Marx

“Stop— Jay, quit it,” you scowled, backing away.

“I won’t. Not unless you’re serious,” he snarled back, voice warped under that helmet.

His hands found your wrists, pulling them up above your head and taking them both in one hand, holding you against him.

“And I know you’re not…” he murmured, a softer lilt to his voice as he tilted his head. Like he was taunting you for even pretending.

He was so mean.

“Tell me angel. If you're serious, you know the words you have to say,” he continued, his free hand finding your waist.

His hand slid around to your spine, easily using his own weight against you and his grip on your wrists to lift you onto the raised ledge of the building. Not to threaten you. Not in that way.

No, if he was going to hurt you, it was going to be with his own hands. He had no intention of shoving you off a building.

“So quiet now…”

He finally thumbed at the notch along his jaw, the helm of his Arkham Knight get-up whirring out of place to reveal his face.

He wasted no time, biting at your bottom lip.

Hard.

“You gave me so much lip a minute ago… where’s that attitude, baby…” he mocked softly.

His expression was never sharp when he did this to you.

He didn’t hate you, he wasn’t mad at you. Far from it. This was the only thing keeping him from completely losing his mind.

“You’re the worst,” you breathed, but god, his visage was so soft you just wanted to bite him—

“You’re thinkin’ too loud,” he hummed, cupping your face as he finally kissed you.

His hand guided you back until you were draped over the lip of the roofing.

Finally, he let you go, his hands busy roaming your frame, digging into your soft parts.

Your hands found their way into his hair, gently dislodging his helm from the crown of his head to set it aside.

He didn’t seem to mind.

His breathing was soft, warm across your face when he pulled away. Not for long, as his teeth found your cheeks, chin, jaw, all the way down your neck.

He wasn’t super talkative like this.

Not until later, anyway.

He was too busy listening for any noises you were making.

“How’s that, pretty… gonna start listening t’me now?” He hummed, sucking a bruise to your neck as he worked your clothes off.

“No— Jay! Anyone could—”

“What. See your boyfriend doing his job?” He interrupted.

“Who cares…” he whispered, finally tracing his fingers along you.

He almost growled at the odd, stuttered sound that escaped you.

The cold metal and rough fabric of his gloves against you made you jolt.

“Can’t take it?” He mocked, his free hand grabbing your hip to keep you still.

“Don’t tell me you can’t. I won’t believe you.”

There was only so far he’d go with that, at least. Ignoring your limits, that is.

He did care, obviously.

He didn’t mind any squirming you ended up doing, he wasn’t going to mock or punish you for it. He was steady enough that it didn’t matter; he didn’t have any concerns that your constant moving would cause him to hurt you.

Eventually, he unwrapped the panel that covered where the wrist of his suit and the glove overlapped. He pulled the fabric away from his fingers, licking them before slowly working them into you.

“Fuck— Jay—!”

“I know. Don’t move, I won’t move ‘em yet.”

Breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth wasn’t very helpful, given how heavy your breathing was.

“My my… I neglected you, huh? You’re taking this harder than usual,” he pondered, almost to himself.

“Fuck you— don’t ignore me when you’re finger fucking me!”

He actually laughed. Not loudly. Not exactly obvious. It was a slight huff and a barely there smile.

“Sorry, angel.”

Eventually, he buried his middle and ring fingers all the way in, looking up at your face.

He wasn’t going to ask if you were okay, but he was watching for any sign that you weren’t.

He even waited an extra few seconds to make sure you were fine.

How sweet of him.

And then he was spreading his fingers slightly, pulling them almost all the way out before gently sliding them back in.

A groan left you, one that seemed to come from your guts and not your lungs.

He just hummed, barely picking up the pace.

“Jesus Christ don’t do this—” you rushed out, shifting in an attempt to get him deeper.

“What?” He asked, tilting his head and giving you that look that almost gave him a puppy-ish expression.

“Mmnghhh— you’re a nightmare,” you groused, voice pitching up when he curled his fingers the slightest bit.

“Well, an adult would use their words to tell me what they want,” he condescended, murmuring against your cheek.

“I’m not begging you, you freak,” you breathed.

He gave the tiniest snort, leaning back just enough to give you an amused look.

“Open your mouth.”

You knew he was going to prove a point with that demand, but you did as he asked anyway.

He leaned over you, opening his mouth to let a glob of spit drip from his tongue to yours, watching you almost immediately swallow.

“Uh-huh. What was that you were saying?”

He crooked his fingers just right, pumping them in a bit faster.

“Fuck fuck— Jay!”

“Oh. I lost you, huh?”

He didn’t stop though, mellowing out in that way he did when he was particularly focused.

Your brain filled with fuzz as you watched his face, gasping and moaning when he found just the right spot to nudge.

Oh, his jaw, and his cheeks looked so soft, especially when his eyes were relaxed like that.

A frustrated groan escaped you because damn, he was cute. And the noise was surprisingly successful in startling him, his eyes darting up to your face.

“You okay—?”

“Don’t stop— mrghh, you’re just so handsome,” you panted, brows pinching as your head tilted back.

He blinked, processing what you’d said, still thrusting his fingers in at that faster pace before his expression notched up. A cute pinch between his brows as he tilted his head.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your face? Oh god wait—”

He didn’t.

Instead, he pulled his fingers out and shifted to lift your hips, shoving his face between your thighs.

A squeal escaped you before you could cut it off, hiccuping as he worked his tongue over you instead.

“Mmh, you wanna cum on this ‘handsome’ face then, you degenerate?” He grumbled.

That was when you realized, he was embarrassed.

You hadn’t said anything particularly out of the ordinary. Not enough for him to label you ‘a degenerate.’

He was just deflecting how flustered he was by trying to overwhelm you.

It almost made you laugh, if you weren’t so busy wailing his alias or a pet name. ‘Knight’ or ‘baby,’ subconsciously trying to keep from giving him away.

So much for being quiet in public…

“Mnggg—! So pretty— you’re so handsome, doing so good,” you sighed, a loud, wanton sound as you did your best not to kick your feet.

He ignored you, doubling down and adding his fingers back into the mix to force you to your peak. You couldn’t help twisting when he got you there and he easily grabbed your hip to still you.

You were still trembling, he was still pumping his fingers into you as he sat up closer for a kiss.

He looked somewhat relaxed for once, despite the red tinge persisting on the tips of his ears.

“You want more, or are you done?” He asked, voice soft.

“Don’t do that— I want you to feel good, too.”

He hummed, kissing your cheek.

“Pleasuring you does make me feel good. But, I know what you mean.”

He gently slid his fingers out of you, clearly intent on replacing them.

He pulled open his belt, leaving it in his belt loops, unzipping the camo pants he wore just enough to pull his cock from them.

“Deep breath,” he sighed, slowly canting forward just to press the tip into you.

“C’mon, breathe deep for me, angel.”

You did, and he waited until you’d filled your lungs entirely before pushing all the way in.

It made you release it all in a choked wail.

“That’s it, keep breathing… in and out, I’m not movin’ yet, gorgeous…” he grunted, that furrow between his brows returning as he panted quietly.

“I hate you,” you wailed softly, panting heavily.

“Awww, no you don’t, baby,” he mocked, giving a short, harsh thrust.

“See? Listen to you… so loud for someone you apparently ‘hate,’” he cooed.

He curled over you a bit, grabbing the backs of your thighs and pressing your knees to your shoulders.

“Mmm. Feel so nice…” he mumbled, finally getting to that point where he wasn’t speaking full sentences.

He was slow and controlled despite himself, humming with each heavy breath out as he pressed in slow and dragged back out.

You croaked when he pressed all the way back in, swallowing hard as your hips twitched.

He panted softly, leaning down to press his cheek against yours.

“Shhh… what’s wrong, baby, what’s wrong…” he whispered, cupping the back of your neck as his other hand held your hips up.

“So… ‘s so good,” you managed to breathe.

“Okay, okay,” he hushed, seating himself all the way inside before sitting still.

“Still feels nice? Yeah? Takin’ it really well, angel, you are, I promise.”

He waited. Waited until your expression pinched with frustration at his lack of movement before finally fucking you.

A little too rough, a lot faster than before as he pounded into you.

He held you tightly against him, curled over you, folding you in half as he rutted into you.

“I did neglect you— know I did, fuck! You know I don’t mean it, angel. Always wanna be with you, mnngg, just so busy,” he grunted, mumbling.

He hugged you tighter to him when he felt you squirm, tightening up.

“Mhm? So close, aren’t you? Filthy thing, wantin’ to cum on your boyfriend’s cock?”

“Jason, I swear to fucking god,” you gasped.

He huffed, pressing your knees up to your ears as he railed you slow, really dragging into you. Occasionally, he’d use his hips to rock yours, forcing himself as deep as possible.

“Don’t— don’t don’t don— mgghhg,” you groaned, like he’d forced it out of your lungs.

“Shhh, you’re fine. I know… I know. Almost done, you’re almost there,” he promised, reaching down to trace his fingers along the curve where your thighs met your pelvis, right next to where you wanted him.

Finally, finally, he hooked his pointer finger so he could rub the curve of his knuckle along your sweet spot.

He sighed, almost a happy sound while you wailed, reaching your release. He followed right after you, slowing down to work you through the aftershock before finally withdrawing.

He didn’t wait long to wipe you as clean as he was able to before dressing you back up.

“Let me give you head.”

“No,” he huffed, actually smiling a bit as he tucked himself back into his pants.

“We’ll do this proper when I get home. How’s that sound?”

A/n- Haven’t stopped thinking about that cutscene from Batman: Arkham Knight where he goes ‘Expected more? I’m hurt.’

POUT. THE POUTING?!

I HAD to write him Jesus Christ he’s so fucking cute and hot— anyway!

A sharp pain up your side only made you scrabble for the thing that had caused it; a dilapidated pipe from the fire escape. That would need a tetanus shot…

“I’m trying to get your little boyfriend to show up, you know.”

Glancing up at the ledge above you, the individual wasn’t a criminal you recognized. Not one of the ones that had made a name for themselves in Gotham already, anyway.

“Who are you?”

“None of your concern,” they decided.

The voice seemed distinctly female, but their attire didn’t make it any easier to guess.

Muddled colors, padding to hide their features and therefore identity, a mask over their face, the works.

“It always seems like Red Hood is following you around. I intend to catch him.”

The muscles in your arms started to burn as you gripped the dislodged rail, no fire escape intact beneath it to let yourself fall to.

Those words made your throat tighten and your heart pound.

Not that your boyfriend wasn’t capable. God, he was too good at his job sometimes.

But… his emotions could be manipulated when you were involved, if your well being was properly threatened.

Even if he was conscious of that fact, though, he wasn’t always cognizant about it.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you huffed, gritting your teeth and shifting your weight in hopes of hanging on longer. The creases of your shoulders were finally starting to ache.

“Don’t play dumb,” they hissed, “you know his identity, I know you do. Save yourself the trouble and tell me.”

“Why?”

“Foolish thing like you doesn’t deserve an explanation of my plans. I just need you to cooperate before an accident happens,” they enunciated, tilting their head.

To further confirm how sour of a presence they were, they stomped at the edge of the metal grate. The part that was attached to the pipe you were clutching. It rattled under your hands, jostling your grip. It didn’t help that your palms had become clammy, your grip giving an inch.

“What the hell is your problem?!”

“Hush now, I’ve decided I’m tired of your particular skills at annoying me,” they huffed, glaring down at you through their mask.

They eventually crossed their arms, like they’d decided on something pivotal; a turning point of their schemes.

“I could kick you down right now. I imagine he would be angry enough to present himself on my doorstep no matter what. Maybe I’ll do that instead of dealing with you.”

Before they could humor those threads of a plan too long, a blur of black and blue smashed into their side.

“Hey, lovely!”

A choked yawp of protest escaped your assailant as they were tackled into the rooftop. You didn’t really have time to figure out who had just saved you, thinking purely about getting your feet under you on a flat, steady surface.

You acted without thinking, reaching up to grab at the gutter along the edge of the rooftop. It wasn’t exactly sturdy, but it was enough to hold as you attempted to pull yourself up.

It dug into your elbow as you pulled your shoulders up over the ledge, planting one of your hands against the roof.

A hand landed on your wrist, another on your bicep as someone hauled you up.

Instead of being met with your boyfriend’s red helmet, staring back at you was the face equivalent of a golden retriever.

How had he tied that person’s hands so fast-?

“How’s it going, sunshine?” He grinned.

“Uh— fine? Better than I was a minute ago.”

“Good to hear,” Nightwing hummed.

“Why are you here?”

He kept his hand on your shoulder, his other planted against the slope of the roof.

“I’ll tell you in a minute.”

His voice had become surprisingly serious, though his body language was no less inviting than before. Similarly, he wasted no time in scooping you up and getting down the side of the building.

“Hey,” you groused.

“Swear, I’m not trying to butter you up for anything,” he snickered, setting you on your feet once the both of you reached the ground.

“Wait here. I’m going to go grab that freak… don’t go anywhere! I can’t have Little Red Riding Hood getting mad at me because I lost track of you.”

Before you could ask what he was talking about, he was already making his way back up the side of the building.

Did Jason put him up to this? Is that why he said that?

Why would he do that? Had he known this odd villain was trying to lure him in?

Probably. He was smarter than his brothers seemed to give him credit for. Not that he enjoyed talking to them much anyway.

Moisture slowly began to dampen the concrete, the slow beginnings of more dreary weather drifting in. Your shoes weren't exactly protected from the rain as wind blew precipitation towards the slight awning you were standing under. Still waiting on Dick to secure that villain…

Who could it have been?

You didn’t recognize them. It wasn’t someone as well known as, say, Catwoman.

Definitely not anyone as feared as Scarecrow or even The Joker… this individual had gone down too quickly.

What in the world had their plan been? It took one tackle; one moment of them being caught off guard. Had they seriously expected to be able to do any damage to someone more trained than a civilian?

Not given much time to think about that, you were no longer alone.

“Ready to go home?” Nightwing asked, dropping down beside you.

“Jeez—! Sure,” you sighed, startling at his sudden appearance.

“Are you walking me?”

“What else would I be doing?” He answered.

“Fair enough.”

He didn’t reach for your hand. Didn’t try to wrap an arm around you or anything like that. Just walked beside you, staying closer to the road so he was between you and the asphalt.

Things were quiet. Not uncomfortable, but not exactly soothing. You didn’t know Dick very well, despite dating his adopted brother. It’s not like small talk was something you were particularly keen on. Especially not when he was acting as Nightwing right now.

What could you say that wouldn’t give him away if someone was listening?

Not much.

“He worries about you,” Dick said out of nowhere.

“I had to talk him off the ledge…”

It was sudden, coaxing you up from the thoughts you’d been preoccupied with.

“Off what ledge,” you demanded, a pit in your stomach as you glanced at him.

“You know how he is… rough with his emotions, a little hard to communicate with. He wanted to break things off with you. To keep you away from things like what happened tonight. I assume he worries that people will find out he, as a vigilante, is sweet on you. That someone will find out and use it against him. Hurt you to get to him.”

Suddenly, the rain felt colder and your chest felt tighter.

“Did he really say that-?”

“No. I extrapolated,” he huffed, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

“All he told me was he wanted to end things to keep you out of the worst parts of his life.”

Of course. He was unbearably sweet under that agitated, sarcastic exterior.

That was why Nightwing had saved you and not Red Hood. He knew that his vigilantism was bleeding over into your civilian life. If he wasn’t extremely careful about how he interacted with you in his gear, it would put a target on your back.

So he’d sent his brother, to prevent confirming that you were his weakness. To keep from broadcasting so blatantly that you were the perfect way to get at him.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him it wouldn’t keep you safer. Word wouldn’t spread immediately that ‘The Red Hood’ had broken up with his partner. People would still go after you. And then? He would be further away. It would be harder for him to protect you.”

He shook his head, idly circling his thumb around the end of one of his escrima sticks.

“I had to point out that, the more distance he puts between the two of you? The less safe you are. The closer you are to him though, the quicker he would know when you need him,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t help sighing.

He got so near-sighted sometimes… Jason did suffer from the occasional tunneling of his vision, where all he could see was the immediate concerns and what would ‘fix’ it faster. The long term wasn’t always his strong suit, but he’d been working on it.

“Should I-”

“Don’t tell him I told you that,” Dick interrupted, glancing at you.

“I don’t want him to think I’m trying to meddle in your relationship. You know I wouldn’t do that to you. But he… well. You know.”

“I do. Know, I mean. I won’t tell him.”

“Thanks…”

He scaled up the stairs to your apartment, knocking on the door of your unit.

And just as expected, there was your boyfriend, throwing the door open and storming out to meet you halfway down the stairs.

He hoisted you up, completely ignoring his brother’s startled squawk as he pressed his lips to yours.

It didn’t last a terribly long time, but it was enough. Like he was pouring a half-hour’s worth of worry and waiting into the kiss before pulling away.

“Sorry,” he breathed, cradling one arm under your hips as his other came up to cup your face in his palm.

“You okay?”

“Yeah— I’m fine,” you breathed, a little red in the face.

“You’re not, you’re hurt,” he pointed out, glancing down at your waist.

The scratch that stretched up your side wasn’t fatal by any means, but it had definitely been caused by old metal. You had almost forgotten about it in the adrenaline of hanging from the side of a building, and learning that your boyfriend had planned to leave you over safety concerns.

“It was from an old metal pipe,” Dick filled him in, making Jason frown slightly.

“I’ll take you in to get a shot for it first thing in the morning…” he promised, squeezing you to his chest.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Dick snorted, vaulting over the railing of the apartment’s stairwell.

“Whatever…” Jason muttered, finally setting you on your feet.

“You should at least thank him… he did you a favor,” you pointed out.

He narrowed his eyes, gently shepherding you back into your shared apartment.

“I’ll thank him when I’m dead… the first time doesn’t count.”

“Jason,” you groused, watching him grin in response and kiss your brow.

“Anyway, when was the last time you had a tetanus shot?” He asked, pulling you closer.

He was still thinking about your injury.

“Honestly? Don’t remember,” you admitted.

He hummed, just thinking. Didn’t grumble or huff like he was annoyed, simply because that would’ve been unreasonable.

He knew his own vaccination records for tetanus simply because he was more often at risk. You know. Being a vigilante. Whatever.

He didn’t expect you to know yours though. It was so rare that you got into a situation like this.

“Let’s clean you up, then. And I’ll take you in the morning for a booster,” he decided.

He practically dragged you to the bathroom, lifting you up to set you on the counter.

He washed his hands really well first, even scrubbing under his nails with one of those small brushes you kept on the side of the sink.

Your wound wasn’t deep or obviously dirty which is why, you supposed, he wasn’t panicking.

He just busied himself with cleaning the area, both with some kind of antibacterial he kept around for himself, as well as going around the irritated skin with a gentle soap. He patted your waist dry with a clean cloth and finished it off by covering the scratch with a plaster.

“Feel better?”

“Didn’t feel bad in the first place, but yeah,” you smiled.

“Good,” he hummed, kissing the tip of your nose.

He pulled off your clothing that had been soaked in the rain, draping a towel around your shoulders. Briefly, he left to grab one of his shirts and a pair of your sleep shorts to dress you in.

He admired how big the shirt looked on you, squeezing your thighs after pulling your shorts up your hips.

“You’re going to hate my guts tomorrow morning. I’m getting you up the moment the clinic opens,” he grinned.

You just groaned in response, lightly punching his shoulder.

“I know, I know. You’re like a toddler,” he snickered.

The comfortable quiet that followed just reminded you of what Dick had told you. That you could’ve lost this. Because he hadn’t talked to you about his concerns.

“Hey… Jay?”

“Yes, gorgeous?”

“Would you… tell me if you were ever having doubts about our relationship?”

He blinked, briefly caught off guard by the question.

“Are you upset that I wasn’t the one to come get you…?”

His brow pinched a bit, like he didn’t understand. Which made sense, given what he assumed.

“No! Just… wanted to ask, you know?”

He thought about it for a moment, staring into your eyes probably a bit too intensely. Enough to make you tilt your head away a bit, feeling slightly awkward.

His eyes eventually left yours, trailing down to stare at his hands that had found their way to your hips.

He never felt guilty. Not for killing any of the rotten bastards he did, not for taking control of substance trading in hopes of mitigating it. None of it. Even if it was a roundabout way of trying to do something good, it was still leagues better than nothing.

Sometimes though? Seeing his own hands cupping over your skin? He was reminded.

How different you two really were. How brutal he could be. How much he never wanted that to seep into the domestic moments the two of you shared.

“I debated ending things with you.”

It felt like a punch to the gut to hear him say it out loud. And he must’ve noticed the look on your face.

“It was a little selfish. More than a little… I know. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me? That’s what couples do, you know. Communicate.”

“No sass,” he mumbled, leaning in to nip your jaw.

“I don’t know. I thought it would be— is difficult to talk about. I mean, most people aren’t dating a guy who spends his nights out in the streets, getting his ass kicked. You know I have issues. Trauma and whatnot. But you keep choosing me anyway. It’s… hard to wrap my head around that,” he sighed.

“You amaze me. All the time. Enough that all I want to do is keep you out of harm's way. And for a while, I felt like putting distance between us would do that. And again, I was too selfish to do that either. Trying to avoid talking to you for even a day feels like torture.”

“I don’t want you making that choice for me,” you said firmly.

“I’m an adult. I can make decisions about who I want to date and why. And as much as I enjoy when you dote on me, I don’t need you coddling me. I don’t need you saying, ‘that’s too dangerous,’ like I’m a toddler who’s about to touch the stove. I can’t help being annoyed that you were going to pull the plug without talking to me.”

The twinge of defensive anger he felt when you mentioned being annoyed was something he refused to express. You were annoyed; that was reasonable. He was doing his best to admit fault instead of just shutting down or leaving.

“That makes sense,” he nodded.

“I don’t mean to make you feel like I’m calling all the shots or anything, especially not about our relationship as a whole. I’m sorry.”

You could see the gears turning in his mind, his eyes a little less focused as they settled on your face. Like he was trying to put himself in your shoes. See things from your perspective.

It drove you crazy when he did that. In a perfect way.

It was part of the reason you two had become so good at communicating. Understanding where the other was coming from. Patience helped, too.

“So… if I were to ask again, would you tell me if you were having doubts about our relationship?”

“I think so. I think I would— I can.” He corrected.

“I was… I hate the idea that you’re connected to what I do at night. You shouldn’t have to look over your shoulder because some freak wants to use you to lure me out. But you do… and I hate it, but I love you… too much to end things,” he explained, sighing.

“If it means I get to wake up to you slinking into the apartment, looking like death and sin, then I don’t care,” you hummed, tilting your head up.

He couldn’t help rolling his eyes.

“You’re ridiculous. But… I’m grateful.”

“I love you. I trust you to… you know. Keep me safe if needs be, whatever.”

Damn— why did that feel embarrassing to say? You didn’t stop, though.

“I would rather be with you, and be faced with the occasional scare, than to be without you. That sounds… awful.”

“I’m glad you trust me. As much as it kills me to be the reason you found yourself in a situation like tonight… I wouldn’t want to be without you, either.”

“Good! Take me to bed.”

He snorted, raising a brow at you, picking you up without question.

“Demanding much. Are you asking me for something in particular?” He teased, the tone of his voice a little lower; a little softer.

“Sleep, you degenerate,” you scoffed, smacking his shoulder.

“Fine, fine! I’ll hold my comments. You need your rest if I have any hope of getting you up early tomorrow,” he acquiesced.

He padded back into the bedroom, dropping you into the sheets and tucking the blankets tightly around you before even considering crawling in with you.

Once he was satisfied with the coziness of the bedding though, he got in beside you. He wrapped his arms around you, tucking you under his chin.

“I love you, sweetheart…”

“I love you too, Jason…”

A/n- I swear I’ll work on some other characters at some point, just depends on how inspired I am, lol

“Take off your shirt.”

“What? No.”

“Jay—”

“Quit it,” he grumbled, gently taking your arm to keep you from grabbing at the tight fabric. And yet, he didn’t even realize he started stroking his thumb over your wrist.

“I’m fine. I don’t need you worrying about me.”

“I want to,” you decided, not loudly, just sure.

“It’s not a burden,” you continued, “It’s not an obligation to me. It’s just— I care. And I want to know you’re okay.”

He shifted a bit, leaning his weight more on his left hip, his shoulder resting against the doorframe.

Tilting his head like he was considering it, he decided to be stubborn a little longer.

“That’s sweet. I don’t need it though. You’d just be wasting your time.”

It wasn’t a mean statement. He didn’t say it like he was trying to shut you out, this time. Not like before, when you’d first gotten together and he couldn’t quite let himself open up.

This time, he was just saying it in hopes of not putting you out. As if anything about taking care of him ever put you out.

“I’m hardly even hurt, that’s what the padding is for.”

“Not the point,” you huffed, making him raise a brow at you.

Of course he was amused. Damn him.

“Getting to look at you is never a waste of time. Seriously though, how many times did you ask me yesterday if I’d eaten?”

You paused, but when he went to open his mouth, you held up your free hand to stop him. He was still holding your other wrist, thumb absentmindedly smoothing over the meat of your palm.

“How many times did you lean into my cheek so you could check my heartbeat? How many times did you fill up my water bottle for me when I wasn’t looking? How many times did you palm my hip, just so you could make sure yourself that it wasn’t aching; ignoring when I told you I felt fine,” you continued.

He seemed to realize you didn’t expect him to actually answer. And it didn’t seem like he was going to, if the pink tinge at the tips of his ears was any indication.

He wasn’t embarrassed. He’d never be embarrassed about worrying over you, it was practically his job. Having you say it out loud made him feel warm, though.

“I want to show you I care, the same way you do for me.”

You could watch his chest expand a bit before he let it out slowly through his nose.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Jason acquiesced.

Letting go of your hand, he sat himself at the table in the ‘dining area’ of the apartment. He tugged the compression shirt he was wearing to get the hem out of the waistband of his cargo pants, pulling it over his head.

You were on top of him soon after, settling in his lap and looking him over. And while he was so incredibly pleasing to touch and look at, it would have to wait.

He was bruised, yes. Very normal, unfortunately. However, the main concern was one gash along the curve of his rib under his pectoral muscle. Shallow enough not to be life threatening, but deep enough for a stitch or two. A practice you had clumsily learned in case this moment ever came.

Sitting up in his lap and leaning over the table, his hands found your waist to keep you steady. Instinctive. Protective. Unendingly endearing.

His eyes followed what you were reaching for, hands tightening on your waist, easily holding you up when your knee slipped from the chair beside his thigh.

“Easy, love bug,” he huffed.

Grabbing the medical kit from the other end of the table, you settled back into his lap.

He hummed, letting you sift through the materials inside. No, ‘what are you doing,’ or, ‘do you even know how to do this.’ Just confidence. Trust, that you wouldn’t attempt something like this without any knowledge. And even if you did… he loved you far too much to be too concerned.

So you continued.

Taking a curved needle from the kit, the nylon suturing material, needle driver, rat tooth forceps, and slipping on a pair of gloves, you got started. Threading the needle before holding it with the needle driver, you didn’t puncture him yet.

Instead, you took the rat tooth forceps, pinching the topside of the incision, closer to the end where the first stitch would go.

“Fucking christ—” he grunted, but he was still. “You’re fine, don’t stop. Ignore me.”

“I’m sorry,” you promised, focusing to get it done faster.

“I told you to ignore me, babe. Don’t apologize… you’re just doing what you need to.”

He squeezed his palms against your waist where they’d stayed after he’d steadied you.

You pierced the needle through the skin above the laceration, then moved the forceps to the skin along the bottom, using the needle driver to push the needle through before pulling it to gently make two knots. So it was sturdy.

“Two more.”

“You’re doing great. Really good,” he said, eyes a little heavy as he traced one of his palms up and down your waist.

Repeating the process was far easier for the second stitch, making another knot. And the third was done before he knew it.

With a sigh and a slight slump, he rested his chin over your shoulder.

“Good job, baby…” he hummed, drawn out through a breath as he wrapped his arms around you and squeezed.

“You’re welcome…” you chirped softly, setting the tools aside and pulling off the gloves. Your fingers threaded into his hair, making him grumble with something like content.

Jason’s hands tugged at your clothes, his palms sliding under the fabric. His warm, calloused palms smoothed along your back, your spine, your ribs. He still seemed pretty tired from patrol, soft hums leaving him with every deep breath out.

Eventually, he tucked his nose against you, idly chewing on the front of your trapezius muscle. Not hard. Barely enough to even leave a mark. Just enough that you felt the pressure.

And then he was pressing kisses all along your neck and jaw like he couldn’t stop himself before pulling away.

“When’d you learn to do that?” He finally asked.

“Thought I should learn in case it wasn’t just bruises you ever came home with,” you answered.

Saying it out loud was a bit more embarrassing than it should’ve been, but who gave a shit! It’s not a crime to take care of your boyfriend, goddamn it.

He was quiet for a moment, eventually leaning back to look at you. He looked tired. But comfortable.

“Every day. Every day you make me even more certain I don’t deserve you.”

Your immediate reaction to frown and pinch his nose was something you couldn’t help.

“Don’t say that. You deserve someone who cares just as much as you care. Because by god, there are some things you do for me that I never thought someone would even notice. I’m just returning the favor.”

He snorted, gently swatting your hand away from his face before smiling.

“Just… being your boyfriend. You have really low standards, apparently,” he teased.

“Not true,” you argued.

“I’d say I have decent standards. You’re just a lover boy who goes above and beyond for me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you, sweetheart…”

“I love you, too. You reckless bastard,” you grinned, kissing his cheek and earning a pinch in response.

Besides, you were smart. He was very confident in you. You weren’t the type to wave a gun around; you were aware of the gravity of it. The weight of it in your hand. It was a weapon, not some toy or prop. And he knew you were taking that seriously.

Jason had picked somewhere quiet. To avoid eyes and distractions. This was important to him; you having the means to defend yourself as well as knowing how to use it.

He’d decided on a Smith and Wesson 642. It was small, lightweight, easy to conceal. Perfectly fine for self defense. Besides, it was a gun that was less likely to jam than handguns with magazines. He’d make certain of that, anyway. Not that he didn’t trust you to inspect casings or maintain the firearm yourself, but he knew it would give him peace of mind to be the one to do it for you.

So he would. No questions asked.

“Keep this curve of the grip steady in the pit between your thumb and palm. You keep both of your hands on the grip, yeah sweetheart?” It was a soft question, his free hand gently rubbing your shoulder.

He was steady right beside you, hiding most of your frame from the wind. His hands were warm where he touched you, his attention fully present on teaching you.

“It doesn’t look ‘cool’ if you miss a shot because you aren’t steadying the gun with your left hand. None of that one handed garbage,” he explained further.

For you.

He was aware he did it. But that was between him and god.

You, he would be instilling good habits and technique into.

He waited for you to stop moving your weight back and forth before pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“When you’re practicing your grip, you never put your finger on the trigger. I want you to focus on holding it correctly without worrying about firing.”

“Okay,” you finally answered, nodding.

“Alright. I want you to use the sight, this right here,” he started, pointing at the raised metal piece, “and move it until it’s right in the middle of that bottle.”

Holding your arms out like he’d shown you, leveling the gun so it wasn’t absurdly out of your line of sight, you drifted it until the sight overlapped with the bottle. An old liquor bottle settled on top of a wooden stool.

“Put your finger in the trigger guard, and pull the trigger,” Jason hummed.

So you did.

The sound cracked in the empty space, the sound of glass shattering coming soon after. Loud enough to make you flinch in surprise.

At the sound, as well as the way the glass exploded backward off the stool, away from the both of you. Your aim was almost dead center, though! Not that it had been terribly far away, but he seemed satisfied.

“I know, it’s loud…” he soothed, his hand finding your waist, “That was good, though.”

“Now that one.”

His knuckle hooked under your chin, gently tugging to turn your attention to a metal can on the ground.

You grunted at him, shaking away the warmth that had started to pool along your cheeks. It made him huff a slight laugh, gently releasing your face.

So again, you shifted your aim using the sights. A moment passed before you pulled the trigger again.

The angle was odd, unfortunately, and the bullet missed the can. He didn’t scold, didn’t grab your hands or take over.

“It’s okay. Try again.”

And that was enough to keep you from feeling embarrassed. When you fired again, the can crumpled and split under the impact.

“Perfect. That was perfect, sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” you breathed, wilting a little.

He just smiled a bit, carefully taking the gun from you. He set it aside on the table to his right, grabbing a holster off it instead.

“You won’t wear this on the outside of your jeans.”

Moving the fabric of your jacket aside, he tucked the shirt you were wearing into your jeans.

He was almost imposing, standing over you. But the action of him tucking your shirt into your pants almost looked funny, coming from him. Tall, broad, a little stoic sometimes. And here he was, trying not to tug too hard as he adjusted your clothing for you.

“It goes on the inside. You’ll want your shirt tucked in so it’s not pressing against your skin, because it’ll dig into you. You’ll hook it in like this.”

With a swift demonstration, he had the holster clipped to the waist of your jeans, tucked between the denim and the fabric of your shirt.

“Though, when you take the gun out, it’s a little tough to get it back in without taking this whole thing out of your waistband again. So, whenever you’re done firing, take the holster out again and put the gun in it. Then you can get it settled back in.”

He looked at you expectantly, pulling the holster free and offering it to you.

“Show me. Do it just like I did, show me you can do it.”

The holster was warm when you took it from his hands, free hand pulling space open along your waistband. You slid it along the denim, clip on the outside, the holster against your body.

Admittedly, a little more clumsy than he’d done it, but correct.

“That’s it, you did so good,” he smiled, pulling the holster away once more. He tucked the revolver into it, setting it aside before gently grabbing your arms.

You huffed, leaning into his chest finally.

“Intricate.”

“Maybe,” he answered.

Suddenly, he was cupping your face, glaring down at you in that loving way he did.

“But god forbid something happens. God forbid I’m not there, I need you to have a way to take care of yourself until I can get there.”

Nodding, blinking a few times, all you could do was stare back up at him. At the brightness in his eyes. The seriousness to them. The fondness he just couldn’t bury, even in a moment like this.

“You know I need you…” he whispered, sighing just a tiny bit.

“So, no matter what happens, who comes up to you, or what they want? Run first. Fight back if you have to. Anything we can do to keep you from getting hurt. To make sure you never get to that second location or worse.”

“I get it,” you mumbled, scrunching up your nose a bit. He didn’t take offense.

“I know.”

Then he leaned down to kiss the scrunching motion off your face.

“Just need you to know how much I care. How much I love you, yeah?”

A/n- Second time posting on Tumblr! I’m aware that this is a little… meh. I’m still finding a style of description that works, but hopefully I can put a little more feel into my writing in the future!