, you didn’t have to,” you tell Cass as you lock the doors. “You’re family, you’re stuck with all of us now,” she says and you chuckle. The cold nips at you and you pull your coat tighter around you before stepping inside the car.
“Have you heard from Jason?” you ask her as you get inside the car. Cass nods. “This afternoon, he’s okay. Not wounded or anything if that’s your concern,” she replies and you hum. “He also misses you, a lot like he genuinely sounds love sick,” she says with a little chuckle. You laugh, “He would totally throw a fit if he heard you say that,” you say. “Oh I know,” she replies with a smirk. “Hi Alfred!” you exclaim and the butler smiles at you. “Good evening miss,” he says warmly.
Back at Wayne Manor, you head up the stairs and into Jason’s room. Since he was going to be away and some goons from the mob you had written about haven’t been caught he insisted that you stay at the Manor instead of being alone at your apartment.
Fishing for your phone you dig it out of your coat pocket and scratch Salem’s head before scrolling through your notifications. Taking your shoes off and throwing your coat on the bed you send a quick text to Jason.
“Finally made it to the manor from work, Cass came by to check up on me. Hope you’re being safe, love you”
Tossing your phone on the bed you start to peel off layers of clothing before stepping inside the shower. Pressing your head against the cool tiles you close your eyes and let the cold drops of water cascade over you. Rolling your shoulders back you hope the motion eases the tension lodged in your muscles.
Walking out of the room wrapped Jason’s hoodie, and you tuck the computer under your arm before heading towards the kitchen. Alfred was arranging a bowl with tomato soup and a grilled cheese. The delicious smell invades your nostrils, and you sigh. “This smells divine, Alfred,” you say. Alfred smiles, “I was informed that it’s your favorite after a stressful day,” he says.
Grinning, you take a seat on one of the stools. Setting the computer next to you, the fluorescent screen stares back at you. Your fingers are itching to grab the computer and type away like your life depends on it. However, the rational part of your brain is telling you to unwind, eat something, and sleep. “Miss, I do believe you should take a break,” Alfred says. You sigh, “I know, but there’s still so much to be done,” you say. “You are just like Master Bruce, which is why I’ll say that tomorrow is a new day, now if you allow me,” he says before reaching for your computer and closing it.
Your phone rings and you stare at the screen reading the text from Jason.
“Did you stay late again? At least tell me you’re about to eat something babe”
Tenderly you smile, this is Jason’s way of telling you he cares for you and that he’s safe. “I take it that is Master Jason,” Alfred says. “Yup,” you reply popping the p. Quickly you send him a picture of the plate and set your phone aside to talk with Alfred, shortly Damian joins you and the three of you have a conversation over the meal.
Gotham has grown colder and all you want is to bundle up in the sheets and call in sick at work but Mario would literally kill you. You’re still working on the big story and the first part finally comes out in print on this morning's issue. Standing up with a big stretch and yawn you go about getting ready for your day. Adjusting your bag on your shoulder you pull up the collar of your coat higher as you step into the sidewalk. It had taken a lot of convincing Alfred that you could walk to work instead of being dropped off at work.
Decode by Paramore plays in your earbuds as you weave in and out of the slow walkers. The minute you open the doors to the Gazette it’s utter chaos. People mill around, Mario is pacing the bullpen barking out orders. The screens display the digital issue of today’s paper and your story sits at the front and center taking up the whole page. “Woman of the hour, there you are!” He exclaims and you smile.
“Morning to you too Mario,” you say, “You did great on that, get me the other two parts on my desk pronto,” he says and you salute him before going to your desk. Dropping your bag on the desk, you greet Vicki. “Good morning Vick,” you say. Vicki smiles and greets you with a quick kiss on the cheek before setting a coffee and pastry bag on your desk. “Ugh my breakfast savior,” you say. She laughs, “Hey you’re a big hit, a full expose on organized crime, that’s no small feat,” she says, “Thanks, the fact that this is still not done is killing me,” you say. “Well you’re a good one, so you got this girlie,” she says.
“How about your man, any news?” She asks. You sigh, “Unfortunately he’s still on that business trip of his,” you say. She hums, “Well if you don’t have plans tonight, and by that I mean not being the one to close off the Gazette,” she says pointedly and you laugh. “ We should go for drinks, have a little celebratory moment,” Vicki says.
You think it over, “I don’t know Vick, I have a pound of work to get through,” you say. “Oh come on! Girl you could use the distraction,” she says batting her eyelashes, you laugh. “Fine, just a few drinks, no crazy stuff” you say and she grins.
Closing those tabs, you get to work on the other two articles. The papers sit heavy in your hand as you walk towards the bullpen. Anxiety lingers, and you take a deep breath, willing to shut it down. “As requested, here are the two drafts,” you say. Mario takes them,
“Hey kid, keep up the good work,” he says. Nodding you turn on your heel and walk to your desk.
A few cities across in one of Bruce’s apartments that doubles as a safe house Jason, Tim, Dick and Bruce sit at the table. Tim’s attention is zoned in on the computer checking footage from security cameras. On another laptop Bruce is being assisted by Oracle with some information needed for the mission while Jason and Dick plan the exit strategies for tonight’s intervention. His phone pings and what catches everyone's attention is how quick he gets to it.
“Is she okay?” Bruce asks, referring to you. “I hope so, the first part of her story’s out today,” he says. “God she must be so stressed,” he says. “Holy shit, she’s ballsy for publishing such a dime,” Tim says. “She’s a good journalist, it takes courage to write such a big piece,” Bruce says. “Seriously dude your girl is a badass,” Dick says.
“Bruce I know we have to be no contact,” Jason says. “Call her,”Bruce says. Taking his phone with him Jason goes out into the hall and dials your number.
Your phone rings and you take one look at the caller id. A grin spreads across your lips and you answer it. “Jay, oh my god!” You exclaim and he laughs. “Hey, babe, you okay?” He asks. “Better now that I can hear your voice,” you say. “Is everything okay back home?” He asks. Sighing you nod, “Just stressed, got so many articles coming out I feel like I’m gonna combust,” you say. Jason can picture the stress and tension lodged between your shoulders. “Just a few more days and I’ll be back home baby,” he says. “Congrats on being front and center,” he says and you giggle. “Give the B-Man my thanks for the help with the insider information,” you say. Jason chuckles.
“So hot shot are you unharmed, no maiming I need to worry about?” You ask. Jason laughs, “I’m intact, sweetheart, you don’t need to patch me up,” he says. “Good, that’s what a woman wants to hear,” you say. “Hey don’t stress out too much okay, a guy doesn’t want to worry about his girl being permanently stressed,” he says and you chuckle. “Alright hotshot, I need to go, duty calls but I love you,” Jason says. “Love you, come back to me soon okay,” you say and Jason murmurs another "I love you” before you both hang up.
Usually the chaos at the office dims down but since today is a big day for everyone the chaos gets worse by the minute. Engrossed in your writing you’re startled by stacks of paper being placed loudly in your desk. Lifting your fingers from the keys you look at Mario. “These are good, I want the final versions done by today,” he says and you nod. Mario bristles away shouting orders across the bullpen. Throwing your head back you sigh, “Yeah you definitely need those drinks,” Vicki says and you laugh.
Letting out a sigh of relief you hit send and close your laptop, thankfully you send everything to Mario just in time. “See ya tomorrow Chief,” you say, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Mario salutes you, “I will see you later miss ma’am,” Vicki says and you laugh before hugging her goodbye. “Good evening Alfred,” you say once you slide inside. “Good evening Miss, I take it work was hectic?” he asks and you nod. The drive to Gotham Academy is comfortable, Damian greets Alfred and slides into the seat next to you. “Hello, your article was impressive,” Damian says to you and you smile. “Thank you Damian, how was school?” you ask. “Rather ordinary,” he says and you giggle before asking him what made it ordinary.
You and Vicki walk arm in arm into the club. An electronic song plays through the speakers and you order two vodka cranberries before looking for a table. Two rounds later Vicki had successfully drags you to the dancefloor and the alcohol in your system is enough to loosen you up. Out of the corner of your eye you spot two guys staring at you both but you ignore them and carry on dancing. Multiple songs later your feet ached. “Oh God, I’m so tired,” Vicki says and you laugh. “Let’s get you home miss Vale,” you say. “Why thank you, my knight in shining armor!” she dramatically exclaims and you giggle.
After dropping Vicki off you texted Jason to let him know you were heading back to the manor. Changed into a fresh pair of shorts and one of Jason’s shirts you curl up in his bed with Salem next to you. The phone rests on the other pillow, the call is on speaker and you softly talk with Jason until you fall asleep.
The days keep blurring together, and the amount of work doubles. The second issue of the story has been out for three days already, and it’s making even more numbers than the first. You had been churning story after story; your brain felt as if it were running on fumes. Vicki had called in sick today, so you decided to get some lunch from your and Jason’s favorite burrito place. Clocking in fifteen minutes early, you sat down again and finished writing one piece before moving on to the next. Realizing you hadn’t checked your phone all day, you replied to Jason’s texts on the way to the manor.
Walking through the foyer you shrugged off your coat and went upstairs. Pushing open the door you frowned when you didn’t see Salem but you figured he was somewhere around the house and took a much needed shower.
Downstairs you heard chatter coming from the kitchen, walking in you spotted almost everyone. “Hey guys!” you exclaimed, Steph and Cass instantly wrapped you in a hug, Duke gave you a playful nudge and you smiled. Alfred came from the dining room with a knowing smile and disappeared quietly. Huh, that’s odd, you thought. Dick burst through the doors, “Ah if it isn’t Gotham’s most talked about journalist,” he says, wrapping you into a brotherly hug. Confusion was evident in your face, “Hey Dick, good to see you. Is Jay home?” you ask. “No, he’s gonna hang back for one more day, he wants to wrap things up,” he says. “Oh okay,” you say, your tone a little defeated.
Behind you Steph gives him a thumbs up, “How was work?” Cass asks. Loudly you sigh, “I have no brain cells left,” you say. “That's bad?” Duke asks. “Yeah, Mario ran me ragged, I lost count of how many drafts and final versions I sent,” you say.
Alfred announces that dinner is served, so you all pile into the smaller dining room. You're somewhat behind, engrossed in a conversation with Cass, Steph, and Duke. Bruce’s voice makes you look forward. You warmly smile at him and Tim, but your heart drops due to the lack of Jason’s presence. You all sit down, and you take the chair next to Jason’s empty one. Chatter floats around the room, Dick passed you the wine bottle, and you take it.
The red liquid falls into your glass, and a familiar voice graces your ears. “You might want to ease into it, sweetheart.” Instantly, you set the bottle down and look towards the doorway. “Jay!” you exclaim and run over to him. Jason laughs, and you tackle him into a hug. Instantly, he lifts you off the ground, and you press your lips to his. Jason kisses you back lovingly. “Hi,” he whispers. You peck his nose. Gently, he sets you down, and you walk towards the table.
Jason’s hand never leaves your thigh as he traces soft circles on your skin. After dinner you waste no time in going upstairs. Immediately, you rest your head against his chest. “I thought you had stayed back,” you softly say. Jason laughs, “I just wanted to surprise my girl,” he replies. “Well consider me surprised,” you say. His fingers run up and down your arm. “Heard work has been tough, you okay?” he asks. “Just busy and a little burnt out,” you say. “Good thing you’re almost done with those issues,” he says and you hum. “Now, no more work talk, I just wanna cuddle,” you say.
Jason laughs and places a soft kiss on your lips. Your legs tangle as your lips meet his. Jason pulls you closer to him and you sigh into the kiss. His large hands slip under your shirt and trails across the expanse of your spine. The minutes blur by as you lay tangled with each other, lips meet and teeth clash repeatedly. Hands explore skin and silence wraps around you both like a comfortable blanket.
Panting slightly you pull apart and your fingers brush the white strands from Jason’s forehead. Both of you star at each other and soft smiles spread across your lips. Jason reaches out to caress your cheek and you close your eyes leaning into his warm touch. “I love you,” he murmurs and you place a kiss on the bridge of his nose. “And I love you,” you reply.
Salem jumps on the bed and nudges himself in between you both. Playfully, Jason groans. “Way to ruin the moment bud,” he says and Salem meows, making you both laugh.
For the next few hours, the stress from work continues to blur away as if Jason’s soft caresses willed them away. A movie plays softly, and your eyes flicker from the screen to Jason. A relieved sigh leaves you, and he pulls you closer to him. Having Jason next to you is precisely the burnout cure you desperately needed.
Forever grateful that Suzanne Collins wrote TBOSAS in third person because 99% percent of Coriolanus' inner monologue is some variation of "Kicking puppies seems to be disliked by the districts, which is weird because it's second nature to everyone here in the Capitol. I am not like other Capitol boys, but I also refuse to expand my perspective, which limits my empathy, enclosing me into a vicious cycle of ignorance which will turn violent once mixed in with my ambitious nature. I love (dehumanizing and objectifying) my girlfriend. "
so many times he'd be like 'Dr. Gaul is the worst person to walk this earth this is so cruel' and id think maybe, just maybe we're getting somwhere but hen his ahh goes and says some 'but shes got a point' and i want to strangle himmm
Gotham in the spring was, oddly, much too bright. Outside of those stretches of greying rain and thunderous downpour, there were pockets of blinding light that ushered massive crowds into the day-lit streets of the city. There were more people laughing and talking and singing loudly in the presence of their companions, there were more cars honking as they sped through the streets, there were more bodies passing by one another as they maneuvered through the now crowded streets—more sound, more movement, more life.
And Jason, of course, hated it.
There was something about the spring that felt vile and rotten to him, despite the bursts of life that existed so prominently in the air as May approached. Where everyone basked in the warming sun of the season, in the joyous symphony of time spent in the company of others, in the rhythms of life beating incessantly in every corner of even a city as morbid and cruel as Gotham, Jason found himself yet again at the sidelines, some enemy unable to experience the winds of life getting lost in his hair.
He didn’t like to see the world alive like this; he didn’t know how, or if, he could belong to a spring that called for life instead of what was gravely his. It was almost as if his body knew that spring wasn’t for him, that his being alive in May was some faulted error that allowed him to slip through the cracks or some cruel form of punishment for whatever sins he carried at the forward curve of his shoulders. His body must have remembered the weight of springtime dirt, naming that his home rather than the life and breath that shaped the season above him, that populated the city before him. After all, the world came to life while he lay dead just days before the call of May; it only made sense that he would feel uneasy at the life spring awakened when his body was already accustomed to a silenced slumber. This had to be the case, for why else would he feel so strange, so out-of-place—or rather, out-of-time—on the warmed streets of Gotham? Maybe his body truly did remember that, just a few years back, all there was to presence was dirt.
In an attempt to distract himself before his mind spiraled too far into some shitty station that would only dampen the otherwise bright and warm day, he thought about you and why he was even outside when he would much rather be holed away in his apartment. It was you who wanted, begged, and pleaded with him into coming to this café all so that you could try some new desserts in his company. He didn’t care for whatever new flavor of confectionary sweets were being invented just steps away from where he sat on the street-lined patio, but when you had asked him to join you just a few nights ago, Gotham’s streetlamps the stars glimmering in your eyes, he found it impossible to say no, even if he feigned a string of no’s just to hear you plead for his time.
Despite how he slouched and slumped into the chair under the helpful shade of the café’s umbrella arch or how his sunglasses threatened to slip from the bridge of his nose as he watched the world exist loudly around him, it was undeniable that you had an impact on him. Your presence in his life felt so antithetical to what he imagined for himself, like a persistent coffee ring burning itself a home on his coffee table—you didn’t do anything other than be there and yet somehow, he couldn’t keep his attention away from you for long. With his insistence on working alone damned, over the long months you have come to lighten his darkened nights with your laughter and prodding into his affairs. After so long, it was expected for you to emerge from the shadowed alleys into his plans or for him to find you leaning casually against his bike while criticizing—playfully or otherwise, tone for some reason escaped him when it came to you—his methods and overly thought-through decisions. You, like a thorn he can’t help but press his thumb across, always managed to push his every button with just a few words, playing at the gaps between each syllable that fell away with his masked late-night drawl—and he let it happen each and every night.
As much as he hated to admit it—and would deny if ever questioned—he did enjoy your persistent presence in his routine of things. You had become his list of nevers reimagined: he never would have brought himself to this café if it weren’t for you; he never would have spent several nights after patrol watching movies you briefly mentioned in conversation, foregoing sleep just to do so, if it weren’t for you; he never would have allowed his heart to be swallowed in the overwhelm of softened brushstrokes that painted his scars blush if it weren’t for you,
He never would’ve chosen to sit outside the café either, only doing so as you much preferred the people-watching aspect that comes with outdoor seating, especially on temperate days like this where almost all of Gotham had managed to find their way outside. With you, it seemed as if his life became a series of inconveniences that no longer felt inconvenient. If anything, it felt more inconvenient for him to not have the image of you cloud his mind, to not consider you in his logic of thinking. Even now, he would suffer the brightness of a world ripe with spring’s life only for you.
Yet he didn’t know why he was so nervous now, his leg bouncing and his hands finding purchase tapping the somewhat wobbly outdoor table as he waited for you to arrive at the café. Whether it was the anxiety of anticipation melded against the brightened loudness of a season so wholly unfamiliar to him, Jason sat there forcing busy hands and busy minds to distract. You weren’t even here and still you stung him into a fidgeting mess so unlike himself. Maybe you were the tiding of spring that awakened something unfamiliar and warm within him, something he didn’t know was his to be consumed by.
People continued to pass by, laughing and smiling and barking their words into Gotham’s warming sky. He was lucky his sunglasses concealed his eye movements, as he tracked the crowded street corners searching for you amongst the life before him. Neighbors being walked along sharp corners by their dogs, hurried suits brushing past leisurely strolls, bike bells chiming through the bustling life—it was the kind of mess of life that you somehow loved dearly while he, cornered to the margins, envied. Despite his distaste at the world before him, he couldn’t help his gaze fixed on watching this lively cast stage itself. What started as an intentional scouting to find you hidden amongst the swaying and dancing crowd turned into this study of movement and color and light in the school of your teaching. He wanted to understand the world through your eyes, see the life before him for what it was instead of the strings of curses he felt were destined for his flesh and tongue—to see the world as you do and not the fragmented ache he can’t help but see in every corner, interaction, and breath drawn.
Suddenly, the world turned red—a violence of reddish florals and the sweetened powder of velveted earth crushing his senses, ripping him away from his study of the world crowding Gotham’s spring, his unfamiliar season. The gentle tapping of the crisp brown paper on his head, a delicate bouquet of roses crowning him in a wave of greetings held in your precious hand, alerted him back to his reality.
“Hey,” you smiled, your presence finally in his line of sight as you peered up from behind him before sliding into the empty seat next to him. You rested the bouquet of roses on the table, the collection of ribbon-tied roses rich in their vibrancy pointed right at Jason.
“What’s this?” he questioned, masking his joy at seeing you with the peeved air he was already carrying at the world’s parade of life surrounding him.
“Roses.”
“For?”
“For you,” you grinned as you nudged the bouquet closer to him on the table.
“No thanks,” he said indifferently. Despite the nonchalance he was projecting, a sudden biting worry clamored at his chest: should he have brought something for you? The thought of bringing you a gift completely evaded him, too preoccupied in having to leave his cooled apartment for the warmth of these brightened streets and seasonally flavored sweets he didn’t care for.
You scoffed in response, breaking Jason’s anxiety with your sharp tongue, “The fuck do you mean ‘no thanks?’”
“I don’t do roses.”
“You don’t do roses?” you echoed.
You looked as if you were trying to hold back from laughing at his statement, but Jason pressed forward: “Yup. Or flowers in general.”
You chuckled, a mischievous, teasing smile slowly etching your features, “Too much of a tough guy for flowers?”
He crossed his arms and huffed, almost pouting really. You had gotten him flowers: how else was he to act? It’s not every day that affection is thrown so openly in his direction, especially in the shape of something as soft as flowers, given unabashedly by your hands.
“Get over yourself and take the fucking flowers,” you said, chuckling as you, once again, scooted the bouquet closer to him and leaned back in your chair, mimicking his stance with your arms now crossed too.
Jason scoffed playfully, “Attitude.”
“Rich coming from you.”
“Couldn’t you have at least gotten a better flower?”
“I thought you didn’t want them,” you taunted, a soft goading carrying over your words.
“I don’t, but roses? They’re basic, I can’t help but feel insulted.”
“You’re insulted that I got you flowers?” you chuckled. Jason knew what you were doing: the quiet laugh as your words fell from your lips and were carried by the soft breeze, the inquisitive tone in your voice that pried for more from him, the slightest lean forward—you were revving up for the snap of your Venus flytrap, ready to catch him tangled in his own web of words.
“No, I’m insulted that you got me roses,” he countered. “Do I look like a rose kind of guy?”
“So, you like that I got you flowers.”
The jaws of your quick wit were coming down, almost choreographed in how easily you were able to maneuver him to the metaphorical corner he found himself backing into. He quickly retorted, “I didn’t say that.”
“Well, if you don’t like roses, what flowers do you like?”
“I don’t like flowers.”
“You seem to have a lot of opinions on flowers for someone who doesn’t like them.”
“I’m just saying that if you’re going to get flowers for someone, maybe consider getting ones that match their personality, or vibe, or whatever.”
“You don’t think you’re a rose?”
“I’m not a basic bitch if that’s what you’re implying,” he mused. If you were going to walk away from this conversation a victor, he at least will go down with the dramatics.
But, even in his attempt to remain stoic and serious at your sly game of words, he found himself cracking a brief smile. You always managed to grab a smile out of him, as if your words and incessant pandering chiseled him down to some abstract, unnamed feeling he couldn’t even conceive of let alone tame with a definition. Even after almost a year of working together late into the night, running case after case and cleaning up those forgotten corners of Gotham’s grief, you so easily bring forth a side of him that he thought wasn’t there anymore. Your presence, your smile—it left him to be devoured by metaphors.
You kept your eyes trained on him, watching him with an edge of softness that still left him vulnerable and seen, unsure of what to do with himself. He unfurled his crossed arms and reached for the protruding rose, its red extending further beyond the others like a hand grasping for his. He let his fingers gently catch one of its petals, feeling the velvet of its touch under his fingertips. Did you really think of him as a rose, as something this delicate and soft?
He didn’t really know how to think about this emerging question—either you thought of him as this soft plushness that laid between his index finger and thumb or you didn’t know him at all—at least not as well as he thought. He felt sick in this spring light. Was it possible that, after countless nights spent in each other’s company and comfort, you came away with a version of him that didn’t exist? Had you come into each night seeing him as something that wasn’t there, as so many others have and continue to do? Do you look at him and see a ghost there, too?
In reality, it was more likely that you didn’t think too deep into your floral arrangement, probably having passed a shop on the way to this café and saw the first bouquet of flowers within your reach. Yet, he couldn’t help the gnawing wonder of gifting him a flower so emblematic of his losses. You knew nothing of his endings, of course, but did you somehow look upon him and see these gaps of life laid out in his turned posture and stance? In looking at these passing roses, you had somehow noticed his out-of-placeness on the streets of Gotham like some specter or spectacle unable to fit in amongst the swelling of life that evaded him?
He knew you were watching him overthink and run his mind wild with these thorned thoughts, your eyes casually glossing over his hands still playing with the petal as you eyed through the café’s menu. You were casual and cool, and he a wreck right before you; you truly didn’t know the extent of what you do to him.
You gently closed the padded menu before running your fingers over the brown paper covering the bouquet, your soft voice beaming through the crowded streets, over the gentle crinkling of rose-kissed paper, like a quieted melody only for him: “I got you roses because you’re a complicated person, Jason. I never know what you’re really thinking, but I like to think I have some idea of what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. I felt like roses would be a classic option, nothing too much or too little, but still dramatic like you.
“And these were so beautiful and lively; roses, in general, bring a lot of joy to people, and I figured,” you paused, letting the air softly ease from your lungs and the words hesitate on the tip of your tip. You rubbed the waxy brown paper between your fingers, just as Jason continued to do so with the rose’s delicate petals, as if the material would offer some strength or softness needed to wield your next words: “I figured you deserved some joy too.”
Jason felt your gaze pointed at him as your words stretched out like a comforting hand, but he kept his eyes locked on the roses between his fingers; ironic, he thought, how he, the Red Hood, didn’t feel strong enough to look into your eyes at this vulnerable moment. He felt heat blooming up his neck at your words and at the very thought of you thinking about him, especially this deeply and kindly. For some reason, he didn’t think you would even think of him outside of your shared evening contexts, let alone think of him in such a way that a newfound life erupted in his core.
“And, well,” you continued, your voice like the velvet between his skin as a smile kindly graced your features. “Because I like you.”
His eyes widened, his hands leaving the velvet plush of the rose’s petals as he finally met your gaze, “You like me?”
You playfully rolled your eyes at Jason’s expression, his eyes gleaming with such sincerity as his question fell from his lips, as you laughed, “I thought we went over this.”
And you both had— several times, in fact. He remembered the night you told him your feelings, blood-stained hands and reddened bandages tossed to the side as you patched one another up after a grossly miscalculated series of events that quickly escaped your once easy night of patrol. You were so careful to explain your whys and hows and wants, your logics and reasonings as if presenting some detailed fact-finding theory on the complexities of something so personal as feelings. But, it was your eyes—glimmering and shining and starlike as you gazed at his bruised and scarred face gently—that spoke loud enough for him to believe it and think it all to be true.
A flicker of a shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips: “Still always a shock to hear you say it.”
You leaned closer, resting your chin in your hand, elbow planted onto the table, as you looked upon him with a smile bright on your face: “Guess I should say it more often. And get you more roses.”
“No roses.”
“Tell me another flower, then.”
He thought about it, his fingers returning to play with the petal’s softness. A blushing heat creeped from his neck onto his ears and, surely, his cheeks: “Roses are fine.”
—
note: didn’t proofread this at all but uhhhh happy belated jason’s death day
Red Hood girlies are the people who don’t believe in the death penalty because they know our justice system is flawed but still believe that some people just gotta die
a/n: sorry for not posting yesterday but I was so exhausted. Anyways, I thought I’d write up some Jason quirks/headcanons because I love him and these are always fun to do :)
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- Obviously he's a big guy already so it isn't hard. Whenever he's sat down somewhere he's comfortable in, he's completely spread out. Legs, arms, absolutely everything is open and the others just look at him like really? You need to take up two different couch cushions? The answer's yes. This goes for when he's out in public too. He could simply be waiting in line but even with his shrimp like posture, he's still taller and bigger than pretty much everyone around him. Unconsciously people even give him room, never getting too close, not because they're fully scared or anything but his presence itself just takes up room.
- He does not have a poker face. From what I've seen Jason is a pretty witty and blunt guy so I do not think he hides what he's thinking. Unless of course it's for a mission and whatnot and he's undercover. When there are no stakes on the line, his face is showing exactly what he's thinking. In an au where Jason actually attends celebrity events and stuff with Bruce and the family, Jason's face will be filled with either annoyance, exhaustion, or utter carelessness. He would not care about keeping up a persona and will easily roll his eyes at a stupid question, not even hesitating to point out on his face how stupid he thinks it was.
- There is no way he doesn't have a bunch of those pocket books. The smaller books that usually guys put in their back pockets to seem interesting. I can see him wanting people to know that he reads but he also isn't fully performative. He loves reading and can talk in depth about a book he likes but he also wants people to know he's cool like that and honestly I get that.
- Definitely has a staple jacket. Not even just his Redhood one, I'm very confident that he'd have one just as a civilian as well. No matter the weather, he has that same jacket that's probably years old. He stitches any rips and holes in it and will be wearing it until he dies. (Hopefully not in the same way as the first time)
- Animal attractor. You know that one person that just so easily gets along with animals no matter what? That's Jason. Even after a hard patrol where all he wants to do is shove some food in his face and pass out, all of a sudden he's got this random cat or dog following behind him. If they don't have a clear sign of ownership he'll sigh and bring them along with him. The animal will nudge against him again and again, asking for attention and food. They'll get both because Jason can't help himself. And after a bit he'll usually drop them off at the manor for Damian because the amount of animals he's been accumulating is starting to get to Bruce.
- I feel like he'd always have a nickname for the people in his life. Even people he's taking down, he just takes their most noticeable feature and starts calling them by that because it's not like he can be bothered to learn all of their names, and why should he? This also falls under his witty characteristic side. A lot of them may not even be consistent either. For Bruce especially. "Man Bat" because he knows that annoys him the most. "Sequins" when referencing his more showy, public Bruce Wayne side. "Oil slick." When he thinks Bruce put to much gel in his hair. The list goes on. Bruce is not a fan of this habit of his.
- Loves watching random old movies. Usually when he's stuck on a break because he got injured, he's laying on the couch, letting whatever ones show up on the channel play. He doesn't care if they're in black or white, actually he quite likes them like that. The humour can be weirdly funny at times and will have him chuckling here and there. He also gets to brag about his expansive taste. (Once again bringing in that not fully performative but still wanting people to know he's cool way)
- Nail picker or biter. I don't think he does this consciously, like most people who bite or pick their nails. But it just happens when he's thinking or reading. He seems like a really hands on kind of guy so when his hands aren't doing anything they will start to move, fidget, pick, whatever it is. Probably wouldn't even notice until Alfred or someone points it out. "Master Jason, I do not believe tearing at your nails and skin around them is going to help whatever you are feeling." Jason's hands will immediately pull away and he'll pretend like nothing happened.
- Weirdly good cook that never actually cooks well for himself. With the life he has, he's never really putting his health first. He's just living and that's all that matters to him. When he was younger though and moved into the manor for the first time, it felt like the possibilities were endless. Trying Alfred's food for the first time was practically heaven for him, and so his interest in cooking became apparent quickly. He'd learn along side Alfred and sometimes just watch. Picking up small things along the way. But now, he'll eat whatever's fast. Burgers from fast food restaurants, ramen noodles that you just have to poor hot water into. It's rare that he actually cooks up a big meal for himself but the motivation appears every once and a while.
- Either a really ugly cryer or a gobsmacking gorgeous cryer and there is no in between. I mean this in the nicest way possible because on one hand I think he holds up so much emotions and doesn't cry often. So when he finally does cry it's because he's so full of emotion and can longer control how it comes out. He'd be gasping for breath as he sobs, sniffling as he tries to stop his nose from running all over him. Really just a complete mess. And on the other hand I can also see him looking so beautiful or adorable while he cries. I think it's his eyes. I see them as green because I just think that's what suits him but I'm pretty sure they're blue in canon. Either way they the colour becomes so much brighter and his lashes all wet and tearful. He'd look like a sad puppy.
Jason wants to know why his girlfriend doesn’t sing around him + dancing together in the kitchen. reader who can’t sing well/has a bad singing voice basically. #projecting time cause i’ve literally programmed myself to not sing around people🫶 this is SO self indulgent so jay gets a little ooc towards the end like SERIOUSLY 😭
Singing draws Jason to the kitchen, fresh out of the shower, hair still damp as he runs a towel through it, a thin dark grey shirt stretched across his upper body and sweatpants around his lower, his skin moist as steam from the bathroom following him as he softly exists the bedroom, padding softly without a sound.
Music plays through a cheap speaker, one that you had an unreasonable attachment to, insisting that music just sounded better from it. The music blasted through the kitchen, not too loud to disturb the neighbours but just loud enough to be satisfying to sing along, and sing along you did.
Your voice was free, in a way Jason had never heard before, loud and unrestrained as you sang along to one of your favourite songs. You were off-key, considerably so, and your voice broke every so often, you’d loose your breath mid-lyric, taking a breath before continuing on. All as you didn’t register Jason leaning against the doorframe.
It was one of the small things that tugged at Jason’s brain during his quiet moments, when he was left alone with his thoughts and you weren’t there to reassure him. You loved music, not only did you voice it but there was always music playing in the apartment, either in your headphones or through the speaker.
Whenever Jason was around, you’d mumble the words along, not singing, just your lips silently moving with the pleasant sounds but never singing. Anytime it was just you, he’d hear your voice through the walls but you’d stop the moment you heard his footsteps. You’d smile when you see him, brightly and with love, and go back to just mumbling along.
Even now, the only reason you were still singing was because you were distracted with throwing spices into the pan in front of you, whatever dinner you were cooking up. Jason’s arms were crossed across his chest, such a loving smiles stretched across his lips. Goodness, even if you were the worst singer on the planet, Jason would listen to you screech for hours and days, because all he wanted to do, was to see you free and happy.
You continue singing without care, bringing up the spatula to act as a microphone as you swayed your head to the music and sang your heart out. Then, you caught the slightest movement across the corner of your eyes that causes your entire body to jump backwards. “Fuck!”
“Just me, baby.” Jason holds his hands up defensively, that lovesick smile still pressed on his lips. “Oh my gosh!” You exclaimed, your hand clutching your chest at the fright he gave you. You knew your boyfriend was a vigilante but you never got quite used to how silent his presence was.
Jason holds his hands up still defensively as he pushed off the door and moved through the space, turning to corner to stand behind you. You don’t glare up at him, but glance up nervously like he would say something.“Sorry, princess. ‘M sorry.” Jason apologises again into your ear and his hands surrounded your waist, hugging you from the back as you continued cooking.
You turned your head, pressing a kiss to his cheek, you could feel the dampness on his skin. You lean back just a moment and look at him with a crease between your eyebrows but Jason just…smiles at you. You press another kiss, on the same spot then turned back to the pan.
You continue to hum along to the song as you sway and Jason sways with you. He presses a kiss to your head, warm arms around you and a comfortable atmosphere settled in the kitchen. The song switches as it ends, another song you adored by the same artist, a song that even Jason knew the words to because of how much you played it.
“Why do you stop singing the moment I show up?”
Jason’s soft question startled you slightly, your hand pausing just a moment before you continue stirring. It was your turn, you and him took turns cooking alternate days and it was your turn. He presses another kiss to your earlobe. “Hm?” You prompt him to explain.
“You sing so much, you love singing. But you stop whenever you hear me around. Why?” Jason asks, voice soft to not overpower the music, both of your bodies still swaying. You stay quiet for a few moments, collecting your thoughts and honestly trying not to cry. “‘Cause I sound bad.” Is what you settle on finally.
“No, you don’t.” Jason counters immediately, causing you to snort a laugh as the blatant lie, the sounds in turn causing Jason to frown. “Do not lie to me.” You retort. You loved to sing, but you knew since you were younger that you didn’t sounds quite nice when you did. So you stopped in an audience.
“Okay. You don’t sound bad to me.” Jason whispers again, his voice slightly gravely in your ear. The tips of your lips quirk up as you shake your head. “Nothing about me is bad to you.” You weren’t wrong. You’d never felt so loved, the unconditional nature of Jason’s love unnerved you sometimes.
“Mhm. Exactly.” Jason agreed. The song in the background dips into a calmer tone, a jazzier turn and Jason takes that as a sign to pull the spatula away from your hand, despite your playful chuckle of his name, and he turns you with his gentle calloused hands on your waist, pulling you away from the stove and into a dance.
You giggle, you’ve done this exact dance with him about a hundred times maybe as he spins you and pulls you back into close embrace. Jason leans down, pressing his lips to yours as you smile into the kiss. “You could sound like a velociraptor and I’d still think it’s the most beautiful song in the world.” He murmurs right against your lips without pulling away.
“Fuckin’ loverboy.” You murmur back as you both continue swaying and moving around the kitchen in dance, stealing kisses between musical beats. “Yeah…Your loverboy.” Jason drawls
ᯓ★'s P.S. almost cried as i wrote this and oh my gosh it got SO self indulgent at the end omg forgive me.
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